and what is it you're doing with your eyes

He clears his throat. “Oi. Can you move your mating ritual somewhere else?”

The boy lifts his head up, obviously amused by Louis’ shortness.

“Sorry, mate,” he says, voice low, hoarse and broadly British, “no need to get all snappy.”

His eyes are too far apart and large, like Louis’, and his mouth is plump and pursed. Under his hair, you can’t see his ears, and his chin is perfectly peach, rounded and smooth as he pouts.

It makes Louis want to punch him.

He clears his throat. “Well, your little card game is in my way, so…”

“Is it?” The boy remarks, amusement in his tone. “It matches the poker you have in your arse, mate.”

Where Your Heart Is - by @tvshows-addict and @anhcor

,it’s been two years since playing his game ????????
more importantly, here are a comprehensive list of the homoerotic lines in the song for your information.

- time to start thinking like him
- what would i do if i got inside his head
- i’ll look through his eyes and see what he sees until i learn what puts him at ease (????)
-  till deep in my bones i’m sure he’s one and the same as the me who’s playing his game
- what does he do late at night when the world is sleeping (LIGHT…like, chill ?)
- all that promise keeping, harder i’m sure than it seems
- how would it be if i saw the world like him (it’s not a disney song Light calm down)
- like a synonym, bit by bit, wit by wit
- i’ll mimic his will and learn his routines and feel the same thrill whenever my end is served by his means (that one is just beautiful though)
- don’t move until you are ready, he will be careful too (with that … tone of voice…typical L)
- get into his head and UNDER HIS SKIN, the things that he said, the food that he likes (OK?) the places he’s been. (that song is called Every Breath You Take guys)
- i’ll look through his eyes and see what he sees. (the end when their voices are entwined).

- the entire damn song is embarassing
- what is this song even about
- i just wrote the whole lyrics (that i don’t know by heart… believe me… i don’t. i do)

Color Blind

The classic “when you meet your soulmate you see color” au, but with a twist. Because what if meeting them isn’t enough - what if you need to realise that they’re your soulmate for it to take effect?

Stiles is in third grade when he falls in love with Lydia Martin. And he knows it’s love, he really does, because when she briefly meets his eye across the playground one innocuous Tuesday the world around him blossoms into color.

He sees the shade of her hair for the first time, not quite orange, not quite red (strawberry blonde, he would settle on later, after encountering both colors separately) and the green of her eyes, as bright as the grass beneath her blue shoes. Stiles looks at Lydia and sees color, and it is beautiful.

Scott frowns when he tells him, like he doesn’t understand. “What do you mean you see color? Aren’t we too young for that?”

Stiles waves off his concerns and goes back to rifling through the classroom crayon supply, which suddenly holds a whole new world of possibilities. Some of them are still in black and white, and some are just sort of shades of grey, but some are vibrant colors and Stiles knows that’s more than most of the other kids can see so he’s happy.

He picks out the ones that look closest to Lydia’s colors and sketches a rough drawing of her. He’s not the best artist, but just seeing the colors on the page makes his heart race.

He catches her just before the end of the day. “Lydia!” he calls as she neatly tucks her pencils into their case. He can see that she’s got a red one and a blue one, and another color he can’t think of the name of, and he wonders if she sees them too.

She blinks up at him as he skids to a stop in front of her desk. “Yes?”

“I drew this for you.”

She takes the drawing and he waits with baited breath for her response. She glances over it before rolling her green eyes back to Stiles’ face. “What is it?”

“It’s… uh…” Now that he’s here in front of her, admitting that he’d drawn her seems like a creepy thing to do. He can see Scott wincing sympathetically across the room. Stiles finally settles on, “It’s in color. Don’t you see?”

Lydia scowls. “No, I don’t see.”

