dream grandpa

Just a Nightmare

shhhitstopsecret submitted:

My mom once told me a story about this dream she had when she was a little girl. She has five sisters and she lived on a farm till she was 19 and the whole time she lived there she shared a room with two of her sisters. One night she was about 9 at the time when her door opened and a man walked in and stood over her sister Tiffany’s bed watching her sleep. She told me she was so scared she couldn’t move and couldn’t speak. The man wasn’t my grandpa or even some one she knew. He stood there for hours just looking at my aunt with his back to my mom. The next morning she went downstairs and just to reassure herself it was just a dream asked if my grandpa locked the doors After he answered yes, she checked all the doors and windows too make sure nothing was broken.

This Thanksgiving at dinner my grandma started a joking conversation about Halloween and scary things at the dinner table. After everyone was done laughing at my moms story about this one time a garter snake was on the windowsill and made her cry. My aunt Tiffany started something about a nightmare that stuck with her through the years about a man that stood over her all night once when she was a kid. “In the middle of the night a man walked into our room and stood over me for hours just breathing. I kept my eyes closed because I was so scared of him finding out I was awake.” Everyone in the room was kinda spooked but my mom and another one of my aunts started tearing up. “I thought it was just a nightmare too.”

Fuck Yeah Nightmares Mod James: 9/10 Alright, I’m not sure what it is about this one but right now I find it creepy as FUCK.  Thanks for sharing the scares!

anonymous asked:

Rick Sanchez is one sexy son-of-a-bitch and I'm glad that you also think that

I needed to scream about my love for Rick Sanchez, goD BLESS THIS POST!!!

@reconnedkyu look fam u don’t understand ok.

my grandma used to have a lil goat named Sassy.

Sassy somehow survived being run over by two trucks, a golf cart, and a van (she was horrible about jumping out behind vehicles as they backed up). and somehow seemed to grow meaner each time.

Everyone who frequented my grandma’s house has at LEAST one big indented scar on them where this goddamn goat literally bit gigantic chunks out of u. completely unprovoked. she would also head-butt the backs of your legs hard enough to knock you over, and then try to bite your face when you fell. 

she had babies. the babies were just as mean. lets just say my grandma, who had owned goats for over 20 years kind of lost some interest in goats after that little demon. she raises chickens and birds now instead.

Me: *has a good amount of social anxiety, social awkwardness, hates interrupting people and putting people out, exponentially ingrained in her after living for years in Japan*

Also me: *picks a profession where you have to go in person to knock on doors to look for openings*

I was supposed to be out doing this this morning but I had a weird dream that freaked me out and it destroyed my morale so I sat in bed for half the day. I’m doing a bad job at this.

had a dream where i had a friend named Roy and i was walkijg w him after school w his dad and the thing is i was helping him out but the dad just kinda starts criticizing everything i do out of no where and telling me how ill never succeed in life and hes telling me rhis when im supposed to help him make dinner for a party and then he almost got ran over by a car

then like. in the dream my house is his house actually and so like. im really fuckin pissed that i was told all tgat and Roy didnt even defend me so whaf i do is grab stickers of words to make the sentence “just wait. itll all be over soon.” and sneak into Roy’s parents’ room thru the fridgr to put it on their wall to freak them out. then i pay his 2 older brothers (alex and michael) to tell me when the coast is clear to do the sticker thing

“Two’s company” - h.s. Part 1

Bring on the smut.



Willard Crown was one of the best men Harry had ever known, and you knew that but you were trying to forget about it as you stood there in the corner at the funeral reception drinking alcohol. 

But it still bothered you that he was here talking with your mum considering it was your grandfather that had passed away and just Harry’s childhood babysitter. He seemed to be quite at ease with the whole situation in his black button up shirt and black dress pants. His hair freshly cut from being on set for whatever movie he’d been working on and his hands moving as he talked to your mum as if it hadn’t been probably five years since she’d seen her. 

