I’m still genuinely concerned about the Cars Universe
are their armpits their wheel wells or the undersides of their mirrors
are their tongues… organic? or mechanical?
in the first movie some girl cars flash their headlights at mcqueen like titties but then in the second movie mcqueen gets headlights installed instead of just headlight stickers so does that mean he got breast implants
how do cars ‘die’ do they have souls?? can they be brought back to life with replacement parts like some sort of frankensteinmobile?
why are some of the animals car animals but some of them are just regular animals
why do they need to sleep if they are machines
there is a car military meaning there were probably car wars
car christianity is also confirmed meaning there’s a car jesus so also there’s that
Once upon a time - which is a terrible way to start a joke - there was a little boy named Billy.
Billy was six years old, and for the whole of his short life, he had been utterly and intensely obsessed with clowns. He had clown bed sheets and clown posters; he had clown toys and clown-themed games; he had towels with clowns on them, a toothbrush in the shape of a clown, and - if it had existed - he probably would have used clown-flavored toothpaste, as well.
Try not to think about it.
The point here is that Billy loved clowns, and his parents were well aware of that fact. (They’d have to be, right? I mean, how is a six-year-old going to buy all of that stuff?) Thus, they decided that for their son’s seventh birthday, they’d purchase front row seats at the circus, which just happened to be in town at the same time. Upon hearing this, Billy was absolutely overcome with excitement, and he was scarcely able to sit still until his family arrived at the big top.
Billy and his parents walked in, took their seats, and waited for the show to start.
The music flared to life and the lights came up, and in a dazzling display of merriment, everything began. First came the lion-tamers with their whips and chairs… and yeah, they were intriguing, but they didn’t hold Billy’s interest. Next came the feats of strength with strongmen (and one excessively suspicious woman) smashing bricks and bending bars… and yeah, it was impressive, but Billy didn’t really care. The sword swallowers followed, and the trapeze artists, and the tightrope walkers… and yeah, someone might have died at any moment, but it all seemed so boring.
Eventually, Billy began to worry that he wouldn’t get to see clowns at the circus. After all, he knew very well that clowns usually only appeared when something went wrong. (You didn’t know that, did you? Yeah, clowns are typically kept on standby in case someone screws up.)
Suddenly, all of the lights went out.
A single spotlight shown down to one corner of the arena.
A tiny car came puttering into view, while discordant, almost forlorn circus music played.
Deet deet deedle-deedle deet deet dee deeeeee…
The car’s doors sprang open, and out poured the most amazing collection of clowns that Billy had ever seen! There were fat clowns, thin clowns, tall clowns, short clowns! Clowns with bright red hair and enormous red noses! Clowns in silly suspenders and oversize shoes! There were clowns wearing every color of the rainbow, and clowns that moved like psychotic ferrets on speed! There were more clowns than Billy had ever dreamed of watching all at once!
Then, just as it seemed like that tiny car couldn’t produce a single soul more, another clown stepped out. He was too fat to be thin, yet too thin to be fat… but somehow wasn’t average, either. He was too short too be tall, yet too tall to be short… but still managed to be both at once. He had pale, almost white skin - not the product of makeup - and deep, almost black, sunken eyes. He had a shock of bright red (and completely natural) hair, and a bulbous, equally red nose.
Billy looked on with awe and wonder as he realized what he was seeing: This wasn’t a person in makeup who was putting on an act; this was a real clown. The man - if indeed you could call him a man - reached into the front of his pants, wiggled his hand around for a little while, and pulled forth a bright silver microphone. After offering a conspiratorial wink to the audience, the clown cleared his throat… and his dry, raspy voice boomed out for everyone to hear:
“I need a volunteer!”
Before Billy had even completely processed what he had just heard, he discovered that he had leapt from his seat and thrust his hand as high as it would go.
“Pick me!” Billy screamed. “Pick me!”
The clown extended a finger and cast it over the audience, drawing lazy circles through the crowd. After what felt like an eternity, he finally aimed his cracked fingernail directly at Billy.
“You there, little boy!” the clown barked.
A cheer went up as Billy clamored over the railing and dropped down into the arena. The smell of sawdust and sweat reached his nose, but he paid it little mind: He was focused entirely on this dream of his coming true; on the opportunity to meet and perform with a real clown.
“I need to ask you a question,” said the clown. “Tell me: Are you a horse’s head?”
