dusty shelf

So apparently my theme for today is to just think about Dean scamming his friends and Cas just whatever about it.

Any who,

Don’t think about Dean making another bet with another friend when they spot Cas in the campus’ cafeteria getting some tea. And Dean is just, “check this, I bet you 50 bucks that I can get Novak’s study guide notes and you know, his number and an ass grab.” And the friend just bursts out laughing like, “Dean, do you think I’m an idiot? Novak doesn’t lust after anyone who isn’t a 1,200 word book on a dusty shelf in the library.”

And Dean holds out his hand like, “Then you have nothing to worry about.”

So like before, the friend takes the bet and grabs a table to watch Dean’s downfall and epic demise of being crushed by the infamous Castiel Novak who turns down everyone’s advances.

Dean, being the sly fox that he is, just goes up to Cas by the counter where he’s waiting for his tea and leans close to his ear and whispers, “okay, okay, I know I said I’d stop with the bets when my friends figured out we’re dating but my friends are dense like me so babe, there are still a few who haven’t caught on.”

And Cas just sighs and goes, “you’re an awful friend.”

Then Dean just smiles and steps into Cas’ space and puts his hands on his hips and goes, “but you like me and quite frankly that’s all that really matters.” Then Cas wraps his arms around Dean’s neck and Dean kisses him and his hands slip down and just GRABS THE BOOTY and the friend is choking on air because WHAT?!

AND Dean just smiles and goes, “I was wondering, you mind if I borrow your biology notes for our test next week?”

And Cas shakes his head like, “no, I don’t mind. You’re not going to use them anyway. You’re better at biology than I am. So I’m assuming this is apart of your hustle?”

And Dean just grins and pulls away some before kissing Cas’ cheek. “Yeah.”

“Hustle on then.” And he just gives him the notebook and kisses him on this jaw before grabbing his tea.

And Dean grinning at Cas like, “I found me the one who respects the hustle.” And it doesn’t get any better than that for Dean.

#2: A Spy Cam In My Christmas Tree Caught More Than Just Santa 

Length: Medium

Last year, on Boxing Day, I found a really cool ornament in a clearance box. It had a built-in camera to record a unique perspective on your holiday celebrations. I grabbed the last one from the store’s dusty shelf and brought it home for less than 10 bucks. I forgot about it until my wife, my two daughters, and I decorated the house earlier this month.

I told my daughters about the camera and said we’d secretly catch Santa in the act. I had an old costume in the attic and intended to deliver some gifts in full view of the camera on Christmas night. My girls were overjoyed, and went back-and-forth trying to find the best place to put the ornament on the tree. They had no idea daddy re-positioned it later so it could actually catch the living room and a good angle.

In the nights leading up to Christmas, I turned the camera on to make sure everything was working properly. In the morning, I previewed the footage - just long enough to confirm the thing was working. Satisfied, I inserted the Micro SD card back into the ornament, and slipped in a new battery in anticipation for the big night. Daddy didn’t want to disappoint his girls with a failed recording.

We enjoyed Christmas Eve as a family, playing board games and eating way more junk food than there was room in our stomachs. Like we do every year, we let our daughters open one gift from mommy and daddy before going to bed. The girls, still riding their sugar-high, could be heard giggling in their bedrooms from all the way up the stairs. 

From time to time, my wife and I could hear one of them shush the other, claiming she’d heard hoofs on the roof or bells jingling. Eventually, our kiddos dosed off. My wife kissed me on the cheek and headed to bed while I turned off all the lights. I retrieved the costume and tiptoed to the living room, getting ready for my big feature film debut.

I did everything you would expect Santa to do: I ate most of the cookies, I drank the milk, I pet my large stomach and said my HO HO HOs, and I dropped a few presents by the fireplace, all in full-view of the camera. A pretty good acting job, if I do say so myself.

On Christmas morning, the girls came running into our bedroom to wake us up. They excitedly insisted we watch the video before opening the presents. I transferred the footage to my laptop, forwarded to where Santa showed up, and pressed ‘play’. 

My girls squealed with delight and jumped in front of the screen, frantically waving at Santa while obscuring the video from my view. It brought me so much joy to see how happy the girls were. I was too lazy to stop the video, so it continued to play in the background while we unwrapped out gifts. I spotted a box I had not seen the night before: it was a small and wrapped in a blue foil paper I did not recognize. My name was on it, but my wife seemed as surprised as I was to see it there. Noticing my confusion, my youngest daughter spoke:

“Daddy! That’s gotta be from Mr. Elf!” she said, her voice cheerful and bright.