It wasn’t that you were mad at Harry really, because the fact that he’d flown all the way from wherever he was in the world to be here today for your grandfather’s funeral was sweet and sincere. But quite honestly, you needed someone to be mad at and you’d spent quite a long time being mad at your cousins that it didn’t feel as good to be mad at them because of this.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault that your grandfather had passed away. It had been natural causes - old age. But still, why the fuck was Harry here? 

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

bruh u fuckin sinner,,, im into that aob rickmorty shit now i need mORE OF IT GODD

Ask and ye shall receive fellow sinner~

So like, I have a headcanon that omegas under stress or in heat can be WAY stronger then alpha’s. It’s an evolutionary trait that omegas developed to fight back unwanted alphas and better protect there young.

But imagine it with Morty. Tiny little Morty who’s been bullied and pestered by every one. He presents as an Omega and the next time someone decides to tease him and Morty gets ready to defend himself he’s shocked to realize that he can PUNCH A BITCH OUT. And that’s already a perk he can FUCKING GET BEHIND.

But now he and Rick are out and about exploring the galaxy when Morty has an early heat and Rick who’s always been able to drag Morty like a rag doll for the first time is powerless to his own grandson. And Morty is not in a talking things out mood. Rick is a powerful Alpha and only a stupid Omega would not want to mate with someone like Rick and Morty has been having naughty dreams about his grandpa for awhile now. And its all just coming up at once.

Morty full of adrenaline and temporarily stronger then Rick is pinning him down and tearing at his clothes and grinding there bodies together and Rick is so taken aback and turned on. He love’s dangerous things, it gives him a rush and Morty like this is dangerous and wild and totally inhibited and he knows he should try putting up more of a fight but he’s a fucking deer in the headlights letting Morty take what he wants.

And Morty wants. And takes. He’s ripping off Rick’s pants and practically choking down his grandpa’s cock the moment its available and he’s a mewling mess stroking himself and leaking sleek and the smells and noises just flood Rick and he’s growling trying to push Morty but Morty is having none of it. Soon there sex is a war a constant battle to be taking from the other person.

Morty is TOTALLY out of it when his heat ends. Because he has hickies and bruises and he’s never been so SORE and he won’t be able to walk for days but if he’s bad Rick is worse. Like Rick is COVERED. Looks like he’s been fighting and when Rick tells Morty what he did to his own grandpa how he pinned him down and demanded and took Morty is in shock. He’s more shocked when Rick asks him to do it again.

okay so i’ve been reading up on those “glitch in the matrix” things and i want to share a couple stories. they’re more “psychic” and coincidental, but they’re still kinda freaky.

  1. I have a tendency to dream about people before they die. I had a dream my grandpa was riding a horse, and the very next day my mother told me he had been bucked off a horse and had passed away. I had a dream that my uncle was swimming, and the next day I learned he had drowned. I had a dream about a man hanging by his neck in his closet. The next day they found my 2nd cousin hanging dead in his closet. I had a dream about my grandmother just going about her day in her apartment. She was found dead on the floor of her apartment the next day.
  2. My cousin and I were in a graveyard talking about his old school. We were talking about the kids there and how he really didn’t fit in, so he was glad to have switched schools. As we’re about to leave, he gets a call. Remember, we are in a graveyard. A kid from his old school had suddenly died. My cousin cannot enter graveyards now, for he fears he’ll get another call.
  3. This happened this morning. So I woke up at 7am and I was like “no” so I turned over to go back to sleep. I couldn’t sleep so I just sat on my laptop for a little while, went downstairs, got some food, sat around with my sister and played the Wii with her, came back upstairs later and laid down on my bed and stared at the ceiling. it felt like it was around 3pm. I suddenly felt weird, so I checked my clock. It was barely past 10am. I told my sister about it and she said “I’ve been up since 8. You haven’t been down here at all.”
Writing Check-In, When the Moon, Ch 14

A very small slice of sleepytime comfort for my dumped anon, my migraine anon, my triggered anon, and anyone else who could use a little sweetness tonight. <3

I’m in a place at once familiar and impossible: the Seam house I grew up in, yet as I’ve never seen it before. There is a merry, sooty coal fire on the hearth, blazing cheerfully beneath a beribboned garland of pine, and all about are the comforting scents of snow-dampened wool and leather and furs, of rabbit stew, deer-blood sausage, and hot acorn bread spread with goat cheese and honey.