His heart drops, because this is not how the stories go. In the stories, when you meet your soulmate your whole world suddenly changes, and you start to see color. Because they’re your soulmate, they see color too. You look at each other, and you see color, and it’s beautiful. That’s what happened with Stiles’ parents, that’s what happens in all the stories of true love Stiles has ever heard.

But Stiles sees color, and Lydia doesn’t.

This doesn’t make sense.

Stiles is very lost when he asks, “You don’t?”

“No, I don’t.” Lydia eyes him warily, glancing from the drawing to his face and back again. “Why, do you?”

“Uh… I… um…”

When he doesn’t give her a straight answer, she pins him under a very scrutinising stare. For a second Stiles swears that she’s seeing it too, that she knows exactly what he’s talking about, but then she silently pushes the paper back towards him.

Stiles feels like he might cry. “Keep it,” he says quietly. “I drew it for you.”

He turns to head back to Scott before she can reply, and his friend offers him a consolatory pat on the back.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Stiles shrugs. “Eh. At least I can see color now.”

Scott nods. “And at least she kept the drawing.”

Stiles spins so fast he almost falls over. He turns just in time to see Lydia tucking the paper into her bag behind her pencil case. Both are pink.

Stiles grins. It might take a little bit longer, but he knows that one day Lydia is going to look at him and see something more than grey.

I’ve waited a hundred years
But I’d wait a million more for you.
Nothing prepared me for
What the privilege of being yours would do.

If I had only felt the warmth within your touch
If I had only seen how you smile when you blush
Or how you curl your lip when you concentrate enough
Well I would have known
What I’ve been living for.

—  Sleeping At Last (Turning Page)

nerds-eye-view  asked:

#25 maybe with Joel going on a tangent about his meteor thing again to the reader? Maybe over the RT podcast where he just keeps getting more and more frustrated because Burnie and Gus are mocking him or whatever and the reader needs to calm him down a bit because (idk man do what you want, I'm gonna love whatever you do even if it isn't my prompt!)

“Joel. Joel!” you raced after your boyfriend as he stormed off the Podcast set before it was even over. You finally caught up to him, grabbing his arm and spinning him around to face you.

Joel was muttering to himself, frustrated and clearly upset, “I swear, I’m not crazy.”

You sighed, upset for him and rubbed his arm softly until he seemed to relax. “I know you’re not. Odd? Completely. Crazy? No.”

Joel’s muttering started to slow and he seemed to be coming back down to Earth. His eyes finally met yours and a small smile creeped onto his face before pulling you into a gentle hug.


“Dean,” you hissed, pulling him aside by the sleeve. “What the hell’s your problem?”

“Oh, I don’t have a problem, Y/N,” he said, his jaw tight. “I’m fan-friggin-tastic.”

“Do you have something to say about me bringing someone else into this?”

“I have a lot of things to say about it,” Dean said. “But I think if you would just take your eyes off his perfect face for a minute and look around you, you’d see for yourself that he’s screwing this whole case to hell.”

“He’s a good hunter; he’s got my back. He’s just trying to help and you’re the one being an ass.” You crossed your arms and refused to look away from Dean’s hard gaze. Dean shook his head and tore his eyes away first, pulling a deep breath through his nose.

“You know I’ve always had your back, Y/N,” he said, his tone softer now. “From day one I would have died before I let something happen to you.”


“I don’t know who the hell this guy is, alright?” Dean continued. His eyes were intense on you once more; he’d shifted closer, and with his arm just against yours, you were finding it hard to breathe steady under that hard look. “Maybe you think he’s just another hunter, but to me he’s one more thing that could get you hurt. So you’re damn right I’m going to give him a hard time if he thinks he knows you better or thinks he’s got your back out there before I do.”