I was ready to dismiss her elf comment as just another weird thing kids say, but my wife wasn’t so quick to ignore it.

“Honey, what elf?” she asked.

My daughter pointed to the laptop. By then, the video had ended and all that was left on the screen was a preview of the first frame.

“The one that came with Santa!” she answered.

I know my wife didn’t dress up as an elf. I scanned the video, clicking forward and back until I saw what my daughter had seen: there was someone in the living room. He walked into the corner after I had turned the lights off. He stood there watching me parading around as Santa. The video went completely quiet after that. It was as though the camera failed to record a single sound. The strange, tall man in an elf costume stood perfectly still for over an hour, watching the camera from a distance. 

After a while, he walked over to the plate of cookies and bit the head off a gingerbread man. I glanced at the plate and saw his teeth mark on the decapitated cookie. The man then quietly approached the Christmas tree. I thought the audio wasn’t working, but as he reached the tree, I began hearing his slow and steady breaths. He reached towards the ornament, and the video stopped.

In a terrified frenzy, I grabbed the blue box he’d left behind. I ripped the bow off of it and tossed the frilly thing away. I frantically removed the wrapping paper, opened the box, and looked inside. There, on a bed of bubble wrap, was the battery I’d put in the camera the night before. My wife took the ornament and opened the back: the battery was missing. I don’t know what scares me more: what the camera caught, or what the elf might have done after he turned off the camera.

Credits to: manen_lyset

My Heart Is Misunderstood And Really Just Needs A Hug

I do not follow my heart;
it drags me around

I am forced to listen to my heart;
due to its choice of sound;
a sound that drowns
any alarm that tells me that
I shouldn’t
follow my heart

It decides when to fall in love
and when to fall apart,
it decides who to stupidly shove,
and when to be smart

It cries whenever it sees fit,
it rages whenever it feels like it,
it sometimes, often even, bursts with joy, but never to admit,
because it doesn’t want you to think, that it gives a shit

It has concrete walls protecting its soft skin,
built with the intention of never letting one single soul in,
wisely excluding any chance of getting hurt again,
but also unintentionally excluding the love of a potential friend

It’s a bitch indeed, it only cares about itself
and if you dare to try doing any harm,
it will without doubt put you on a dusty shelf,
to be easily forgotten,
and it’ll do so with a smile of charm

It has an icy stare and is cold to the touch,
it could probably get away with murder and such,
but this seed of hatred and sorrow only grew,
because it once or twice cared too much.

Listening To Scattered Traffic Buzz Back And Forth With The Wind

Watching shadows dance along my walls
Restless in bed
Words slowly spiral out into a vast nothingness
My bones grow hollow
4 A.M.
Hacking and tossing and turning
With a stuffy nose and a dry mouth
Gasping for air
Poetry sleeps on a dusty shelf
The poet sleeps in the bathtub
Clear my mind
Clear my lungs
Clear my name
Scream psychedelic ambient hardcore bullshit at the top of your lungs
Passively twitch strange doodles until your fingers fall off
Vomit unmetered duets with homeless men into the face of oblivion
10,000 artists
10,000 faces
10,000 points and 10,000 anti-points
All trying to get fucked
All offering fortune cookie wisdom
All pricking their fingers so they can say they once bled for art
I see the sun start peek from the treetops
I hear the homebodies getting ready for work
I sigh aloud
Listening to scattered traffic buzz back and forth with the wind

where you find poets

under a dusty shelf
between cracked pages
and under ancient stone stars
is where you’ll find poets.
we are not in
the place to be
we don’t wear versace —

we bleed from our hands.

pouring out visions
into thirsty mouths
and servicing hungry
word whores
is where you’ll find poets.
the exclusive soirees
eating canapés
you’ll not find us there.
we are below,
sinking in the silent, black street

as we bleed from our pens.

chiseling truth
in soap stone
with one eye on dirt
and the other on god
is where you’ll find poets.
we are trampled
on wall street, market street
and commerce place,
rubble under shoes of gold.

we bleed from our feet.

in back bedrooms
with fire escapes,

in plagued houses
with spider-webbed drapes,

in every trailing symphonic chord,
in all the world’s communal hoards

in the hurricane eyes and sheltering lees
the whisper of words through autumn trees

in tears of gratitude
mercy and latitude,

the holy place where we come to breed,
the holy cunt
the male seed

that is where you’ll find poets.
and we bleed from the heart —

but unlike the harpooned masses,
we ask you not

to stanch

the flow.