It feels like home, but not my own.

I’m sitting in Granny Ashpet’s rocking chair, wearing a long dress of soft red plaid cotton. My lap is draped with a familiar ashen-silver fur with glints of copper; my fox fur – my true skin, I think idly – and I curl forward to hug the firm, proud swell of my belly with both arms.

The babies are elated.

I don’t know how I know this, but I do. They’re so full of joy that it almost hurts. They’re coming soon, so soon now, and I’m impatient to cradle and cuddle them, to guide a hungry little mouth to each breast and kiss their sweet tiny faces as they suckle.

My grandmother is seated on a crate with my bare feet in her lap, massaging them with her strong tanned hands. She’s older than she ever lived to be: her hair, pinned in a slapdash sort of bun at her nape, is almost entirely silver, and her striking face is lined by decades of happiness and hours spent hunting beneath the sun, and yet she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. “It’s not often we get a visit from the moon herself,” she remarks, as though we’ve been at this conversation for some time, not just beginning it. “And how are the fawnlings today?” she wonders, looking up with a dazzling smile.

“Fawns?” says a man’s voice, brimming with laughter, and Grandpa Asa comes up beside her, a jaunty cap tugged low over his wild shock of gray hair and the beginnings of a stick dolly in one hand. “’Tis a peeping fat goose, acushla,” he corrects her with a wink, “silver as dandelion-down, and a merry golden kit. Goslit and kitling,” he informs us, gently laying his free hand on my belly. “None other could it be.”

He is neither handsome nor ugly, this man I have never quite been able to picture in my mind, with his hooked nose and soft gray eyes. He has a face that instantly feels like home, like sooty fires and musty quilts and ancient lullabies, and I no longer wonder why Granny Ashpet chose a slight, plain dreamer of a boy over every other in the district.

My grandfather is gentleness incarnate, and I see the adoration in Granny Ashpet’s face as she looks up at him – a feat not often achieved between the two of them, owing to my grandmother’s superior height. “Think you so, lover?” she wonders. “This doe wants fawns, make no mistake, and her golden boy is crowned with antlers.”

“That signifies little enough,” says Aunt Laurel in passing and I look up with a grin, half expecting her to be wearing her own antlers, but she looks so wonderfully ordinary and Seam-born with her muddy boots and flannel coat and silver-threaded braids that I want to clamber up from this chair and hug her about the waist. She’s about an inch taller than her aging father, making it painfully clear just how diminutive he truly is, and takes full advantage of this by pressing a sound smack of a kiss atop his capped head.

“Have you never seen her mate, Papa?” she wonders. “The sun himself, he is. She carries the stars in her womb, Morning and Evening both. Jackie!” she calls. “Tell them. You know better than anyone.”

My father emerges from the next room, wreathed in smiles and handsomer than ever, his faintly silvered black hair tied back at the temples. “You silly lot!” he laughs fondly. “You’re all more hair than wit. Catkin has loved the white bear since long before she understood it. She wept like a bereaved lover not to have him in her arms when she was just five years old, make no mistake about it. I told her he would come to her in time; all she need do was wait, and so he did.

“Catkins and cubs,” he declares, coming over to press a kiss to the kerchief tied about my braids like a little red cap. “White bear-cubs and downy silver catkins,” he says, with a caress of my cheek. “My daughter would have nothing less.”

“Beloved!” cries a muffled voice that makes my heart leap and the babes in my belly surge about wildly. “What madness is your kin conspiring with all this talk of animals?”

My husband has come.

Warm golden light seeps around the edges of the front door, brighter and more beautiful than any lantern or torch. The light of the sun itself, powerful enough to hatch black and gold nestlings from pebbles.

“Open the door to me, Katniss,” he implores, “for I am heavy-burdened with gifts and mean to kiss you at once, and thoroughly, upon my entering.”