Billy laughed aloud, as much from glee as from the absurdity of the question. “No! No, I’m not a horse’s head!”
The clown nodded, apparently having expected this answer. (After all, who would say yes to that question?) “Well, then… are you a horse’s body?”
“No!” Billy giggled. “No, I’m not a horse’s body, either!”
Once more, the clown nodded, and his broad smile - his thick, red lips - grew wider. “I see. Are you a horse’s leg?”
“No, I’m not a horse’s leg!” Billy replied. His own smile grew to match that of the clown.
“So…” the clown said, pacing around Billy. “You’re not a horse’s head, and you’re not a horse’s body, and you’re not a horse’s leg.” He paused then, and stood completely still. A hush covered the audience. Then, in a whirl of motion, the clown jammed his finger through the air and brought it right up into Billy’s face.
“Then you must be a horse’s ass!”
Laughter exploded from everywhere at once. Billy looked around, shame and betrayal filling his heart, and saw the faces of all those strangers laughing at him. He saw his friends from school laughing at him. He saw his own parents laughing at him. Something broke inside of Billy in that moment, and with a scream of agony and anguish, he ran from the arena and didn’t stop until he had reached his house.
When Billy’s parents returned home, they discovered that their son had trashed his bedroom. He had snapped his clown toothbrush and torn apart his towels with the clowns on them. He had smashed his clown-themed games and broken all of his clown toys. He had shredded his clown posters and burned his clown bed sheets. (I don’t know where this kid got access to fire, but clearly he was pretty serious about destroying stuff.) Worst of all, Billy’s parents found that their son - who had once been so cheerful and outgoing - had sunken into a deep and unbreakable silence.
Billy did not speak for a year. Therapists and counselors were wholly ineffective, and no amount of bribery, threats, or pleading could pull even the smallest word from his lips. His parents eventually gave up, resigned as they were to the fact that their son was lost to them… but then, on his eighth birthday, the little boy held up his head, blinked his eyes once, and spoke with a clarity and a maturity not heard from most adults.
“Mom, Dad,” he said, “I want you to know that I’m okay. From now on, though… it’s just ‘Bill.’”
Ten years passed.
Bill went on to become something of a legend in his little hometown: He was a perfect student and a dedicated volunteer. He was involved in every extracurricular activity in some way or another. He was captain of the football team, head of the chess club, first-chair violin in the orchestra, and valedictorian. By the time that he was ready to graduate, Bill had been offered a complete scholarship to literally every college in the country (with some schools even offering free alcohol after he turned twenty-one).
It came as something of a shock, then, when after crossing the stage, Bill approached his parents.
“I know that you won’t understand this,” he said, “but I’ve decided that I’m not going to college. You see, all of my success and all of my ambition has been driven by a deep, horrible wound that I still carry. I’ve tried desperately to cover it, to let it heal… but each night, I still hear the voice of that clown in my head. That’s why I’m leaving for Tibet. I’m going to seek out and join the monastery where they teach the ancient art of Comebackery, and once I have mastered all that they can offer… I’ll come back and have my revenge.”
Bill’s parents tried to dissuade him, but he was adamant. True to his word, Bill boarded a flight that very evening. He landed in China and trekked on foot to a village at the base of a snow-covered mountain. A year passed as he learned the language and earned the trust of the people who lived there, until the day when one of them gave him whispered directions to the hidden temple. Bill set out again, carrying only a few days’ worth of supplies, and finally found himself at the doorstep of the monastery he had sought.
A knock at the door was answered by the head monk; a small, wrinkled man with a bald head and a serene smile.
“My son,” the head monk said, “I can see that you have been wronged.” (This guy spoke Tibetan, obviously, but the general meaning was the same.) “Normally, you would have to wait here for three days and nights to show your devotion… but I sense that you are a special case. Come into the sanctuary, and we will teach you what you wish to know.”
Thus began Bill’s life as a Monk of Comebackery. He learned jokes, japes, and jeers. He learned witticisms and retorts. He learned insults, insinuations, dares, and double entendres. Before long, he was able to verbally spar with the very best of his brethren.
Yet still, even after another decade of training, Bill did not feel any closer to learning what he had hoped to find.
One cold winter morning, Bill approached the head monk with his concerns. “Master,” he said, “have I not been a good pupil?”
“You have been exemplary,” answered the head monk.
“And have I not upheld and embodied everything you have taught?”
“Indeed you have,” the head monk replied.
