his thoughts were red thoughts


Guess who I finally collected yesterday


I’m obsessed with this pic that Louise tweeted of herself while she was on set filming for her episode of ‘The Mentalist’ - 'His Thoughts Were Red Thoughts’. So much so that it’s been my phone wallpaper pretty much since the day she posted it, i know stalkerish, right? But i cant understand how anyone couldn’t be this fascinated about her.

She’s just too perfect; i mean look at the hair, that face, those eyes…it’s really not fair. So this Christmas i’m only asking for one thing…to be Louise for the day, or even a hour come to think of it. Yeah, i realise this is impossible but hey a girl can dream right?…;)

anonymous asked:

Hello! Love your writing pieces, you're so awesome! c: If you're accepting prompts I have one. It would be cool if this could be H2OVanoss or Daithi x Delirious. (Is that weird?) With this text: "Hey CaRtOoNz, I know it's late, but I got a bit high and decided to swim in the river with Delirious and he went down stream and now I don't know what to do"

I decided on H2OVanoss, only because I don’t ship Daithi de Delirious. Hope that’s okay. It’ll still be awesome! I think I’ve seen this before so I hope I do it justice for you darling. I kind of changed it a bit though to fit the story I wanted. I know this is really EXTREMELY out of character for Evan and Jonathan but just go with me here guys.

Luke groaned loudly, aggravated that his phone was ringing at three in the morning and he had only gone to bed an hour before. Genay shifted in her sleep at the noise, and Luke decided to take the call from Evan in the next room.

“This better be fucking important.”

“Luke…Jonathan and I did something stupid…” Evan said.

“That’s nothing new. Why did you have to wake me up to tell me that?” Luke said through a yawn.

“No, this time it was really stupid. And I fucked up. Like really fucked up.” Evan began to get hysterical. “I lost him.”

“Lost him? Evan, what are you talking about?” Luke straightened up. How the fuck did he lose a grown man?

Evan sounded like he was on the verge of tears, “We got high. Too high; really high. We decided to go for a swim in the river behind the house and he went down stream and I can’t find him and now I don’t know what to do. I’ve looked for him and called for him and he won’t answer.”

“Goddammit. That is really fucking stupid!” Luke growled. He ran back into his bedroom and pulled on a sweatshirt and his sneakers. “Where are you now?”

“At the house. I thought maybe if he would’ve gotten out he would’ve come back but he hasn’t. Luke, you have to help me.” Evan cried.

“I’m on my way. Just stay put, Evan. And try to sober up, for fuck’s sake.” Luke hung up and ran to his car. Jonathan’s house was a ten minute drive, five at three in the morning with no traffic and with him speeding in his BMW. He pulled up behind Evan’s car and jumped out. He heard Evan in the back yard, calling Jonathan’s name into the darkness. He headed towards him, and Evan turned quickly, relief quickly turning back into panic at the sight of him.

“I thought…I thought you were him.” He said, his eyes red. Luke wasn’t sure if it was from the weed or from the crying.

“We’ll find him, Vanoss. Have you checked the house?” Luke asked gently, not wanting to upset him more. His hair was wet, as were his clothes, like he threw them on without drying his body first.

“Not really. I just called out his name and he didn’t answer.” Evan responded, turning back to the river.

“Let’s go back inside and look. Maybe he’s in the bathroom drying off. And you should change. It’s freezing out.” Luke reasoned.

“I just want to find my boyfriend, Luke.”

Luke could tell that Evan was still high as he led him back into the house, unsteady on his feet and bobbing his head back and forth.

“You guys don’t even smoke. What the hell got into you?” Luke asked him, sitting him down on the couch.

Evan blushed. “Um…we thought we’d try something new and maybe it would spice up…”

Luke held his hand up. “No, that’s okay. I’m good. I’m gonna go look around, okay?”

Evan nodded and Luke headed towards their bedroom. “Jon?” he called out to the empty room. He heard a small splash from the bathroom. He made his way there cautiously, not entirely sure what he’d find. But when he opened the door, his frustration boiled over into a yell that startled the sleeping man in the bathtub. “What the FUCK?”

“Luke?” Jonathan asked, wiping the water and sleep from his eyes.

Evan came stumbling into the room, eyes wide. “What happened? Is he here?”

“You fucking retards! Did you even leave the fucking house, Evan? Jon is in the fucking bathtub! You guys were in the bathtub and you thought you were in the fucking river? Are you fucking kidding me? I got out of bed for this?” Luke was infuriated.

