This imagine is brought to you by @love2rhyme’s autocorrect. :D I’m very happpy you made this story happen, it was so much fun to write :D
You’re spending a day with everyone at the pool.
approximated reading time: 7 minutes
word count: 1389
It was a day in June when we finally had what came closest to a normal day since all this started. I was lying on a lounger near the pool, a cold drink in my hand and sunglasses on my nose watching the scenery in front of me. The deep blue water, the smoke from the other side of the pool where Abraham tried to make the best barbecue we had ever tasted, the smell of burned meat in the air as Abraham had to admit that he was a bit out of shape when it came to barbecueing. He was cursing like a sailor while Sasha tried to calm him down and save what was left to save. Fortunately, we had prepared salads and other side dishes to go with the steaks. Side dishes that had been just now upgraded to main dishes as it seemed. I smiled to myself as I took a sip from my drink. “Watcha smilin’ ‘bout?” Daryl appeared next to my lounger almost out of thin air. His hair was dripping wet. A few drops fell on my bare skin as he bend down to breathe a kiss on my lips. A shiver ran down my spine and I couldn’t quite tell if it was caused by his kiss or the cold water on my warm skin. Either way, I didn’t mind. “So, who won?”, I asked as Daryl sat down at the end of the lounger. Carol had convinced him to play a round of water polo against Rick and Michonne and Carl and Enid had happily joined them. “With Enid in our team, the others didn’t stand a chance”, he said with a big grin on his face. “So, basically Carl was too distracted by Enid to concentrate on the game?”, I said smiling.
Priest!Kylo officiates a wedding ceremony. How would that go? I mean I just really need to see him and Demon!reader start to have genuine feelings for each other please o_o im trash
I’ve been sitting on this for like, ever–sorry. I just kept thinking about it. I don’t know if @kylophiliac is in agreement with me, but I imagined it going something like this–
You’d sat through a few ceremonies before. Reluctantly. Never with much investment. You’d arrive, take a pew far in the back, watch him work. Sometimes, you were there because he’d insisted, and you could hardly stand to deny him your company (the greatest gift of all, of course)–but this time, you’d been genuinely curious. What was the big deal about human rituals, really? A few words, a piece of paper–really, how trite.
After the end of the ceremony, after the bodies in the pews had receded like a tide, you observed him–standing at the altar, robes flush with his frame, thick waves of hair curling like crescents at his nape. His brow furrowed, eyes darting back and forth to finish some notation he’d been scribbling. The pen looked tiny in his large, strong, hand. Like a twig. He could snap it if he wanted.
The thought made you shiver.
Your connection failed to filter this thought–he glanced up at you, catching your hungry gaze and frowning. He mumbled your name, and when you didn’t respond, called it louder.
“What?” you asked, crossing your arms.
Kylo shook his head. “Come here.”
“Don’t make everything a fight.” He rolled his eyes. “Just come over here.”
Hiding a smirk, you stood up, brushed out your skirt and tromped down the aisle, face twisted in a faux-grumpy look. Ren’s gaze followed you.
Your face broke into a full smile, and you threw yourself dramatically over the lectern, batting your eyelashes. “Oh, am I?”
“Yes.” He placed the pen on the altar, sauntering over to you with a grin. “You are.”
He paused, then, studying you–you heard his thoughts, how he admired your eyes, your lips, the light of stained-glass in your hair. But then he shifted, his stare hardening. He considered the words that left those lips–the ones that made him laugh, the ones that made his heart ache. The mind behind your eyes–the mind that kept him questioning, wondering, and yet–still faithful. He remembered the way you looked early-morning, dusted with sleep, curled like a cat into the crook of his arms. And he remembered how your hands looked folded inside of his own, how he found the glimmer of stars in your gaze, even in darkness of midnight. Ren took your fingers between his own. He stared at them, and swallowed.
Your heart thumped in your throat. “What?” you asked, quieter this time. “What is it?”
“Would you…” His cheeks flushed. “Would you…”
Just say it, Ren.
You fought back a smile. “Would I ever want to get married?”
He deflated, dropping your hand. “Yes,” he said. “Something like that.”
You snorted. “No, of course not.”
If he was attempting to hide his hit-by-a-freight-train look, he was failing. But he nodded, throwing up his palms. “Sure. Yes. Right. Very stupid idea.”
What are you thinking? You’re a priest, you moron–
“Wait.” You snatched his hand, tugging him toward you. “That’s not what I meant.”
