So dan looked nice but... part of me thinks he looks like a waiter tbh
the cute waiter that u tip nicely even tho he forgot ur drink seven times but he told a funny joke and u laughed a little too hard and he gave ur little sister a free cookie and u don’t know if that is restaurant policy but it’s nice anyways and for the rest of the night u think about him and how good people can be
Eliminating a toxic person from your life is very much like going to the eye doctor for an annual checkup. You don’t notice anything wrong with your vision/current prescription until you get a new prescription and everything looks so much better and brighter all of a sudden
Sam tries to stay focused, but his hands fail to tighten the gun firmly. The weapon is trembling in his hands, and his look is worried. A few days ago, during a hunt to vampires, Sam was stricken in the right hand, and from that day, he does nothing but complain about the pain. Sam can’t even hold the gun in his hands; Dean, when he found a case, he decided to go alone, and leave me with Sam.
Sam gulps, and narrows his eyes, trying to focus more on target.
I approach him, and I put my hands on his; I hold strong, and I help Sam to aim the weapon at the target.
“Breathe. You can do it.”
Sam closes his eyes and sighs; he lowers his gun and laying it on the table. His muscles are tense, and this means that he is angry with himself. I support the hands on his muscular arms, and immediately, Sam melts.
“You just have to rest a little longer, Sam. The hand will heal.”
“And if it doesn’t heal? The hunt has become my life now, I don’t think I could do anything else.”
I brush his face, and Sam turns to me, meeting my worried look.
“You’ll heal, and you’ll continue to hunt with Dean.”
Sam approaches me and kisses me. His soft lips dance with mine, crashing our tongues.
“And with you.” he says, while brushes my cheek. I smile and hug him.
“And with me.”
Title: For a Flower that Grows on the Shores of Necluda
Pairing: Link / Prince Sidon | SidLink
Rating: Everyone (for now)
Summary: After an encounter with an unknown beast, Link is poisoned and left paralyzed from the waist down. Queen Zelda implores Zora Prince Sidon to journey with Link to the farthest edges of Necluda where a flower that is said to cure all poison supposedly grows. Owing a debt to Link after he saved his Domain from the blight of the Divine Beast, Prince Sidon readily agrees but a deeper reason lies beneath his accepting that goes beyond simple duty
Chapter 1 / ???
Tags: slight angst, little bit of a slow burn, injuries are involved, there is going to eventually be nsfw (possibly)
Continue reading here or check it out on AO3! Comments, kudos, and reblogs are highly appreciated!
His heart dropped into his stomach, a cold numbness spreading through his limbs, the moment he saw the blood.
Aha! I thing! And a not bad thing! And it’s a thing that could become A THING if I feel like putting anything into it. I could see it being a slow burn with some Varric lovin’ throw in. But who knows.
Summary: Stasia Hawke has found herself in need of a healer.
Stasia took a deep stabilizing breath and knocked upon the lantern-lit door on the edge of Darktown. She pressed the bunched up robes to the gash on her left thigh and tried not to think about her throbbing right arm where it hung uselessly at her side. It was bad enough that Anders would berate her this time for sure.
She’d already been to the clinic six times this week, but always as a bit of a joke. She came in with bruises and skinned knees claiming she needed expert healing. Anders’ lovely mouth twisted into a knowing smirk as she asked him ridiculous questions: ‘How serious is it, healer? Am I going to die? I think I’m bleeding out!’ He usually played along too: ‘Oh, this looks bad. I’ll need to amputate for sure.’ Sometimes she believed the lovely blonde man was seeing right through her. Stasia visited often just to see him. Scrapes were her thin guise as she bid for his well sought after attention. Anders was patient with her and he made the time, even if all she got was a quick touch of healing magic and a warm smile. It was worth it for the precious minutes she could steal. “Take care, Hawke,” he would murmur to her every time, turning away to tend to a needier patient. He made her warm. And she just never got tired of hearing those three simple words. But she needed more. More time to talk, more time with him. So she made her visits more frequent, more colloquial.
But Stasia was here in the middle of the night now, with a dislocated shoulder and a scrap of fabric wrapped around her leg as a makeshift tourniquet. The fun and games had come to a halting end. If Anders wasn’t in tonight, she’d probably die.
She knocked again and leaned heavily on the door frame. Please be here. Please help me. And when she was starting to feel she would collapse, the door cracked open.
“Hello? Hawke?!” Anders pulled the door wide and caught Stasia as she swayed forward on her bad leg.
“Help,” she said feebly as pain lanced up her entire left side when she moved.
I met Julian Koster. He played a concert in my basement on his Christmas Caroling Tour in November. He made my friends and me write down our deepest wishes on pieces of paper, and he lit them on fire, and he put some weird powder in the fire, and he blew the pieces away into the wind. That night, he ate my peanut butter, and he slept on my couch, and he told me that I could become a professor one day. He told me I could achieve anything I set my mind to, and I believe him with all of my heart.
“You alright?,” his voice startled
me, not expecting him to have been standing in the doorway of the
“Yeah,” I gave him the best smile I
could muster. “You ready to go?”
