dirty walls

“Aw, come the fuck on, not again..” Mick muttered in frustration as he dug through his pockets, to no avail. He’d forgotten to grab more cigarettes in town today. He groaned to himself, sitting back in the dusty white lawn chair that wasn’t exactly fit for a man of his size. It was what he had found out back of the base to sit in, so he sat in it.
He wondered if anyone else would be around and be kind enough to spare him a cigarette.. He leaned his head back against the dirty wall behind him and sighed as he squinted up at the evening sky through his silver sunglasses.
He didn’t even feel like getting up to see if he could find someone willing to part with some. Maybe if he was lucky enough, someone would wander by.. 

aciiidbath  asked:

ღ (dr jack and lex)

The kiss was exactly according to plan.  Really,
Jack Napier was far too easy to pull into his orbit,
for reasons Lex didn’t really care enough to understand.
It didn’t matter, now, with the doctor’s mouth against
his; here, now, there were only the dirty walls of the
asylum and the sensation of Napier’s lips against
his own.

God, it had been ages since he’d kissed someone.

nonbinarbee  asked:

So my mum has always wondered why there are these weird dirty marks on two walls in every room of our house that have slowly gotten longer over the last 10 years and it's because after school I would pace and touch each wall for 3 hours every day

Lol Mr. Clean Magic Eraser works wonders!

i started this. i don’t know if i should finish it. going to be based off the blue carbuncle but i am not a writer. teen sherlock, going based off new television series.





Quiet, it’s quiet where John is now. He realizes this when he notices how much his footsteps reverberate against the dirty, off-white walls of the schoolway. He was curious as to why everyone was absent, and why not a sound could be heard, and then he realized; he was stuck in the hall during a lockdown. Everyone did seem to panic, even when it was just a drill. While he was beginning to get a sweat, he found himself remaining cool, collected, simply looking for an unlocked bathroom or a roamer. What he found instead was who he assumed was another student, and he tried to hurriedly approach him.

He didn’t dare say a word, but once he was in a close enough proximity he gave the other student a tap, getting a glance back, and then a wave off. John was taken aback, maybe even offended, until he was glanced at once more and then thoroughly examined. The others eyes were narrowed now, and it wasn’t too long until John was being pulled aside against a wall, out of the way of the hallway.

“Are you an idiot? Don’t answer that, rhetorical. Of course you are, I can tell in the way you blatantly approached a stranger in the midst of a hysterical crisis. I know there’s a lockdown going on, but do you? And for what…” he looked behind John, before meeting his eyes again, “Obviously not a shooter…couldn’t be drugs either now could it? No dogs, I can tell you have allergies, you would be going a bit crazy at this point with those dark circles…no, no, something was stolen. But what? Isn’t that the overwhelming question? Beyond that, who are you? Obviously senior, sporty, mother service job, nurse possibly, father previous corps, now blue collar…honor and standard student, not one to earn much college credit, soci-”

John was beginning to get a dry look before he raised his hand to cut the other student off, “Would you be quiet? What a brilliant observation, but currently I don’t really care. I’m John Watson. What were you saying? What has been stolen?”

Where the road could have parted

I’d prayed stupidly for transformation, for epiphany, for any damn sense of calm self-realization as I sat there with my back against the dirty wall.

My hair tugged painfully where the frazzled ends met with discarded chunks of gum the wall—but the pinpricks of pain were soothing compared to the electrical storm of anxiety that pressed against the horizon. I buried my head in my head in my hands and released curses that at the time felt poetic, but were spoken in the odd, stumbling voice of an inebriated and otherwise ineloquent wretch of a woman.

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So, remember a week or so ago when I told you about my weird day leading me to my grandparents’ old house and then to their graves?  And remember when the really nice people who own it now, Tami and Patrick, invited me to come see it?  Well, today was the day!  My dad and I, along with my mom and stepdad swung by the old place today where we were graciously welcomed by the “new” homeowners.  They’ve actually owned the house for three years now, so while it isn’t new for them anymore, being there without my grandparents was very, very new.  The main word that comes to mind when I think of our visit today is closure.  I was worried I’d leave their home with sad memories, but instead I felt overjoyed.  Let me tell you why….

THE POOL IS OPEN!  I didn’t take any pictures of it, but last time I was in that pool, I was shooting a paint gun at the empty dirty walls of it.  Papa had stopped keeping up with it when he reached 85 or so. I learned to swim in that pool.  My parents had parties at that pool as teenagers.  Tami and Patrick’s adorable (GIANT) dog Frank even took a swim while we were there.  It was magical to see it open again, remembering homemade peach ice cream and watermelon (before I was allergic to it and hated it’s stupid red guts).  It was nice to talk to Tami and Patrick about the giant graveyard grasshoppers I used to chase growing up-and even though it’s creepy that they live in areas near graveyards, it’s nice to know they’re still around.