He blinked. “Then…”
You sighed. Why would you want to get married when you had something so much… more? You were bound–spiritually, inexorably, eternally. How could you entertain the idea of a sunrise when every morning you opened your eyes to a supernova? Why possess a star when you already owned a galaxy? What else would you need to sign when you already knew his soul? And how could you explain this to a human–a human who fought with the very nature of his existence from the minute his day began?
A long breath escaped you. “I meant–” You pursed your lips. “I meant that–” Dammit, why was this hard to say, now? There was a knot in your throat. “In my mind, Kylo… we already are.”
Kylo met your eyes, his lips parting. His other hand brushed over his chest–the place where you’d left your first scar. “Oh,” he said. He wet his mouth. “Oh.”
You smiled. For some reason, your face felt hot. “Yeah.” You brought his knuckles to your lips, ghosting them with a kiss. “Oh.”
Humans crave melodrama, they crave fiction. When you’re sitting alone and texting, it’s because you’re bored. Our imagination is our greatest gift, and our greatest curse. Because we’re bored all the time. And that’s what fiction does for us. It gives us a sort of simulator for bigger stories, bigger emotions. That’s what ‘Lord of the Rings’ is, that’s what 'Phantom of the Opera’ is. That’s what 'Goodfellas’ is. That’s everything, it’s us watching, and feeling. The human capacity for empathy, through imagination, that’s why we have stories.
Justice smith is, no argument, the single cutest lead in anything, ever, and his performance in the get down is so inspiring and breathtaking. the sensitivity and openness and frankness portrayed as a black teenage boy with his black teenage friends? That’s a revolutionary role and his acting is phenomenal, his rapping is amazing, his entire character is the greatest gift to my laptop screen of all time. I love him a million times over (and also- I’m so happy for him? Like the last thing I saw him in was paper towns and that was a manic pixie dream girl shit fest with two poc as side characters, and to go from that to the get down? Must be an amazing experience. I love him I would die for him)
Once upon a time, an anonymous benefactor bequeathed the greatest gift of all unto Prompto.
No, it wasn’t eternal life or endless wealth or approval of all those he sought it from.
No, he was granted but a simple wish he hadn’t ever thought to voice; a small chocobo chick of his own was placed into his care.
He might be a city boy, born and bred, but he’s doing decently at raising this little chocobo who likes to act more like an overgrown cat and sassmaster made of feathers than a regal bird who’ll bare them upon her back once she’s full grown.
She likes to hide in his vest, and sometimes she’ll ‘kweh’ from within, letting you know she’s there; she’s quite fond of tucking her head beneath anyone’s arm and snuggling there for the night– she also adores being picked up and carried around, like chocobo royalty.
She won’t grow out of this habit, and will still try to get into her ‘father’s’ arms when she’s full grown– he’ll let her.
Throughout her life she’ll acquire a myriad of names, beginning with Rutabega and transitioning to Rhubarb and then to Rhuby, for her feathers are as red as the sunset over the hottest sea, bright and jewel toned.
Other days her name is the longest version of ‘Hey You You Can’t Eat That Get Your Beak Out Of The Trash RIGHT NOW Young Lady’, amongst other things. She’s a smart girl, despite this, and knows when she’s doing wrong.
Prompto doesn’t give her up even when the daemons swarm Eos, and, really, she was truly the best gift from a face he’d never seen– He doesn’t question her origins, and she doesn’t question his.
A sharp rap of knuckles on his bedroom door stirs Castiel from his thoughts. He blinks slowly at his reflection in the mirror and slowly turns off the running water. Another year older, he thinks grimly, might as well accept it.
“Coming.” He calls to whoever is behind the door. He wipes his face on the fresh towel and makes sure all the shaving cream is gone before he steps out of the bathroom.
Before opening the door he gathers himself and takes a deep, calming breath. All of the attention of birthdays always makes him nervous. Coupled with surprises, which Dean has a penchant for, Cas’ stomach is a knotted wreck. He exhales through his nose. He’s okay.
He closes his eyes as he opens the door, steeling himself for the crowd of people Dean has likely gathered on the other side. But as the door swings open with a quiet squeak there’s nothing. Cas opens his eyes cautiously.
There’s nobody there. His hallway is empty. He carefully peers around the corner, making sure there’s no one waiting to jump out and surprise him. There’s no one, and besides, Dean’s likely learned his lesson after the first genuine surprise party and the black eye he had a week after. The only thing is a small whiteboard placed at Castiel’s feet. He squints at the words neatly written there: “Greenhouse.”
Cas’ eyebrows crease together in confusion. Well, this is different. The greenhouse is certainly a staple in Cas’ life and it holds a very special place in his heart for more reasons than one, but he can’t imagine why Dean wants him to go there. Oh shit, he thinks, stopping in his tracks. If Dean is throwing a party in the greenhouse Cas is going to have his head. His plants will be ruined. He grits his teeth and briskly walks to his backyard with more urgency.