x x

  • *in the lab*
  • Sherlock: *working*
  • Molly: *working*
  • Sherlock: *casually* Do you want to get married?
  • Molly: *pauses; looks around*
  • Molly: *confused* M-married?
  • Sherlock: To me, yes.
  • Molly: *chuckles nervously* Not...not 'married', though?
  • Sherlock: Yes.
  • Molly: *alarmed* What, like 'married'?
  • Sherlock: *irritated* Yes, married though.
  • Molly: *rolls her eyes* Yeah,'s not like a husband and wife type thing, is it?
  • Sherlock: *sighs* Yup.
  • Molly: *swallows* Well, we won't-
  • Sherlock: *fed up* Christ, Molly, yes. Married. You and I. I am talking having-dinner-wearing-rings-having-lots-of-kids-being-head-over-heels-in-love-spending-the-rest-of-our-lives-together married.
  • Molly: *smiles shyly* That is very married.
  • Sherlock: *nods*
  • Molly: *kisses his cheek* Okay, I'll marry you.
  • Sherlock: *smiles* I'd better get a ring, then.
  • Molly: *playfully slaps his arm*
  • *Sherlock's bedroom, 221B Baker Street*
  • Molly: *rummaging in the chest of drawers, wearing Sherlock's shirt; muttering* Where is it?
  • Sherlock: *in bed, propped on his elbow; watching her* You have your own drawer.
  • Molly: *distracted* You said I could.
  • Sherlock: One drawer isn't enough for all of your possessions.
  • Molly: *rolls her eyes* One drawer is plenty for some spare clothes and underwear. Mostly the underwear.
  • Sherlock: ...
  • Sherlock: All. Of your. Possessions.
  • Molly: *confused* You think that's all I own?
  • Sherlock: ...
  • Sherlock: *throws himself back; frustrated* Forget it.
  • Molly: *approaches and crawls across the bed until she's hovering over him; grinning* Ask me.
  • Sherlock: *stubborn* No.
  • Molly: *leans down to kiss him*
  • Sherlock: ...
  • Sherlock: *mumbles* Do you want to move in with me? I'll give you another drawer.
  • Molly: *giggles* Yeah, okay.
  • Sherlock: *narrows his eyes* What were you looking for?
  • Molly: *dismissive* Oh, never mind. I remembered I'm wearing it under this shirt.
  • Sherlock: You're not wearing-
  • Molly: *smirking*
  • Sherlock: Hmmm *playing with the shirt buttons* I think I'm going to enjoy living with you.
To all the girls who struggle to accept their self-beauty...

I want you to do this girl a favor.  It’s something I’ve been doing for the last few days now, and I’ve noticed that it really works.

Go find yourself a mirror.  Preferably the bathroom mirror, so you can close the door and not worry about anyone staring at you, but any mirror that lets you see your whole face easily will do.

Now, look at your reflection.  Lean in real close, so you can see every detail.  Look at your eyes–their shape and color, the length of your eyelashes, all of it.  Look at your nose–the shape, size, all of it (even that little pimple that everyone gets at least once that sits right on the middle).  Look at your lips–the corners, the color, the size, all of it.

Now, give your reflection a great big smile.  Smile at your reflection like you mean it–your reflection will smile back no matter what.

Look at that smile.  The way your eyes crinkle, the way your cheeks get all round and pudgy and cute, the way your dimples show, the way you look happy.

Now, tell your reflection that it’s beautiful, gorgeous, cute, anything you need to hear.  Imagine you’re meeting someone with a bright smile that looks exactly like you.  Tell them how beautiful they are.  Tell them how cute they are.  Say it as much as you have to.


Because it’s true.

You’re beautiful.  You’re gorgeous.  You’re cute.  But most of all, you’re you.  The way your eyes crinkle when you smile, the way your nose might have that cute little bubble on the tip, the way you smile, the shape of your face, everything–that’s all you and no one else.  There’s no comparison to be made–you’re the cutest damn thing on this side of the planet, you’re your own world.

Why am I asking you to do this?  Well, let me tell you a little story.  It’s brief, I promise.