— j.a. carter-winward

I can’t do anything but sketchy sketches late at night, but I finally got some freetime and said, “Hey, Why not get that image I had of Angel!Ratchet from adhesivesandscrap ‘s au outta my head?” I apologize for how rushed it is, I’m very very tired… 

(and dusty-shelf and jack3dragon , I tried to incorporate the glowy effects discussed, butttt I wasn’t sure how to do it)

No more calls no more texts.
No more staying up late having silly little I love you more arguments.
The laughs and the tears.
The good and the bad.
It’s all gone.
You closed the book on us and shoved me straight into the dusty old shelf you never visit in your attic never to look back at me again,
Whereas I put you in a frame to admire, showing you off to everyone who comes around.
I guess I really did love you more.
—  B.L letters I never sent
2

In 1929, a group of historians, whilst searching old documents in Constantinople, found a map on a dusty old shelf hidden away in the archives. It had been painstakingly created on a piece of gazelle skin.

Research has since confirmed that it is a genuine document drawn in 1513 by Piri Reis, a famous admiral of the Turkish fleet during the sixteenth century.

His passion was cartography. His high rank within the Turkish navy allowed him privileged access to the Imperial Library of Constantinople, from whence he obtained ancient source maps which enabled him to compile an archeological wonder, today known as the Piri Reis Map.

The Turkish admiral admits in a series of notes he wrote on the map that he compiled and copied the data from a large number of source maps, some of which dated way back to the fourth century BC and much earlier

The map was of immediate interest as it accurately portrayed the coastlines of South America and Africa, at their correct relative longitudes and latitudes. As the map was dated 1513, only 21 years after the official discovery of the Americas by Columbus in 1492, it seemed improbable that the map was compiled from cartographical data obtained by Columbus. The legend on the map itself in fact, gave it a source far older than 20 years, revealing that it was a section of a world map composed from more than twenty source maps, some drawn in the time of Alexander the great.

Despite the mystifying problem that the map included accurate longitude measurements – a task deemed impossible until the invention of the chronometer in 1760, there was something else displayed on the map that made its origin and history even more perplexing.

The Piri Reis map, in addition to accurately charting the coastlines of western Africa and eastern south America also included a third continent in its cartography. This map accurately portrays the coastline of Antarctica – a continent supposedly undiscovered until 1820, over 300 years after the maps creation!

However, the mystery doesn’t end there. Not only did the map illustrate accurately the coastline of Antarctica, it illustrated the coastline when the continent was ice free. Only recently, with the aid of satellite technology and GPS mapping, have science and cartographers managed to accurately plot the actual coastline of Antarctica minus the ice. However, if one were to superimpose the Piri Reis map over a modern map of an ice free Antarctic coastline, one would find the outlines almost identical.

But this presents a massive problem for historians. According to recent geological surveys of ice samples taken from Antarctica, the last time it was free of ice was between 6,000 and 12,000 years ago. So whoever created the source maps used by Piri Reis, must have had detailed knowledge of not just the area during this period – a period when, according to mainstream historical accounts, advanced civilizations did not exist – but advanced knowledge of navigation, cartography, and sophisticated mathematics.

Furthermore, not only did the source maps accurately depict latitude and longitude, but also included a mercatorial projection. A mercatorial projection is a geometric formula used to account for a 3D globe being represented as a 2D image. Such high levels of geometry had not been seen since the time of the Greeks and it was not until the work of Gerald Mercator in 1569, that European’s began to include a projection for the curvature of the earth into their maps.

In all probability, the discovery of the Piri Reis map should completely discredit mainstream historical accounts of the origins of modern civilization. Moreover, historians of integrity should be questioning official accounts and investigating the possibility that hitherto unknown highly advanced societies most likely existed thousands of years before our current historical accounts were formulated.

C: Once again, I am 25 and already accepted the fact that I may die alone. I wanna fall in love, get married, have kids and have a good life, but how can I when no man wants a black woman? Yes, I do date outside my race, but even our own men don’t want us. It’s depressing and it makes me so sad, but i accept this fate. Maybe one day if god willing I’ll find Mr Right and my dreams can come true, but until then, my dreams will just stay on the shelf,getting dusty and eventually fading. 

i love you, i am so in love with you. sometimes i catch myself saying that, as if i cant believe it myself. sometimes, i cant. im just so lucky to love you, im so lucky to have you in my life. even if im not the one constant thing on your mind, that okay. i dont mind. as long as you tuck away a piece for me, as long as you let me in. im happy being your friend too, if thats what you want. just know, i will love you in anyway you need me to and maybe thats a form of self destruction, letting the ones you love dictate who you become. but i dont care. i would do anything to make you happy, even if that means boxing myself away and sitting on a dusty shelf until you decide to want me again. i dont care, i dont care, i dont care. im here if you need me, im here if you dont.