SOME THINGS HAVE CHANGED SO MUCH!  Walls painted.  Foreign furniture.  They even removed all the carpeting revealing perfectly preserved hardwoods:

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This next room used to be my grandparents’ den.  It was very small and being old school, they had a den and a “DON’T EVER TOUCH ANYTHING IN THIS ROOM OR I WILL KILL YOU” living room.  The den was so small.  The door leading outside was blocked by Grandbetty’s chair where she would sit and peel oranges or do crossword puzzles.  Papa’s couch was against the wall with a large side table, holding his artificially sweetened ice tea, glasses, and the remote, his wallet hidden beneath. They watched Wheel of Fortune here, saving recorded episodes via VHS for us to play as a family when we visited.  This was also where I took all my naps into my twenties, on the love seat against the china closet.  It is now a foyer.  The door is easily accessible and the owners use it to go in and out instead of the kitchen door I knew so well.  It makes so much sense this way….

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Side note: The owners cover their furniture because of their dog.  There are nice chairs underneath those covers.  I think they would want you to know that.

SO MUCH IS THE SAME!  In my head, the entire house would look so completely different that I would barely recognize it.  I’m not sure why I thought this.  There is NO WAY Rick and I would totally transform a house in three years.  We’ve owned ours for a year and have yet to replace the countertops and we’ve only painted one room.  When I walked into the kitchen, not only did it look EXACTLY THE SAME, but there-in the middle-was my grandparents tables and chairs!  The table I played twelve thousand games of Gin Rummy and Shanghai at.  The table I ate my ice cream soup, homemade popcorn, and cheese toast at.  The fridge was still there-I wanted so badly to open it up and find Papa’s homemade rock hard frozen brownies and pickled cucumbers.  The only thing this kitchen was missing was a Mary Engelbreit calendar and a giant fork and spoon on the wall.  I LOST IT.

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Luckily, this was toward the beginning of the visit, so I got that right out of the way.  After I collected myself, I noticed another fascinating tidbit.  The phone!  My grandfather had written down my number on top of the phone in case they needed to reach me, and yall, IT WAS STILL THERE!  I have never been so happy in all my life.  There it was.  His phone.  His handwriting.  My name.  My number.  And these owners LEFT IT THERE-because they’re amazing.  Tami even offered to give me the phone, but I am so happy that it’s still there-right where it belongs. I don’t want it to move.

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The sunroom still has a lamp in it Grandbetty and Papa had from the Phillipines.

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Also, a tiffany lamp my dad and Grandbetty had carried from Mexico into the U.S.  I forgot to ask about this story, but I’m assuming it had something to do with their time in Arizona.  Grandbetty and I (and other members of the family, especially Aunt Gay) put jigsaw puzzles together in this room.  I also spent many hours here listening to old records on their victrola, which I now own.  

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Upstairs, which used to be full of beds for Grandbetty and Papa’s large family, is now a party room.  It still smelled the same and looked the same, minus the beds and furniture. Patrick is musical and uses the stage upstairs (that Sarah and I used to “perform” on) to entertain with his band-that may or may not still be together.

As we went to the last place, I prayed silently.  “Please still be there. Please still be there.” Patrick must have read my mind because when I asked to see the basement he said, “It’s still there!”  And it was.  THE WALL.  THE WALL WITH OUR HEIGHTS.  THE WALL WITH EVERY FAMILY MEMBER’S HEIGHTS THAT GRANDBETTY WOULD MAKE US STAND IN FRONT OF EVERY FEW YEARS.  I loved these people before, but I wanted to give them a million dollars.  From Papa’s writing to Grandbetty’s.  OH MY GOSH THIS IS THE BEST MOMENT OF MY LIFE.

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And our favorite part is when Grandbetty stopped measuring my dad.  If you look closely through the crackling paint, you can still see her hilariously documenting that “Bill stopped growing.”

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I cannot put into words how good this was for my soul.  These folks are so friendly.  They utilize the home in every possible way.  They are smart and creative and they just belong here.  Patrick even told me he had MET my Papa years ago when he was doing some electrical work at the pool house.  Neither of them knew that one day, Papa’s home would be Patrick’s and Tami’s-but I am so glad it is.  My worst fear was that their home would go into a state of disrepair, but it seems it’s new life is just beginning.

I Went Inside My Grandparents’ Old House And Only Cried Once So, remember a week or so ago when I told you about my weird day leading me to my grandparents’ old house and then to their graves?  
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Shinigami fought against the chains that kept her from using her magic and forced her to rely on her strength and defiance. The Knights pushed and dragged her harshly as her movements become more irritable. Like a wild animal cornered in a cage she spat our her disdain and annoyance of her situation, kicking and clawing as much as she could. Which only resulted in her being knocked out by one of the knights, carrying her the rest of the way to the castle.