“Then,” Bill said, steadying himself, “I wish to learn the forbidden knowledge. I wish to learn… The Ultimate Comeback.”
The head monk looked into Bill’s eyes for a long, ominous moment.
Eventually, he smiled.
“My son,” the head monk said, “when you came to us, you were but a youth with a scar on his soul. You had been cut more deeply than any man should have to endure, and yet you persevered. More than that, you excelled. You have inspired us all with your strength and conviction, and also with your insight.” The man stepped forward and clasped a hand over Bill’s shoulder. “I cannot teach you what you seek, for you already know it.”
At first, Bill felt himself reeling inside. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Had he thrown his life away for nothing? Had he wasted all of those years training, only to fail at the last step? The thought was too terrible to consider, and Bill experienced a sense of loss unlike any he had felt since…
In a flash of clarity, Bill understood.
The Ultimate Comeback, he knew, was a weapon of untold power. It was to be wielded only by they who had discovered it for themselves, and it could only be discovered by they who had felt its devastation firsthand. It was so elegant, so perfect, and so deadly… and Bill knew that it had always been inside of him.
The head monk, watching Bill’s face, smiled again. “You are ready.”
Over the next few days, Bill made preparations to return home. He bade goodbye to his brothers at the monastery, then trekked back down to the village at the base of the mountain. He worked tirelessly in their fields and households, saving every bit that he could in order to afford a plane ticket back to the United States. It took still another year, but finally, Bill found himself stepping off the airplane onto American soil (or, rather, onto American linoleum in an American airport), and hitchhiking in the direction of his hometown.
When he finally arrived, Bill was aghast at what he discovered. This once-welcoming neighborhood had descended into squalor and disrepair. Shops were boarded up and trash littered the street. Stray dogs ran in packs, fighting over scraps of rubbish. What few people Bill encountered would quickly avert their gazes and hurry on their way. The warmth and compassion that he had experienced in his youth were both gone, replaced by a desolate despondence and an overcast sky.
It didn’t take long to find that Bill’s parents were long dead. His friends had all moved on, and the legend of Bill’s high school success had faded into little more than an unlikely memory. Despair filled Bill’s heart, along with a thrum of rising panic. Was he too late? Had he spent so much time abroad that he’d missed his chance to have his revenge?
As if in answer, a gust of wind brought a scrap of paper to Bill’s feet. He reached down and retrieved it… and realized that it was a ticket to the circus’s last-ever show. Not only that, but the performance was being held that very day, and the ticket would grant Bill access to the very same seat he had occupied all those years ago.
This, Bill decided, was fate.
He squared his shoulders and walked in the direction of the big top.
When Bill arrived to the circus, he found that it had fared no better than the rest of the town. The tents all hung in tatters, barely more than faded scraps of cloth. The seats were rickety and rusty, and even the sawdust bore the telltale scent of rot. Despite the dilapidation, though, it seemed that the final performance had drawn an enormous crowd, and Bill had to shove his way through the audience to reach his seat at the front row.
He held his breath, waiting for the show to start.
The music moaned to life and the lights flickered up, and in a halfhearted display of merriment, everything began. First came the lion-tamers with their whips and chairs… and yeah, they were intriguing, but Bill was otherwise occupied. Next came the feats of strength with strongmen (and one excessively suspicious old woman) smashing bricks and bending bars… and yeah, it was impressive, but Bill stayed focused on his own thoughts. The sword swallowers followed, and the trapeze artists, and the tightrope walkers… and yeah, someone might have died at any moment, but it all seemed so irrelevant.
Eventually, Bill began to worry that he wouldn’t get to see the clowns. After all, he knew very well that clowns have a remarkably low life expectancy as compared to other professions. (That’s probably not accurate, but it sure sounds true, doesn’t it?)
Suddenly, all of the lights went out.
A single spotlight shown down to one corner of the arena.
A tiny car came puttering into view, while discordant, almost forlorn circus music played.
Deet deet deedle-deedle deet deet dee deeeeee…
The car’s doors creaked open, and out shambled the most pathetic collection of clowns that Bill had ever seen. There were fat clowns, thin clowns, tall clowns, and short clowns, all of them bent under the weight of age and depression. Clowns with ancient wigs and crumbling rubber noses. Clowns in stretched-out suspenders and orthopedic shoes. There were clowns wearing every faded shade one could imagine, and clowns that moved like they were inches from the grave.