He’s prepared to yell at Dean as he rounds the corner, ready to see a huge crowd of people fogging up the glass in his precious greenhouse but he falters when it comes into view. The doors are open, beckoning, and there are old Christmas lights strung up along the inside, bathing the interior in a soft yellow glow. Castiel’s heart clenches, how long has Dean been out here working on this? He can’t see Dean anywhere and decides to venture inside.
Inside it’s even more beautiful than he could imagine. He trails his fingertips along the leaves of his plants as he always does.
There’s a chair in the middle of the central aisle. Castiel comes to it and lifts up the iPad sitting on the seat. There’s a post-it note with the words “play me” on it. Castiel rolls his eyes. Dean is definitely pulling out all the stops for this birthday.
Cas sits down and sighs contentedly as he looks at his plants bathed in the warm light. The night sky is dark and the stars are twinkling through the glass panes of the greenhouse. It really is a lovely night, he thinks. If only Dean would show himself and they could spend it together. He supposes the only thing he can do is follow instructions.
i have a huge ass family so every year we do this big secret santa thing on the 25th. last year, the kids were able to join in the fun and my little 8 year old cousin said all he wanted was food and that his favorite one was sausage. when he opened his present and saw it was THE BIGGEST package of sausage ever, he started screaming and running around claiming he had won the greatest gift of all times. i love that little weirdo
Muhammad Ali in his own words: Ten greatest Ali quotes
As renowned a boxer Muhammad Ali was, “The Greatest of All Time” had a gift for words. Ali’s eloquence has resulted in phrases like that still resonate in society and transcend sports.
The former heavyweight champion died Friday night at the age of 74, finally succumbing to a long battle with Parkinson’s disease.
He was never shy and was always able to drop a memorable line. Here are 10 of his best quotes.
1. “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.”
2. “I’m the greatest thing that ever lived! I’m the king of the world! I’m a bad man. I’m the prettiest thing that ever lived.”
3. “I hated every minute of training, but I said, ‘Don’t quit. Suffer now and live the rest of your life as a champion.’”
4. “The man who views the world at 50 the same as he did at 20 has wasted 30 years of his life.”
5. “It’s just a job. Grass grows, birds fly, waves pound the sand. I beat people up.”
6. “I know where I’m going and I know the truth, and I don’t have to be what you want me to be. I’m free to be what I want.”
7. “I done wrestled with an alligator, I done tussled with a whale; handcuffed lightning, thrown thunder in jail; only last week, I murdered a rock, injured a stone, hospitalized a brick; I’m so mean I make medicine sick.”
8. “Champions aren’t made in gyms. Champions are made from something they have deep inside them — a desire, a dream, a vision. They have to have the skill, and the will. But the will must be stronger than the skill.”
9. “The best way to make your dreams come true is to wake up.”
10. “Friendship … is not something you learn in school. But if you haven’t learned the meaning of friendship, you really haven’t learned anything.”
Name: nymeria martell. ( called miri, to avoid confusion. ) Gender: female. General Appearance: miri has dark hair, that when she was growing up she used to keep in a scruffy braid, but as she grew up she cut short for ease of fighting & travelling. she has sandy olive skin, & grey eyes— so dark they might count as black. black like her soul; she might drawl, sarcastically. she’s lithe & athletic & has intricate tatoos along one shoulder & arm that she had made out of scarring she had suffered. Personality: wit is Miri’s greatest gift. she is sarcastic almost all the time & prone to hiding her true feelings whatever they are as well as any negative feelings such as worry. she is a fighter, & learned her mother’s water-dancing but has a love of wild horses & exploring old ruins out in the sands. yet her major strength is her intelligence. in all other ways she takes after her mother yet she is bright as a button, quick & plotting like her father & grandfather. Doran would be proud— at least he would if she had any care for Kings & Queens & the great game. she hates it. she dreams of riding dragons and slaying them both, and riding wild horses naked by sunset. wise women don’t seek the cages of thrones. but some of her family dislike her distaste for duty. Special Talents: water dancing, horse riding, intellect, sass. Who they like better: her father. she enjoys their games & their discussions. though she drives him crazy sometimes by not taking them seriously. with Arya finds quite funny. Who they take after more: her mother mostly. Personal Head canon: in Dorne they call her the wolf of the plains. Face Claim: naomi scott.
i’ll do a Gendrya bby in a bit but I just love Miri & need to stop. lol.