Shinigami had been caught casting a spell for a costumer, who had asked her to heal her father. Turns out she was part of the kingdom’s knights who were undercover to weed out the Witches of the villages.

That’s what she gets for helping someone out. It never ends well…

When she woke up she was handcuffed to a dirty bricked wall a foot from the floor in a small dark cell.

She snarled, thrashing herself around in blind fury.

LET. ME. OUT! She screamed. The guards were yelling at her to keep it down, but this only prodded her to scream louder.

And that’s when HIS voice rang through the hall. The disgusting coward who over threw her coven and destroyed it until it was nothing. Leaving her to be by herself in the practice.

COWARDLY SON OF A- OOF! They had unlocked the cell, and one of the guards had struck her in the abdomen with the handle of his sword.

She gasped and coughed for air as the sounds of the King’s footsteps echoed through her prison. She looked up at him with a scowl only the devil himself could come close to, hair slithered off her shoulder and covered her right eye.

BURN ME. SEE IF I CARE. I. WILL. COME. BACK. Her breath grew heavy as did her rage. You. Will. See.

@footxkame

shxdowmonarch  asked:

Rough touch

Result: 12 - My muse slams yours against a wall hard

Bakura knew when he was being followed. The prickling feeling on the back of his neck, a face in the crowd that was seen again and again no matter how many turns he took, the flash of something cold and calculating in those dark eyes when he turned his head, checking to see if his tail was still on him. Whoever the hell this fucker was needed to be taught a lesson. Bakura turned down a narrow side street, blending in with the shadows and waiting until his follower had done the same, fingers tightening around the handle of the switchblade as he waited for the figure to come into range.

Patience… Patience… Now! Bakura threw himself at the man, slamming him against the dirty concrete wall of the alley and pressing the point of his knife against the stranger’s throat. “Well now, who do we have here?”

But was it love? … Was it simply the hysteria of a man who, aware deep down of his inaptitude for love, felt the self-deluding need to simulate it? … Looking out over the courtyard at the dirty walls, he realized he had no idea whether it was hysteria or love.
2

Five foot deep
18 foot tall
physical expression
of what you say are
just words and ideas
they told us they use
tracking and hunting tricks
of Native American tribes
groomed trails
to detect footprints
on our land
the irony
is lost on them
a shoe
and a water bottle
sit in Mexico
they tell us when they
find them
they sit in shame
so the
rescues are easy
without us they say
who would rescue them
yesterday
Lily told us how she
lost her daughter
the wind screams
as it blows through
holes in the fence
even she is disturbed
by its break
in her freedom
to move naturally
across
while the ghosts
scream in unison
at our
dirty feet

(Wall between Juarez, Mexico and El Paso, Texas taken August 16, 2016)

Thin Walls and Dirty Confessions

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2aXI2I2

by 4Jackles

Dean and Cas have been friends and neighbors going on three years. Both men have been secretly pining for each other, but neither of them want to ruin what’s turned out to be a great friendship.

So far, Dean’s been able to push his feelings for Cas to the back of his mind…until he overhears Cas through the shower wall one night. After that night, it happens again and again.

Does Castiel realize how loud he is, is he alone, or has Dean waited too long to act on his feelings? On a whim, Dean invites Cas over for dinner and movies. Will a little liquid courage help them admit their feelings?

Words: 6128, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English



read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2aXI2I2
Thin Walls and Dirty Confessions

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2aXI2I2

by 4Jackles

Dean and Cas have been friends and neighbors going on three years. Both men have been secretly pining for each other, but neither of them want to ruin what’s turned out to be a great friendship.

So far, Dean’s been able to push his feelings for Cas to the back of his mind…until he overhears Cas through the shower wall one night. After that night, it happens again and again.

Does Castiel realize how loud he is, is he alone, or has Dean waited too long to act on his feelings? On a whim, Dean invites Cas over for dinner and movies. Will a little liquid courage help them admit their feelings?

Words: 6128, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English



read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2aXI2I2

the last thing elliot could remember was the dirty floors and brick walls of the basement he was recuperating in. who was he to trust his memory? he hadn’t seen anyone other than henchmen or mr. robot in days —  so the feeling of fresh air was surprising, to say the least. the slight breeze stung the open wounds that weren’t concealed by his hoodie. the faster his feet carried him, the more unfamiliar his surroundings became. this wasn’t chinatown. hell, this wasn’t even NEW YORK. this place looked like a million dollar post apocalyptic tv set. oh, god. not again. there was nobody in his vicinity. now, people and scenarios were one thing, but delusions of a whole CITY? this was uncharted territory for him.  ❛ — — HELLO? ❜ at this point, he had no idea who he was calling out to. this was it. he was completely batshit. ❛ where am i?