I laugh delightedly and shake off my kin, wriggling out of the chair with a great heave for my heavy belly. I’m half-delirious with eagerness and the babies are twice so, tremoring inside me with anticipation for their father. The promised kiss, of course, is only the beginning. My beloved intends to carry me to the nearest bed of musty quilts and there love me from head to foot, lavishing an immeasurable span of time on my belly, where our children lie, and lower down; the secret place, where he entered to plant them inside me. His touches there are the sweetest of all, and I blush deeply at the thought of engaging in such delicious intimacies while my family waits in the room adjacent, but a little embarrassment is not enough to give me pause, not when I am so near to joining with my beloved once more.

“Whatever form he appears in is the form the babes will take!” Granny Ashpet whispers urgently, somewhere behind me.

“I’ll take that bet,” her daughter whispers back.

“Don’t bother with your trappings,” Granny Ashpet calls to my unseen beloved. “Your bride is anxious to see your face.”

“As am I for hers,” he calls in reply, then beseeches me with blatant adoration: “Moon-willow, vixen, sweet songbird who made her nest in my heart: please let me in! I am dying for want of your lips on mine and your precious body in my arms.”

I take hold of the latch, the metal gently warmed by his presence on the other side, and lift it with eager, trembling fingers. Whatever waits for me beyond this door – a magnificent golden buck, a great white bear, a silly yellow gander, or a young man incandescent with the sun’s own light – I love him all, and all of him, and I ache to see our babes and hold them in my arms.

But not before I hold him, and love him with all my might.

I fling the door wide open to a glorious blaze of hot, honey-golden light –

– and I wake with an audible pang, my belly heavy and hollow and my heart a cold knot of grief.

No mysterious, unseen beloved. No babes. My father and his family are all dead, not surrounding me in gentle affection and making playful guesses as to the nature of my unborn twins.

And yet I’m not alone.

I’m lying beside – half on top of – a soundly sleeping Peeta, his powerful body cocooned around mine, snugging me solidly between his glorious warm bulk and the cushioned back of the sofa.

I smile.

Welcome, beloved,” I whisper soundlessly, tracing his heart with a fingertip, and shiver at the daring words cascading from my tongue, still caught up in the bittersweet, beautiful dream. “My door is always open to you, and my arms.

He gives a soft grunt in response, making me start, and one strong hand slides over my body to cover my hand on his chest. “Sweetheart,” he drowses. “M’ little sweetheart…”

“Not quite,” I tell him sadly, almost silently. “You’ve caught a little black bird – tamed her, in fact – but she’s not the right one.”

Only one,” he slurs insistently.

“I know, sweet boy,” I assure him with a gentle kiss to his forehead. “There’s only one bird for you, and always has been. We’ll get her for you, even if I have to lay the snare myself.”

“She lays the snares,” he sighs. “Lays snares for me…shimmering nets of moonlight…in her eyes.”

“And you want the moon,” I reply, intending to comfort him with the reminder, but I can barely choke out the words.

“I watch her,” he whispers. “Look for her every day in the sky, but she never comes near the sun. She’s barely close enough to feel his light…never close enough to hold.”

“She will be,” I promise, even as it breaks my heart to identify his sweetheart – some other birdlike Seam girl – as the huntress-moon. “Perhaps she’ll surprise you and catch hold of you herself,” I suggest. “She is a huntress, after all.”

My huntress,” he grunts, squeezing my hand, and I let a smile sneak onto my lips. However wildly he dreams of his sweetheart, he still knows who I am, even in slumber.

“Yours, whole and entire,” I agree, dipping my head to kiss his hand where it covers mine on his chest. “Always and entirely yours.”

He gives a pleasured little “Mmm…” in reply and sinks into slow deep breaths once more.

Note: I have a personal headcanon (for my headcanon :P) that Jack Everdeen’s parents called him “Jackie” and thus if his little sister had survived, she would have done so too. 

Also, this is totally not original fiction in any way. Katniss totally had grandparents so it’s not like I’m, erm, making all any of this up…