Then, just as it seemed like that tiny car couldn’t produce a single soul more… the outpouring stopped.
Bill’s heart jumped in his chest. Where was the clown who had wronged him as a child? Where was the monster that had haunted his dreams? Where was the target for his Ultimate Comeback?!
A shaking, rattling cough called Bill’s attention to the other side of the arena, and he watched as an old man limped into view. Streaks of grey marred what had once been a shock of bright red hair, and those deep, blackened eyes seemed to have sunk even further into the white face that contained them. Yellow teeth spoke of fetid breath behind those broad, cracked lips, and tremors shook each lanky limb… but it was very clearly the clown from Bill’s past.
The clown raised a tarnished microphone to his mouth and spoke.
“I need a volunteer.”
Before Bill was even aware of his own actions, he discovered that he had stood from his seat and thrust his hand in the air.
“Me,” Bill said. “Pick me.”
The clown extended a finger and cast it over the audience, drawing lazy circles through the crowd. After what felt like an eternity, he finally aimed his cracked, dirty fingernail directly at Bill.
“You there, sir!” the clown rasped.
A reluctant cheer went up as Bill climbed his way over the railing and dropped down into the arena. The smell of mildew and death reached his nose, but he paid it little mind: He was focused entirely on this dream of his coming true; on the opportunity to get his revenge on the clown before him.
“I need to ask you a question,” croaked the clown. “Tell me: Are you a horse’s head?”
The single word rang out like a gunshot, echoing in the silence that followed.
The clown, visibly shaken by the response, coughed and continued. “Well, then… are you a horse’s body?”
Once more, the syllable cut through the air, piercing everyone who heard it to their very soul. There was an icy, powerful venom in Bill’s voice, and it utterly captivated everyone within earshot.
The clown shivered, clearly unaccustomed to this kind of behavior, but pressed on nonetheless. “I see. Are you a horse’s leg?”
“No,” Bill calmly replied, “I am not a horse’s leg.”
Nobody said a word. Nobody even breathed. Nobody had ever experienced anything as chilling as the tone in Bill’s voice… but the clown had a secret weapon, too. With an evil, sinister smile, that pale-faced, red-haired monstrosity summoned forth the unspeakable power that rests within the blackened heart of every clown, bringing it to bear in a horrifying smile that should not have been able to exist outside of a nightmare.
“So!” the clown said, pacing around Bill. “You’re not a horse’s head, and you’re not a horse’s body, and you’re not a horse’s leg.” He paused then, and stood completely still. A hush covered the audience. Then, in a whirl of motion, the clown jammed his finger through the air and brought it right up into Bill’s face.
“Then you must be a horse’s ass!”
Laughter exploded from everywhere at once. Bill looked around, and suddenly, he was a little boy again. All of that shame and betrayal filled his heart, and he couldn’t help but imagine the faces of all those strangers laughing at him. He saw his friends from school laughing at him. He saw the ghosts of his parents laughing at him. Something broke inside of Bill in that moment… but rather than scream and run, he held up a hand.
The first of three times James Potter and Lily Evans thwarted the dark lord was with a hug.
Specifically, James embraced a crying Sirius outside grimmauld place while Lily grabbed a trunk and hauled it to a car.
No living soul would ever know how consequential this act would turn out to be, but to a boy in a second floor window, parting ways with his brother forever, the event would go on to shape an entire life. A single question, at the back of Regulas’ mind, are my parents right about this? Does the dark lord truly deserve my support?
The thought, the feeling, festered in his mind as he watched injustice flourish and cruelty thrive, and one day, when Kreacher collapsed at his feet, he acted.
The second time James and Lily Potter thwarted he who must not be named was with a wedding. In times of darkness and despair, a flickering light, red hair swirling as the Order of the Phoenix danced in the arms of those that they loved. Fifteen resolves were strengthened that day, the flagging war effort upheld for another year, the good fight lasting just that little longer.
The third time James thwarted Tom Riddle was with bared teeth and bared fists, a war cry, a seconds hesitation as Voldemort raised his wand to defend rather than strike. The last time Voldemort was thwarted, at least for 7 years, was at the hands of Lily Potter, nee Evans, standing over a cot screaming TAKE ME INSTEAD.
Of course, few understood that the prophecy, the three times they would spit into the dark lords eyes would be their greatest acts of love. Most thought it was in battles fought and buildings held. But that was never how the potters worked, their greatest strength was always their love.
