epic bed

me: [shouts from across the ocean] EPIC SAX GUY IS BAAAACK

Is this paving the way to domestic!malec where Magnus is making pancakes in the morning and Alec just appears behind him, places his chin on Magnus’ shoulder and circles his arms around his middle? Then they share whispers of “good mornings” and a soft kiss as Magnus cards his fingers through Alec’s epic bed hair? 


All I need is two little boys running around an abandoned motel parking lot. The taller boy ruffling the shorter one’s hair and yelling “Catch me if you can, runt!”  Their giggles echoing off the numbered doors with paint peeling. Sun baked boys on Summer heated black top.

All I need is two brothers stumbling into a dingy motel room in the middle of the night. The shorter one frantically stripping the taller one’s shirt off, pressing rust colored fingers to gaping wounds. Sternly warning “Stop moving or I can’t stitch you up, bitch.” Their heavy breaths mingling in the musty still room, panicked words turned to soothing ones.

All I need is two grown up little boys, both far too old for the years they’ve lived.  Tearing down the highway in a mint ‘67 Impala, windows rolled down singing louder than the growl of the engine. The smirky one shouting “Where to now little brother?” The taller one will reach over and intertwine his fingers with him. He’ll throw his head back and laugh at the shorter one’s terrible warble, before he joins him. Sealed up and safe in a cocoon of their own making.

All I need is two brothers, come whatever. And ever. Forever.

anonymous asked:

Idk what to call this. Imagine? Spec? Idk, anyways, for end of series: dean, cas, and Sam in one of he toughest battles they've ever had, slowly getting boxed in and wearing down. Cas' grace had been fading, gradually leaving him more human. With no other option, the last of Cas' grace erupts from him to smite the monster(s). The screen gets brighter and whiter. As the grace fades back, we see Sam sitting in the Bunker kitchen, drinking coffee and reading news articles 1/?

On his laptop. Dean wanders in, clad in his dead guy robe, hair still a bit missed from sleep. He grabs two mugs and pours coffee into both. Taking both mugs he settles in across the table from Sam. Less than a minute later, cas shuffles in with his epic bed-head and sleep rumpled clothes, a pair of sweats stolen from dean and his old eye of the tiger tee. He sits next to dean, who slides the second mug over to him. As cas takes a sip, Sam looks up at them. “so get this …” Fade to credits 

Castiel Imagine

Imagine: Trying to comfort Castiel after he has a fight with Dean.

(not my GIF)

You emerged from your room into an unusual sort of silence. You knew the boys were back from their latest adventure because Sam’s text announcing there was hot pizza in the kitchen had just woken you from a nap. Yet, somehow the bunker still seemed too quiet. Grabbing your fluffy robe from the door to stave off the chilly atmosphere, you ambled onward to the kitchen.

“Hey Y/N,” Sam greeted you with a grin over his laptop screen, “sorry I woke you.” He motioned at his hair with a wince, signaling you to check your own.

Feeling your hair, you discovered an epic case of bed head and smiled gratefully, “Don’t be, thanks.” Idly combing your fingers through your locks to tame the mess, your eyes fell upon Dean. He sat rigidly in the chair, arms crossed, brooding over half-eaten slice of pizza and bottle of beer. You glanced around the periphery of the small room – finding no sign of the blue-eyed angel you’d grown especially fond of this last year of calling the bunker home, innocently asking, “Where’s Cas?”

Sam grimaced at your words, bracing his shoulders as if for impact.

Dean’s green eyes narrowed darkly. He shrugged apathetically, voice edged in fresh anger, “Wherever the hell he wants to be, probably figuring out new ways to jam the letter I into team.”

A frown crept over your lips. A brief glance at Sam confirmed the situation – the angel and the elder Winchester were bickering, again. You now understood the strange feeling in the air. You pointed at the floor, mouthing the words to Sam, “Is Cas here?”

Sam nodded.