Bucky Barnes- Books

[(b/t)= book title
(B/g)= book genre]

You walk the busy streets of New York, clutching your bag tightly. You honestly hate crowds and people. Moving to New York wasn’t the best decision, but you thankfully found a safe haven you spent your days in. Pushing the door of The Dusty Shelf(your work place), you step into the warm room and smile.

This book store is everything you’ve always wanted one to be like; quiet, cozy, and a faint smell of cinnamon hanging in the air.

“Good morning, (y/n).” The owner says, smiling at you. She’s a sweet old lady you met when you stumbled into the store, lost and confused. You’d say that she’s the grandma you never had, making her smile and pat your cheek warmly.

“Morning, Maggie!” You wave at her, pulling out the book she lent you the day before.

“Finished already?” She marvels, chuckling as you roll your eyes.

“A couple thousand pages have nothing on me,” You smile at her, jabbing a finger towards the door leading to her apartment above the store. “Why don’t you get some rest, hmm? I’ll look over the shop.”

She reaches over the counter and pats your cheek. “You’re a doll,” she says, turning around and shuffles to the door, giving you a warm smile before exiting the shop.

It’s been an hour or so of you wandering around the isles, reading, when the bell above the door chimes.

You speed walk to the cash register and sit down on the stool, continuing the book. When you feel a pair of eyes on you, you look up and scan the book store.

You spot a man watching you. His baseball caps pulled low over his face, but you could tell that he’s around your age and fairly handsom.

Setting down the book, you walk over to him and smile. “Do you need help finding sown thing, sir?”

He looks at you in surprise, but nods.

“Okay. What type of books are you interested in?” You ask, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I-I don’t know,” he mutters.

You laugh. “Most people don’t, that’s why I’m here. You look like one of those guys who’re into (b/g) books.”

He shrugs and watches as you motion for him to follow you. Running your fingers along the spines of the books, you find the one you’re looking for and pull it out.

“I would recommend (b/t),” you hand him the book, which he takes with his right hand and nods.

“Thank you,”

“No problem,” You hold up a finger. “but, if you don’t like the book, you could always come back tomorrow and get a different one?”

A small smile tugs at his lips and he nods. After paying for the book, he leaves the shop without another word.

The next day, the bell chimes as you’re unloading a new shipment of novels.

“Good evening.” Maggie says, greeting the customer. “Are you looking for something, sir?”

You curiously peak your head around the shelf and notice the man from yesterday holding (b/t) in his hand.

“Hey,” you walk up to him and smile. “Didn’t like the book, huh?”

He looks up at Maggie, before pressing his lips together.

“I’ll leave the two of you alone,” Maggie chuckles, waving a hand as she exits the shop.

“I never got your name,” You say to the man, trying to get a look at him from under the cap.

His blue eyes meet yours, “I’m Bucky,”

Holding out your hand, you smile. “Nice to meet you, Bucky. I’m (y/n).”
…..

Over the months, you would continue lending him books and he’d return the next day for another. The two of you had become inseparable.

“Hey, Bucky?” You call out, climbing up on a rickety ladder to put a book away in one of the higher shelves.

You hear Bucky walk over to you, “Yeah?-(Y/n)!” He rushed to your side, setting down the book he was reading to place his hands on the ladder. “You’re going to fall.”

You laugh as you stand on your tiptoes, “I’m not going to fall, Bucky. I’ve been doing this for months,” you say smugly, looking down at him. “Could you hand me that- whoa!”

The ladders step snaps, making you scream and fall backwards. You screw your eyes shut and prepare to smack into the floor, but instead, you feel strong arms wrap around your body.

“I told you you’d fall,” Bucky said, holding you tightly.

You pry one eye open, finding your face inches from Bucky’s. “Oh, shut up.”

He smiles at you, brushing a piece of your hair away. “I’m going to kiss you,” he murmured, meeting your eyes.

Your cheeks ignite as you smile. “You’re going to kiss me,” you echo, wrapping your arms around his neck when he pressed his lips to yours.

[Requests are OPEN & Reblogging is appreciated]

A Spy Cam in my Christmas Tree Caught More Than Just Santa..

Last year, on Boxing Day, I found a really cool ornament in a clearance box. It had a built-in camera to record a unique perspective on your holiday celebrations. I grabbed the last one from the store’s dusty shelf and brought it home for less than 10 bucks. I forgot about it until my wife, my two daughters, and I decorated the house earlier this month. I told my daughters about the camera and said we’d secretly catch Santa in the act. I had an old costume in the attic and intended to deliver some gifts in full view of the camera on Christmas night. My girls were overjoyed, and went back-and-forth trying to find the best place to put the ornament on the tree. They had no idea daddy re-positioned it later so it could actually catch the living room and a good angle.