Now, thankfully, some other poor soul has gone through the trouble of identifying what type of car Mamoru sexily drove around for four seasons, because Lord knows, I don’t have the patience for that kinda mess.
But anyway, it is believed that Mamoru drove an Alfa Romeo SZ. And while, to many of us, myself included, the only thing that means is he owned a shiny red car. BUT there’s some pretty interesting facts about this particular model.
These cars were manufactured in Italy in 1991, which explains Mamoru’s driving seat being on the right when they drive on the left in Japan. Still, not that interesting, right? Well, as it turns out, only 1,036 of these cars were ever made, and of that 1,036, of which 38 were for testing, only 100 of the Alfa Romeo SZ’s were ever imported to Japan. (None made it to the US, as they weren’t street legal) So, right away, we know that Mamoru owns a pretty rare car. You just didn’t see these things on the road. I hadn’t even heard of it until I had way too much free time to do this research!
After some further digging, I found that the original price for the SZ to be about $35,000. Well, that’s not so bad, right? But we have to remember that that’s $35,000 in 1991. Adjust for inflation, and you come to about $65,000, today. And considering the SZ was an import, it’s probable that it cost MUCH more.
So, what does this all mean? Well, only one thing, really. BOYFRIEND WAS LOADED. Orphaned, college student, dater of middle schoolers Mamoru was FLUSH WITH CASH. Like he could make it rain.
And Usagi? I ain’t sayin’ she a gold digger, but… :D
but mack is so precious like no matter how bad lightning talked to him in the first cars movie he always stayed by his side and he always stayed happy and positive towards lightning and he’s just the purest soul ever. we need to give him more credit
Characters: Taehyung x Reader (and a little bit of Joon)
Length: 4964 words
Genre: Fluff, Angst
Comments: It wasn’t uncommon that Taehyung saw someone’s life hanging on a thread, but he would always do everything in his power to save it.
The human body is made
to withstand the heaviest trauma- bones break, organs bleed, cells die every
day- but all those things can be overcome, if only you have a little bit of
luck on your side.
The first time you witness
calamity, it petrifies you and makes you realize how fragile human bodies are.
But the first time you
see someone die changes you forever.
For Taehyung, this
happened more often than he would have liked and despite what people said, it
didn’t get easier with time.
He found ways to handle it, ways to remind himself that even though life was
short and fleeting, there were lots of things worth living for, worth being
But even though he had
been working in the field for a while now, he didn’t know if he’d ever get used
This time around, he
got called to a car accident.
neil: raced my sister to the door of the cabin we were working at, rolled my ankle and the next day moved 13 girls trunks out of the cabin, carried a podium, and walked up and down a hill three times before someone made me sit down. My ankle was huge and purple and I still tried to get back up. #imfine
andrew: walked out of a class after ten minutes bc we had done the in class assignment used to count attendance. When stopped at the door by the teacher asking if I was coming back replied “nope” and then continued walking out.
allison: when one of my friends texted the group chat with “I have big news!” I immediately created a separate group text with half of the group making bets on what the news was.
nicky: tripped on a set of stairs, rolled bc my hands were full had a guy half way catch me: after i had already caught myself, set down the iPad, and maintained a death grip on my phone. Was too proud of not breaking anything to be embarrassed.
kevin: vomited on a public bar and then laid in a public bathroom still vomiting and apparently walked around with my shorts unzipped and unbuttoned for a period of time on Halloween
Seth: once out of boredom and loyalty I told a friend that this girl I didn’t like was talking her to her ex and lying to her about it. Watched her take the BITCH DOWN laughed
Dan: met a girl before going out one night. The girl proceeded to get completely wasted and disappeared from the group. Spent an hour looking for her. Bc I may not know you, but you are now my responsibility little dumpster fire. Now drink some water.
Aaron: once my brother rubbed the inside roof of the car (I HATE that noise) and I turned looked him dead in the eye and said “I wish you had never been born” I was 13 he was 7. But that little shit KNEW
Renee: directly from my iPod in my car listened to “Burning in my soul” and then “one eyed girl” by Florence & the machine bc I love Jesus but also boinches better not cross me ok. Ok.