My boyfriend always calls me cute.  Gorgeous.  Beautiful.  Everything.  And I could never bring myself to believe it.  I’ve always thought I was dumpy, lopsided, ugly.  I’m covered in zit-scars and I have a hunched back, so much that I was always called the Hunchback of Baltimore in school.  And I felt horrible, because I believed my boyfriend to be blind and not see how hideous I thought I was.

And one day, I wanted to know just what makes me so cute in his eyes.  I stared at my reflection for an hour.  I smiled.  I made cute faces.  I laughed.  I looked at every detail that I thought made me ugly–my uneven skin complexion, my pudgy cheeks and chin, my bubble-shaped nose.  And I realized something–I really am cute.  I have a cute smile that makes my cheeks even pudgier, I have a cute little bubble-nose that runs in my family, and I have beautiful hazel eyes.

So what if you don’t look like the models in the magazines or the stars in the movies?  There’s no comparing apples to oranges–you’re you, not the models or stars, and they’re not you.  You’re beautiful, you’re gorgeous, you’re cute, you are your own goddess.

So smile and mean it, girls–you’re beautiful no matter what.

some people probably think I’m quite prudish because I don’t talk about sexuality publicly or with peripheral friends or really express my sexuality in public photos, etc. but the real of it is that I don’t have the patience to put myself through the inevitable weiner that springs, erect, from the bushes to try to push boundaries with me LIKE I do not want to speak to strangers about this shit I do not want randos’ opinions about my fuckability, I do not want creepy people in my life I just don’t want to deal with it, so I have to carefully corral that part of my personality to avoid it & tbh this is one of the things I resent most in life like people don’t stay in their lane so I have to edit my personality to compensate for the stupidity of the masses of people who’s parents didn’t teach them how to be decent human beings

Sherlolly Halloweek: Day Two
  • *a haunted house*
  • Molly: *looking around nervously
  • Sherlock: *examining paintings; smirking* Fascinating.
  • Molly: *moves closer* What?
  • Sherlock: *gestures* A panel behind the eyes. I thought they only did that in movies.
  • Molly: *hurriedly* Yeah, does it mean anything?
  • Sherlock: *shrugs* Perhaps.
  • Molly: *exasperated* Why did I agree to this?
  • Sherlock: *feels along the frame* Because you love a challenge.
  • Molly: *folds her arms* An And Then There Were None themed dinner? Against our friends? I like a challenge not Mission Impossible.
  • Sherlock: *amused* What makes you say that?
  • Molly: *blushes* Well, you know...I'm sorry you got landed with me *smiles nervously*
  • Sherlock: *smiles at her* You're excellent company, Molly *goes back to checking out the wall* and we're going to win.
  • Molly: Oh?
  • Sherlock: *nods* Our host stupidly paired John and Mary together. First night away from the baby? They're not going to be interested in a fake murder mystery.
  • Molly: *chuckles* I suppose not.
  • Sherlock: *still looking* Graham and Mycroft started in the kitchen. No chance of them winning. Irene and Anthea are our biggest competition. Ah-ha! *pushes the painting upswards*
  • -a trapdoor opens beneath their feet and they fall into a dark cell-
  • Sherlock: *rubbing his head* Are you okay?
  • Molly: *groans* Yeah. It's okay I landed on something soft.
  • Sherlock: *pained* Yes. would you mind-
  • Molly: *hastily stands up* Oh, God, sorry *looks uo at the trapdoor; sighs* Nice one, genius.
  • Sherlock: *mutters* I didn't see you do any better.

You stared at Dean, quiet for a moment until he met your eyes.

“What?” he asked.

“How can you say that? How can you have that much faith in me after everything?”