It was like Evan didn’t even hear him though, because he ran straight to Jonathan’s side and cupped his face. “I was so worried about you. I thought I had lost you forever. We are never smoking again, okay? Our sex life is perfect, babe.”

“I…Evan, why am I in the bathtub?”

Luke stormed out of the bathroom and to his car. He really hated his friends sometimes.

When he woke up the next morning, it was from a text from Jonathan.

From Delirious: Sorry about last night. XD Also, the sex afterwards was great. You should really try it.

Luke threw his phone across the room and went back to bed.

alayne-stonecoldfox  asked:

did u know that gambit was originally conceived to be a secret long lost brother to scott and alex lmao that's why his eyes are red. they scrapped that plot but there are still some old issues where mr sinister drops hints to scott about 'his brother' but it was just swept under the rug, and later on they made vulcan the secret summers brother instead. Yall could have been shipping low key incest in another universe.

His Thoughts Were Red Thoughts || Wesley & Penelope

The London traffic held a monotony that seemed to match Wesley’s emotions. Which straw on the camels back had been the one that had broken it? When Wesley thought about it, it felt as though he had been one of those broken pieces for some time now. Memories flickered in his consciousness. He was lying on the cold wet ground as the blood bubbled hot from the slit in his throat, A vampire bit down on his wrist with the little strength it had. Cordelia was gone. Returned. Gone again. Wesley’s heart hammered. Fred’s body went stiff in his arms, and he sobbed, a shaking wreck. He tried to kill the thing that had taken her. And then, weeks later, he had died in her arms. He had thought that had been the end.

He had been wrong.

London held the same misery as Los Angeles and it had the weather to match the mood. Had he ever been happy here? He could have sworn that he had, but when he reached for the memory of that feeling he found nothing but emptiness; that cold space in the bed beside you at night. The satisfaction of a healthy relationship and a job he was good at had been enough once, even in the face of all the darkness and horrors. When had that changed? The answer eluded him. It hadn’t been a moment, but a process. The ability to care had been stripped from him like his very skin, and given his time in a Wolfram and Hart hell dimension, he was no stranger to the comparison. He had felt one but not the other. In Hell, you blacked out after a while, in shock and vulgarity, vulnerable and soiled. The body’s natural morphine locked in and it stopped hurting. Was it true for this life, too? Why had it not happened before? Why had it only happened to him? Would it get better? He had so many questions and no answers. But what he had was the possibility of company.

He typed in the access code for Penelope’s gated community, parking outside the ivy coveted red brick. She was likely worried sick, drowning her sorrows with gin and tonic. At least she bloody had them. Wesley had grown harder. Like stone. Penelope had grown more bruised, like a battered piece of fruit. They shouldn’t have made a good match. He hadn’t even realised all of this until the words had fallen from his fingertips. If was only when Penelope asked him how he was every day that he understood that the answer never changed. It was never happy. Never well. Just okay. Well enough. That was no way to live. “Hi,” he said quietly as she answered the door. He left the decision up to her, whether she hugged him or not. “You called, I came.” Even that was lifeless. He had read somewhere that sociopathy was a mixture of genetics and environment. That it could be triggered. Sometimes he felt like his father had fit the bill. Genetics. London Hellmoith; Environment. If that were true, then what would become of love? God. He was just tired. The world had gone to shit and it hadn’t stopped. He would get better. He would be fine. The unwelcome echoes returned, his own voice telling Illyria that darkness and grief wasn’t all the world was made of, that there was hope too, and love, for some. Is that enough to live on? She had asked. He hadn’t known then, and he didn’t know now. “Silence,” he observed, nodding. “Good.” It might have qualified as sarcasm.

Shadowland Chapter 2.

Note- hey look!! I actually updated fast!!! Whoohoo!!! Fair warning, in this chapter a certain character is brought to light who may or may not induce a few feels… >:)

(note on the virus - the small percentage who are immune cannot catch it through infected air, while most humans can catch it through infected air. The only way immune people can contract the disease is through exchange of bodily fluids; eg. Being bled on.)

Co-authored by the wonderful @okie-dokie-angel XD


Chapter 2 - Alfie.


Dean woke to the thick scent of autumn leaves in his nose, a thin blanket over his body and a thin slat of sunlight in his face. He rolled over, a small yawn climbing through his throat, and shot a glance to the corner of the room, and the bundle of rags that lay there.

Or rather, the empty, discarded bundle of rags, and the lack of a Sammy.

Keep reading