Matt: confuse people on the reg of whether I love my best friend or am in love with my best friend. When questioned respond both and begin listing off all their most amazing qualities bc everyone should be so blessed to know them
*bonus: cry every time I listen the the Moana soundtrack lbr that movie has all the feels
Bonus- Jeremy: once made all of my friends ride on the mall carousel bc I was feeling extra and look so pretty. We were 15
You were in your kitchen cooking tonight’s meal, hearing the music blasting from your speakers as you were swaying your hips to the music losing yourself in the rhythm until you heard a hard pounding on your door causing you to jump slightly. You turned down the music walking to your door with fear coursing through your body as you turned the knob “(Y/N). I swear you love when I come to your apartment, another complaint, please keep the music down.” Hale said hands crisscrossed in front of your door causing you to roll your eyes because you knew no one in the neighborhood complained because you asked every individual if it bothered them.
Most people didn’t even realize you ever played music, so you knew this was Hales doing “Look David, you’re a sweet guy, but I’m not looking for a relationship, or someone to go out for drinks with, I don’t want to ride around Charming. You really are a good guy, I’m just not looking for anyone.” You said closing the door softly returning to your now burnt food groaning as you decided to call for pizza.
A whole week had went by David was becoming more clever and it was worrying you because it was coming so fast, he had come to your job stating there were complaints filed against you, worrying you. Your boss denied all claims kicking Hale out, then he came by your mother’s place saying that you were need for an investigation but your mom wasn’t having it, and finally he came while you and your dad were out batting stating you were trespassing on private property, you’re father found it funny because he owned the property and claimed Hale was trespassing.
You leaned against the wall sighing trying to get your life together “You alright (Y/N)?” Juice asked as he fixed up your car, god bless the Puerto Ricans soul. “Yeah, just bugged out. Hale keeps trying to ask me on a date.” You groaned realizing how much of bitch you were being “Hey I thought girls wanted a good guy to take her out on a date, not just bang and run.” Juice said shrugging.
“Juan. I’m not looking for a relationship or a fuck buddy. I’m fine being me, he just doesn’t get it. I’m trying so hard to be nice but he keeps popping up everywhere I go!” You yelled kicking a small rock out of the garage. “He must’ve pissed you off big time, I don’t think in my months of knowing you, you’ve ever yelled.” Juice said chuckling “Fuck you Juan.” You loved saying his name, it fit him so well, it slipped off your tongue with such ease. “You know, I like the way you say my name.” He said wiping off some sweat but in the process he wiped grease on his forehead causing you to laugh which made him smile.
“What the hell did I do?” He asked giving you that goofy smiled. You smiled shaking your head walking up to him taking the rag and wiping his forehead “You’re so cute when you’re not trying.” You said softly handing him back the rag, just as you were going to walk back to the wall he grabbed your waist pulling him closer “Juan!” You yelled looking at him with wide eyes “Hale.” Was all he said before you heard someone clear their throat causing you and Juice to break apart as you see Hale looking a bit agitated.
“She tripped, couldn’t let her ruin that pretty face you love so much.” Juice teased Hale raising your chin slightly to look at Juice wink before he went back to fixing your car “Need a ride?” Hale asked looking at your car “No need, her cars almost done!” Juice said from under your car and you muttered a thank you slightly.
“Well you be careful (Y/N). SOA isn’t the kind of people you should keep around you.” Hale said before leaving causing you to laugh.
“Juan Carlos Ortiz, I fucking love you! How can I repay you?” You asked bending down as he rolled out from under your car “Cook for me? Your place? Tonight?” He asked looking up at you as you nodded smiling like an idiot.
You were making tacos per Juan’s request and his love for Mexican food. You were in a long shirt adding the finished toppings on the tacos, you began to yawn feeling sleep take over you. “Juan! Tacos are done!” You yelled hoping he could hear you through the running water. When Juan got to your house he was all muddy from a run and you couldn’t have all that mud in your house so you demanded he take a shower before eating a damn thing, which he did willingly smiling.
Once he was done he put on some sweats and was going to grab his shirt but he realized it was still dirty so he threw it in your washer, when get walked towards the kitchen he could smell the tacos and just as he was about to say something he heard your light murmurs. He leaned over to see you fast asleep on the couch, he smiled widely staring at you taking in your beauty, your soft skin, your pink lips, the way your hair fell on your face as you began to stir, Juice was in a trance until he heard a knock on your door.