He nodded his head, though I could see
in his eyes that he was skeptical to leave the topic behind. He
reached his hand out for me, pulling me along behind him as we made
our way to the car.
He made a point to play my favorite
album by my favorite band on the car ride to the event, holding my
hand the whole way.
He’s always been that way. He’s
observant and empathetic, aware of my emotions and feeling them for
himself most of the time. I don’t have to say anything, I never do. I
can walk around with the biggest smile on my face, laughing with
everyone and having fun with friends, but he can always see past it.
He sees me, my heart, my mind. He understands, and he doesn’t judge
me for it. Knowing I don’t like to talk about my feelings, he usually
just holds my hand or cuddles me close to him and doesn’t push me to
tell him anything.
I just logged on and saw that I hit 10,000 followers on here! Wow. I am speechless. As I’ve said before, I never expected this blog to become anything. I made it so that I could have an outlet to write down the things that go on in my mind and have a place to put them all. I never expected so many people to find it, but I’m so glad you all did. Thank you thank you thank you to every person who has followed me, shared my words, and sent kindhearted messages. I am beyond appreciative and find some comfort in knowing that these things I think and feel are shared among thousands of you. I know the content of this blog is often dark and heavy, but right now I am feeling light and happy, and I want to remind you all of this: you are never alone.
(Can you do a Damon imagine based off the episode where he and Elena are captured by Wes who wants to conduct experiments on them except instead of Elena, it’s the reader and Damon does whatever it takes to save her. Oh and just end it however you want preferably with a bang :) )
Word Count: 1288
“Y/N! Y/N, wake up!” yelled a familiar voice, the tone alone made me want to gain consciousness again. My eyes stuttered open as I began to feel the weakness coursing throughout my body- no doubt from the vervain. I tried to recall where I was but as I stared up at a grey ceiling, panic struck me.
“Oh good” said the voice I had now recognized at Damon, relief lavished his tone. Turning my head to the side I saw him through a set of bars, looking just about as weak as me and that’s when I remembered what Wes had done.
I slowly turned my body over, getting a glimpse at the cells which held both Damon and myself. My breathing increased dramatically before I gripped Damon’s hand through the bars while questions and worry flew through my mind, like; Why were we here? Why was Damon here? What did Wes want with us?
A tight squeeze from Damon made me lose my train of thought, “Damon, Where are we?” I questioned trying to sound less stressed than I actually was, he sighed a loud before his blue orbs of hope came in contact with mine.
“We’re in the Whitmore House basement” he replied, I stared at him with a confused expression while more questions came to mind however I knew he had more to say so I stayed silent. “Some fifty years ago when I came back to Mystic falls, my relative sold me out to a group known as the Augustine Society, they were a bunch of scientists obsessed with experimenting on vampires. It was here in this same cell that I met Enzo, he was here since the war. They would spend the day slicing and cutting us up, removing organs, and testing us to our limits so they could gain an understanding of how our bodies worked”.
My eyes widened towards the end of Damon’s story and I found myself panicking even more but I tried to stay calm, “How long were you here?”.
“Five years, I thought they’d ended the Society but then Wes showed up” he admitted, I squeezed his hand tighter causing him to look up in to my glossy eyes.
“I-I-What’s going to happen to us Damon, You can’t go through this again and I don’t want you to” I cried still upset he hadn’t told me about his dark past. My body started shaking and I felt claustrophobic all of a sudden.
Damon grabbed both my hands and forced my eyes on his, “Ssh, Y/N, I promise this won’t happen to you okay? I’m going to get you out of here, I-” his pep-talk was cut short when his cell door flew open to reveal Wes, a syringe in his hand.
Before any of us could react he stabbed it into Damon’s neck, “No, Don’t hurt him you asshole” I screamed, immediately Damon shot me with eyes of fury.
“Shut up Y/N!” he warned by whispering to himself so only I could hear, Wes forced Damon to his feet while I struggled to get to mine. Wes just smirked at me.
“Hey don’t fret, I’ll be back for you soon” he replied before he dragged Damon out of the room and through the door at the end of the hall, Damon gave me a hopeful look before he disappeared.
I spent the whole time hyperventilating while waiting for Wes to return, I guessed that the absent sound of groans was a good thing but even that positive bit of news wasn’t enough to calm me down. I attempted to break the bars but the large amount of vervain running through my system was halting the progress.
Suddenly the door opened to reveal none other than the mad scientist himself, he appeared at my cell door, another syringe in his hand which found it’s way into my neck. Everything was blurry as I was dragged out of the cell and down the hall, resisting wasn’t an option but staying alive however, was.
Wes kicked open the door and an obscene amount of light blinded me momentarily while I stared around the room, there was many tools, benches and cabinets around the torture room but the one thing that caught my eye was Damon, he was strapped into a chair opposite a large bent- which was where I was headed.
In no time at all Wes had me lying down and strapped onto the metal sheet so I couldn’t move, all I could feel was the uncomfortable coldness of the metal on my skin and Damon’s angry eyes staring between Wes and myself.