In the nights leading up to Christmas, I turned the camera on to make sure everything was working properly. In the morning, I previewed the footage—-just long enough to confirm the thing was working. Satisfied, I inserted the Micro SD card back into the ornament, and slipped in a new battery in anticipation for the big night. Daddy didn’t want to disappoint his girls with a failed recording.

We enjoyed Christmas Eve as a family, playing board games and eating way more junk food than there was room in our stomachs. Like we do every year, we let our daughters open one gift from mommy and daddy before going to bed. The girls, still riding their sugar-high, could be heard giggling in their bedrooms from all the way up the stairs. From time to time, my wife and I could hear one of them shush the other, claiming she’d heard hoofs on the roof or bells jingling. Eventually, our kiddos dosed off. My wife kissed me on the cheek and headed to bed while I turned off all the lights. I retrieved the costume and tiptoed to the living room, getting ready for my big feature film debut.

I did everything you would expect Santa to do: I ate most of the cookies, I drank the milk, I pet my large stomach and said my HO HO HOs, and I dropped a few presents by the fireplace, all in full-view of the camera. A pretty good acting job, if I do say so myself.

On Christmas morning, the girls came running into our bedroom to wake us up. They excitedly insisted we watch the video before opening the presents. I transferred the footage to my laptop, forwarded to where Santa showed up, and pressed ‘play’. My girls squealed with delight and jumped in front of the screen, frantically waving at Santa while obscuring the video from my view. It brought me so much joy to see how happy the girls were. I was too lazy to stop the video, so it continued to play in the background while we unwrapped out gifts. I spotted a box I had not seen the night before: it was a small and wrapped in a blue foil paper I did not recognize. My name was on it, but my wife seemed as surprised as I was to see it there. Noticing my confusion, my youngest daughter spoke:

“Daddy! That’s gotta be from Mr. Elf!”, she said, her voice cheerful and bright.

I was ready to dismiss her elf comment as just another weird thing kids say, but my wife wasn’t so quick to ignore it.

“Honey, what elf?”, she asked.


My daughter pointed to the laptop. By then, the video had ended and all that was left on the screen was a preview of the first frame.

“The one that came with Santa!”, she answered.

Panic struck me like a bird in a jet propeller. I know my wife didn’t dress up as an elf. I scanned the video, clicking forward and back until I saw what my daughter had seen: there was someone in the living room. He walked into the corner after I had turned the lights off. He stood there watching me parading around as Santa. The video went completely quiet after that. It was as though the camera failed to record a single sound. The strange, tall man in an elf costume stood perfectly still for over an hour, watching the camera from a distance. After a while, he walked over to the plate of cookies and bit the head off a gingerbread man. I glanced at the plate and saw his teeth mark on the decapitated cookie. The man then quietly approached the Christmas tree. I thought the audio wasn’t working, but as he reached the tree, I began hearing his slow and steady breaths. He reached towards the ornament, and the video stopped.

In a terrified frenzy, I grabbed the blue box he’d left behind. I ripped the bow off of it and tossed the frilly thing away. I frantically removed the wrapping paper, opened the box, and looked inside. There, on a bed of bubble wrap, was the battery I’d put in the camera the night before. My wife took the ornament and opened the back: the battery was missing. I don’t know what scares me more: what the camera caught, or what the elf might have done after he turned off the camera.

———

Written by manen_lyset

8

To the anon a while back who wanted me to post collection pictures, here you go!

Not a lot has changed since my last collection post, just a few more signature dolls. I just gave Bunny a haircut and Alistair has some added accessories that I still need to finish painting. If I have time this Summer I want to do a lot of accessory painting and hair restyling. I also need to dust. Omg those shelves are dusty. The signature shelf is getting super crowded. I’m not sure what I’m going to do when more characters come out!

When you read a Discworld story, you play a curious mental game. You react as if the story is true, as if Discworld actually exists, as if Rincewind and the Luggage are real, and Roundworld is but a fragment of a long-forgotten dream. (Please stop interrupting, Rincewind, we know it’s different from your point of view. Yes, of course we’re the ones that don’t exist, we’re bundles of rules whose consequences take place only inside a small globe on a dusty shelf in Unseen University. Yes, we do appreciate that, and will you please shut up?) Sorry about that.
—  “The Science of Discworld II: The Globe” (Terry Pratchett with Ian Stewart and Jack Cohen)