Juice quickly made his way to the kitchen turning on the faucet and sprinkling water on his face and bare chest, he pulled his sweats dangerously low showing off his v-lines as he open the door “(Y/N)-” Hale started but stopped once he noticed it was Juice and not you, then he took in Juices appearance and something right then and there told Hale to give up his attempts “I’m sorry to disturb you both..” Hale said looking at the floor then back to his car “Nah, it’s cool. We just finished up. I do want to talk to you though.” Juice said closing the door softly behind him causing him to step closer to Hale.
“You see (Y/N), she’s gorgeous, a stunner, beautiful, funny, smarted, well rounded, and I like her. So do me a favor and leave her the fuck alone, because the club will be the last of your concerns if you don’t back off my girl. Got it.” Juice said lowly looking fiercely at Hale and before he could even answer Juice had closed the door, making his way to the kitchen.
“Juan..” you said softly sounded husky because of your mini nap, you saw him flinch slightly “Yeah?” He said kneeling down in front of you “Did you mean all of those things you said to Hale?” You asked softly rubbing your eyes “Yeah, I think you’re a great girl…” he said softly rubbing your knee gently.
“So speak up dummy, I don’t want to hear it from a closed door.” You said kissing his forehead. “But you told Hale and me you weren’t looking for a relationship?” He asked confused now “Yeah because this Puerto Rican kid who doesn’t speak a lick of Spanish captured my mind from the first day that he fixed my car.” You said looking down.
“Well in that case, how about I take you out to a nice quaint bar in town, and we get to know each other.” Juice said smiling at you “Yeah, TM is so quaint. Oh and Juan, I’m not anyone’s Old fucking lady.” You said winking as you made your way to the bedroom with a big smile on your face. “Juan! ¿Eres mío? (Are you mine?)” You called out “Si! I don’t know what you said but yeah, sure!” He yelled back at you laughing.
“You are my mine Juan. All mine.” You said letting your sleep take over you.
So this is based on LA Devotee by Panic! At the Disco. I’ll probably do a Cas one based on one of their songs as well, as I’ve done a Sam one. Hope you guys like it, and enjoy x
You got two black eyes from loving too hard And a black car that matches your blackest soul I wouldn’t change ya, oh Wouldn’t ever try to make you leave, no
When Dean Winchester showed up at your door, it wasn’t exactly a welcome surprise.
You were taken aback, not quite believing that it was him. Him with his green eyes, those intoxicating pools of emerald that you found yourself getting lost in more often than not, ones that reminded you of nights you had spent together in the back of that ‘67 Chevy Impala, one you noticed that was parked behind him.
The pet name tickled at your senses, goosebumps rising along your skin, the way they would whenever he touched you with those calloused hands.
”Why are you here?”
He’d been gone for a couple of years. Left with his younger brother.
Family business, he’d said, right before he kissed you goodbye.
Oh, the neon coast was your sign And the Midwest wind with Pisces rising I wouldn’t change ya, oh Wouldn’t ever try to make you leave, no
You used to drive everywhere with him, stopping at random motels for nights better spent behind closed doors.
Dean tugged you along, his fingers laced with yours, heading towards the room you had booked.
Laughter filled the corridors as you were pulled into the room by the man you loved, you then smiled as you kicked the door shut behind you.
“So what do you wanna do now Y/N?” he asked, hands on either side of your head, trapping you against that dusty old door.
“I have a few ideas.”
Your hands became tangled in his hair, gripping the peaks of it as he kissed you, fires burning in your stomach.
Heat spread to every fiber of your being as Dean’s tongue danced with yours, his hands moving under your thighs and picking you up.
Laughter graced the room again as you landed on the bed, Dean crawling over you with predatory lust in those iridescent eyes. You grabbed hold of his shirt pulling his face to yours.
“I love you.”
Static palms melt your vibe Midnight whisperings
Your relationship with Dean was so much more than sex. Of course, the sex was great. But there were also the little moments, ones that seemed so much more intimate than anything else.
“What are you thinking about?”
Dean’s hand stroked your hair, your head placed against his chest.
He kissed the top of your head, a small token of his affection that earned you nuzzling your nose into his skin.
“What about it?”
“What does it mean?”
He had never told you what the black ink meant. You had traced, kissed, worshiped it so many times, but you had never understood it. You found it to be beautiful and mysterious, just like the man you shared your bed with.
Dean’s hand moved from stroking your hair to your arm, leaving those familiar goosebumps in his wake.
“It’s a family thing.”
Everything was a family thing.