You exhaled a sigh of relief - the last time Cas had disappeared for weeks, failing to respond to your calls to check in. Only when you sent out a desperate prayer asking for help on a hunt, explaining Sam and Dean were otherwise indisposed and you were alone, did he make contact. He helped you with that case, and stayed by your side for a string of others. Afterward he tagged along back to the bunker with you, and things between he and Dean had been copacetic for a time.

Knowing exactly where you would find an angel seeking solitude in the bunker, you spun on your heel and marched down the hall. Descending into the storage room slash dungeon, you found him sitting on the floor, slumped against the wall, blue eyes sullen.

He didn’t stir at your presence.

You stepped closer, fuzzy-socked toes nudging the hem of his trench coat, “May I?”

His chin bobbed almost imperceptibly.

You dropped to the floor beside him, taking a deep breath and scooting nearer until your shoulder barely touched his. You sat in shared silence, knowing no words could fix what he was going through – it was between him and Dean. But you weren’t there to talk about it.

At first, the angel didn’t understand why you picked up his hand.

Slowly turning it over in yours, you delicately traced the rough-hewn lines of his palm, pausing to study the smallness of your own hand in comparison. Your heart ticked faster, emboldened by the sensation of his warm skin against your own.

He observed your actions with a casual indifference.

When he didn’t pull away, you interlaced your fingers through his, drawing his hand to your lap and clasping his palm tight. You stared hopefully at the line of his jaw, his expression remaining unreadable.

Bit by bit, his vessel responded to the comforting gesture, tenseness easing from his muscles, glimmering blue eyes flashing curiously over your intertwined hands. Gradually, his focus shifted to peer searchingly into your eyes.

You met his questioning gaze. Smiling reassuringly, you reached your free hand out to brush a dark curl behind his ear, your fingers curling to caress his stubbly cheek, “You are not alone, Castiel.”

His eyes welled at your simple sentiment, heart soaring with the novelty of a new emotion. He squeezed your hand back, a small smile stirring in his solemn features, the light returning to his eyes. For all the concepts which confounded the fallen angel, one notion blazed with sudden clarity – love.

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anonymous asked:

Is there a reason you're naked in my bed logyn

I made it a college AU, but as I’ve never actually been to college/university you’ll have to forgive any errors I’ve made. Sorry.

Just Right

Loki woke with a jolt as a heavy book was dropped by his head. He flailed about for a few moments before getting his bearings.

“What time is it?” he asked the librarian groggily as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“Almost 4am, and you’ve been asleep since three,” the librarian replied tersely, eyeing the drool and empty energy drink cans in distaste. “I think you’re done for the night.”

“No,” Loki muttered, flicking through the books covering the table as he tried to remember where he was up to. “I still need to edit my conclusion and review chapter seven and…”

“You’re done,” the librarian repeated firmly, pulling the library books out of his hands. “Go get some sleep. No doubt you’ve got classes in a few hours.”

Loki’s shoulders slumped in defeat but the librarian didn’t move or stop glaring at him until he started packing up his things. Loki swept his own books into his bag, taking slightly more care with his laptop, and stumbled out of the library. His first class wasn’t until 11am, he realised as he made his way across the quad to his dorm, which meant he could sleep until six, seven at the latest, and then get back to it.

He struggled with the lock on his door until he turned the handle and it opened. Were he remotely capable of cognitive function it would have given him pause, but as it was he simply closed the door behind him, dropped his bag, stripped off his outer layers as he crossed the room to plug in his phone, and then collapsed onto his bed. And he would have been asleep the moment his head hit the pillow if it weren’t for the screaming.

“What the hell!” a female voice shrieked as her flailing limbs shoved Loki off his own bed. He got to his feet on his second try and turned on the light. The voice belonged to a girl with some rather epic bed hair, somewhat familiar to his groggy mind, who was currently covering her modesty with a dark green sheet.

Loki blinked. Slowly.

“Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?” Loki asked once the girl had calmed down and his brain kicked into gear.

“Ummm…” the girl cringed, tightening her grasp on the sheet. “So, funny story.”

“I’ll bet,” Loki mumbled, slumping into his desk chair.