Wes smiled at Damon as he walked closer to him, “I understand that you’ve had enough physical pain Damon but I do think some emotional damage is in store…” he spoke before approaching the table next to me, “like watching your girlfriend suffer.”
Damon struggled in his chair, trying to break free of the restraints, his jaw was clenched and eyes wild, “Why are you doing this?” I hollered trying to distract Wes who was now equipped with a scalpel.
“In the name of science Y/N, you see I’ve spent the last couple of years trying to find a way to stop vampires preying on humans” he retorted bringing forth that familiar wave of confusion I had experienced in the cell.
“Sometimes they deserve to die” added Damon making Wes frown.
“You see Damon, vampires have ruined the lives of people for years, they’ve torn apart families, friends, cultures, everything. To stop this I’ve developed a ripper compound which will send vampires into a feeding frenzy upon each other, starting with Y/N feeding on you”. My eyes widened as I tried to break to the metal clasps holding me to the table, I’d rather be cut open a hundred times than feed on Damon.
“No!” barked Damon making me snap my head towards him, “Do it to me, remember Wes I was the one that killed all your fellow science geeks” he teased, Damon and I knew full well that he had a stronger resistance that I ever would but that didn’t mean I wanted that resistance to be tested.
Wes chuckled profoundly as he stepped closer to me, I jumped slightly when he bought the blade down to my arm, he scraped it from one end to the other leaving a long painful cut upon it. I knew he was looking for Damon’s reaction and he of course was getting it each time Damon growled.
Without warning Damon broke free of the chair and charged towards Wes, his ripper face showing. He knocked Wes into the side table causing it to tip and many instruments to become strewn across the floor. Before I could say anything Damon bit into his neck leaving a bloodied mess but what he didn’t see was that Wes already had the syringe injected into his back.
Tears prickled in my eyes when Damon dropped the now lifeless Wes onto the ground and pulled the empty syringe out of his back. He stumbled towards me snapping the cuffs, once I was free I was already sobbing and reaching for Damon trying to hug him but he backed away before I could touch him.
Dullness took over his beautiful eyes, we both knew what was to become of him, I wanted so desperately for him to hold me, kiss me or just comfort me, “I-I love you Y/N…I’ll sort this out” was all he said before he disappeared leaving me pathetically crying on the floor while I awaited help from our friends.
“I’m so sorry Damon” I whispered to myself, knowing full well that this was just the beginning of a major dilemma.
Crowds gather slowly, joining together the same way as words in a sentence, the same way as lovers fingers.
Some place in-between poetry and prose, pieces of woven words make stories. Not just stories, spilled guts and beating hearts and things that make a soul burn. Maybe this way, eyes that roam over words on paper can become lips that shape poetry. Maybe now an understanding has come, there cannot be only endings, here is a beginning, here is a collector of words, here is a writer.
And somewhere a child with smudges of the Earth on their hands smiles, pushes back messy hair and becomes more than the human they thought they had to be. Just like that, fragments become whole, stitches pull tight and small parts of stories create a whole something of their own.
It had nearly been a month since the apocalypse had been on your very doorstep. One month since you, Dean, and Sam had your last ride in the Impala together. One month since you saw Sam smile reassuringly at you and Dean before falling into hell’s cage. One month since Dean had spoken a word to you. Had it really only been one month?
The ding from the oven woke you from your thoughts and you shook your head, attempting to clear it. You opened the oven and pulled out the chicken and rice, reminding yourself to send Jody some form of appreciation for the frozen meals she had been bringing you now and then. She would sometimes visit and hang out with you and Jenny. You couldn’t help but notice her lingering a bit whenever Bobby was around. Whatever the reason she visited and ended up sticking around for a while, you were thankful for her company. Another adult to communicate with perpetually saved you from baby-talk becoming your first language.
Although you loved how Jody’s meals would lighten your load, you couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed you didn’t get to cook your own masterpiece. Before the “Almost-Apocalypse” you could barely make spaghetti without having a fire extinguisher on hand as precaution. Now you found yourself making Bobby and Dean breakfast, lunch, and dinner every single day. Bobby would always apologize for you having to do all this, but you’d always tell him that it was no trouble and would bask in the way his face lit up whenever he took a bite of your food.
Dean never responded to the taste nor gave his thanks, but you were honestly just grateful he was eating. Most of the time he would either take it up to his room or grab it to go, but sometimes he would grace the table with his presence. It was usually random and he was so quiet at the table he might as well been dinner décor rather than a guest, but him sitting across from you calmed you ever so slightly. It gave you hope that perhaps he was slowly pulling himself out from the murky depths of his grief. Maybe soon he would be able to speak with you, be able to look at Jenny, and finally follow through with his promise to Sam. You could only hope.
I could not become anything; neither good nor bad; neither a scoundrel nor an honest man; neither a hero nor an insect. And now I am eking out my days in my corner, taunting myself with the bitter and entirely useless consolation that an intelligent man cannot seriously become anything, that only a fool can become something.