The black magic of Mulholland Drive Swimming pools under desert skies Drinking white wine in the blushing light Just another LA Devotee
There were times you wished for a classier life. Driving across the country in an old car wasn’t exactly what you had imagined when you left college.
Then again, you hadn’t imagined spending nights in the arms of a man like Dean Winchester.
You had told him this, and one night he had decided to surprise you.
Dress up nice, Sweetheart, he’d said.
It had been a night under the stars, one with wine and music.
And then came the phone call.
You sat there, watching the emotions across Dean’s face change continuously, a frown settling when he finally hung up.
That’s when you knew. You knew that this was over.
Sunsets on the evil eye Invisible to the Hollywood shrine Always on the hunt for a little more time Just another LA Devotee
And now here he was, at your door.
“Why are you here?”
“I needed to see you.”
He looked at you, his eyes raking up and down your body, before matching your own. His eyes, they always got to you.
“I suppose you’d better come in then.”
He followed you, closing the door behind him, as you mentally prepared yourself for the conversation you were about to have.
You didn’t see those pools of emerald turn to black.
this is for soma week 2017 day 1: confession! i asked for prompts and @whos-that-foxi-lady said: “maka being fascinated with the way Soul sings when he thinks no one is listening.” so here you go! warnings for swearing and mentions of blood and an accident.
She’s hooked on the way he sings when he thinks no one’s listening. Dress skirt bunched up in her hands, she stands a safe distance away from his rolled-down car window, steeping in his voice’s melancholic highs and lows. The moments before he notices her and cuts himself off are brief but glorious and leave her heart full.
In this newfound silence, she offers a gentle smile and takes in his neatly parted hair, pressed blazer, and black bowtie. The vulnerability on his face is divine, a privilege to witness. Her fondness for him deepens even more than she thought it ever could. “Hey, you. You look nice.”
“No problem. Can I climb in?”
Sliding into the passenger seat is instinct to Maka, who probably knows the car better than Soul because she keeps up with its maintenance schedule for him. Together they’ve added roughly twenty thousand miles to the odometer during the last year he’s had it, going on day trips each Saturday, cruising the streets until curfew when one of them wants to get out of their house and needs the other’s company. Even when they’re deep in their own thoughts, they’re together, which is how Maka knows she’s needed right now.
After all, she only catches Soul singing when he’s fighting off an extreme emotion.
I should really stop getting so personally offended when tv shows/films feature the Overly-Posh-English-Villain™
Dammit I am starting to like Mr. Ketch though, if only for the fact that he’s not pretending to be anything other than what he is - a killer, a grunt who follows orders and gets the job done. There’s something tragic about villains who truly believe they’re doing the right thing, but I do also love the twisted nature of villains who fully accept themselves as who they are, and Ketch doesn’t seem the type to adhere to a cause.
There was another post I’ve just read talking about taking on guilt, Mary’s role in Wally’s death, her and Dean feeling guilt over cas nearly dying etc and Ketch makes a really nice opposition to Dean in this regard. He’s even almost like demon!Dean - any remorse or guilt at causing pain to others or killing others just slips away.
Dean sees it in Ketch and is appalled, despite on multiple occasions having committed such acts himself. When he goes out with Ketch, I wonder if it crosses Dean’s mind at any point that they are in fact similar, and seeing Ketch’s capabilities is reminding Dean how he too has been to such lengths. And what Dean is capable of has always horrified him - the guilt in this case has kept him human, even if it has driven him mad. (Suddenly reminded of that convo I was having about Michael and why he would create a weapon designed to torture, though we probably won’t hear another word about Michael in the show). When Ketch plans to torture the vampire in front of him, Dean stops Ketch, but when Ketch carries Pierce away at the end of the episode he simply swallows and remains silent. He does not feel that this is good.
The shot at the end of the episode with the Impala standing opposite to Mr. Ketch’s bike also reminds me of Jensen’s idea about Dean riding away on a bike by himself at the end of the series. Not that I think this is necessarily going to happen, it just offers a really nice visual metaphor of Dean standing with his family next to the car that represents his family, his soul, whilst opposite is the lone bike. The prospect of freedom, no ties, no guilt. *Note the Impala is also half in and half out of the warehouse, another visual tie to the Winchester’s current relationship with the BMoL. Maybe it’s gonna be more a case of which Winchester will take the bike…
Side note: What does Mr. Ketch plan on doing when all the monsters are wiped out and there’s no one left to kill? Since this seems to be his one motive at the moment…?