“I live across the hall, and I had gone to take a shower, but when I came back I found that my roommate had locked me out so she could have some quality time with her boyfriend.”


“And your door was open, so I kind of… helped myself?” the girl cringed.

“Can you go back to your own room now?”

“I tried knocking after an hour or so but she’s ignoring me,” the girl huffed irritably.

Loki groaned into his hands, trying to think of a solution but couldn’t get passed how tired he was. He glanced about his room and picked up a reasonably clean longline shirt off his floor.

“Here, Goldilocks. Put that on,” Loki instructed, spinning so his back was to her. “You decent?” he asked when the shuffling stopped.

“Yep,” the voice replied, sounding more chipper than Loki could deal with right now.

“Okay, so here’s the thing… I’m not going to kick you out, but there’s no way in hell I’m sleeping on the floor on my own goddamn room,” Loki advised, even though he knew he could probably sleep standing upright at this point. “So, you can either take the floor or you can share with me. Your choice,” he said, not waiting for an answer before lying down on the edge twin bed.

“It’s Sigyn.”


“My name’s not Goldilocks. It’s Sigyn.”

“Whatever you say, Goldilocks,” Loki smiled into his pillow, which smelt faintly of vanilla and lavender.

The next time Loki woke it was to an incessant beeping, which was only slightly preferably to the loud thud of a book being dropped onto a wooden table.

“What time is it?” a groggy voice in his ear asked.

“Goldilocks?” Loki murmured as their earlier encounter came back to him.

“Sigyn,” the girl corrected with a grumble, burrowing her face against his chest as she tried in vain to reach across him for his phone. “Make it stop,” she whined.

“Alright, alright,” Loki smirked, tentatively placing one arm around her bared shoulders as the other reached for his phone. He went to reset the alarm for 8am but one look at his sleeping companion and he pushed it back to nine. Loki froze as she sighed dreamily against him, her body curling around his.

“Ten forty-five it is,” Loki mumbled happily to himself, forgetting about tests and essay deadlines in favour of the strange and enchanting woman in his arms.

Dare Me

They have two rules:
1. Never back down from a dare
2. Always tell the truth

Clarke Griffin has been best friends with Bellamy Blake for eight years. And seven of those years have been spent in a perpetual game of truth or dare.

word count: 2226 | Also on AO3

It starts when they’re kids. Just another schoolyard game. Truth or dare. It’s a game of whispers beneath blankets at a sleepover–of swapping secrets or spilling lies. Kids dare their friends to drink disgusting concoctions and confess to their crush.

Clarke Griffin has been best friends with Bellamy Blake for eight years. And seven of those years have been spent in a perpetual game of truth or dare.

The game begins at Wells’ birthday party. Clarke doesn’t even remember who suggests the game when they gather in the Jaha’s basement on Wells’ 10th birthday party. All of the parents are upstairs so it’s fifteen kids left alone to excitement and the power of their own devices.

There’s nothing special about the start of the game. Clarke has to lick the bottom of Wells’ shoe. Bellamy tries to do a handstand and fails. Wells is forced to sing Celine Dion. It’s thirty minutes of easy grins and laughter.

Later on, Bellamy and Clarke are waiting on the swingset in the Jaha’s backyard while Wells tries to convince his dad to let them spend the night.

There’s mischief in Bellamy’s eyes when he turns to her, the metal chain twisting in his hands.

“Truth or dare.”

Clarke grins.


“I dare you to jump in the pool with all your clothes on.”

It’s evening in October, cold and brisk now that dusk has sapped warmth from the air.

She hits the water with a splash, not caring that her mother will be mad if her dress is ruined.

She gets grounded and a cold that makes her stay home from school for three days, but the laugh on Bellamy’s lips and the admiration in his eyes when she resurfaces, hair plastered to her head makes it all worth it.

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Since his friends Mark and Cindy Melaccio announced that they were expecting a baby boy, sculptor Joseph Reginella had the idea to create a bed unlike any other for the little guy. Taking about a week to fully complete, little Mikey Melaccio now has the most epic baby bed in the world that’s inspired by Jaws.