“Are you kidding me, Y/N? It’s because of everything I’ve seen you do that I believe in you. And you’re going to kick it in the ass. Just like always,” he said, and his words were fervent, adamant, with his personal truth about you.


thank u @holdmyhansolo for the tag a few days ago - sorry i missed it!! xox

1. How tall are you? 5′. i’m fuckin short pray 4 me

2. What color and style is your hair? rey circa tlj toy box. but lighter bc my hair refuses to not be blonde.

3. What color are your eyes? green

4. Do you wear glasses? yes im blind

5. Do you have braces? nope!

6. What is your fashion sense? uh. sometimes i wear cute dresses and sometimes i wear dumb t shirts. 

7. Do you have any siblings? yes a lot

8. What kind of student are you? i’m not

9. What are your favourite subjects? science & history 

10. What are your favourite TV shows? RIGHT NOW GIRLS. 

11. Favorite books? amityville horror tbh

12. Favorite pastimes? music & cross stitching

13. Any regrets? my entire life is Regret

14. What is your dream job? meteorologist doing hurricane research for noaa.

15. Do you want to get married? maybe

16. Do you want to have kids and how many? YES. idk how many tho.

17. How many countries have you visited? uh just america and the bahamas.

tagging @cockbiteproductions @noneeyewithleftyork @alchernilla @originalpercival @andybrnards @joelslegs & anyone else who’d like to partake!!

Fuck you and your opinion
How could you be so blind?
What goes around
Comes back around in time

Dear Future Wife...#619

I’m a night owl. You’re a morning person. Not always, but mostly you get sleepy before I do and I wake up later than you. So this wonderful thing happens when we fall asleep together…

You start getting snoozy and snuggle into your pillow and I’m propped up on my elbow watching you half doze off and half try to maintain a conversation. Most of the time you open one eye and half smile at me and ask “what are you looking at?” And almost always my response is “just you being so cute” and you laugh that little sleepy laugh and close your eyes again. I kiss you on the forehead, turn off the light, and snuggle in for the night.

In the morning, more often than not, you’re up first. I never know how long you’ve been up, but eventually I feel you stretch and I snuggle into your side or throw my arm over you, trying to rub the sleep out of my eyes. As my vision starts to sharpen, I see you looking at me, smirking that little smirk. And when I ask why, you usually say “just looking at you” and that day starts with the best warm and fuzzies.

I always called my staring creepy, and you just laughed and never seemed to mind. It’s how you look at me in our mornings. I always ask “why” but I always know the answer. What you made me realize tonight when you were dozing off is that how we look at each other in those moments is how so many people wished someone would look at them…how someone would feel about them.

And it’s true. You’re my favorite person in my world. You make my heart soar and set my soul on fire. You make me brave and you love me for exactly who I am. You make me feel free and safe and cherished. I’m pretty sure we do these things for each other. And because of all this, because I can’t believe I’m so lucky to have found you…in quiet moments, when you take my breath away just because you’re you, all I can do is look at you the way that I always will. I don’t have to long for this. I have it. You found me.


“Y/N–I really need to tell you something,” Dean said, avoiding your eyes. You waited patiently for him to go on and say the words he’d begun but never finished so many times before. Sam interrupted though, sneaking in behind Dean’s shoulder and startling him.

“Sam, what the hell are you doing?” Dean asked, looking over his shoulder. Sam let out a laugh, standing tall again and looking between the two of you.

“I don’t know. I’m bored.”

“Well, you should go ask if you can buy Jody a drink–birthday girl shouldn’t have to pay for her own,” Dean said. “Y/N and I were kind of in the middle of something.”

“I doubt that, but it sounds more interesting than the bar,” Sam said, taking a seat next to the visibly chagrined Dean. “What were you guys talking about?”


i know i should stop doing this to myself but i went onto your account today.
i saw you posted a photo with some girl.

and god it makes me so angry,
it makes me angry because now i’m hating on some girl i don’t even know.

and i hate feeling this way.
i hate feeling like a terrible person.

you did this.
you fucking did this to us.

i want to look you in the eyes,
shake your shoulders,
and scream,

—  letters from drake’s ex; fuck you, i hate you, i’ll move out in a heartbeat