i have two of this one

I just watched Amélie for the first time … life is beautiful, and I am happy!

4

Wildlands

10

One Season Three Gifset Per Character → Hunk

I don’t want to leave the Yellow Lion, okay? I mean it’s big, it’s got this super armor, it’s safe.

9

names get carved in the red oak tree
of the ones who stay and the ones who leave

Mothers’ Weekend

Hello there! Long time, no see (my bad I know) but, here: an Alicia Zimmermann-centric piece as she goes to Parents’ Weekend during Jack’s freshmen year. [focus on Alicia, Jack, and Shitty] 6k


Somewhere, deep in her heart, Alicia Zimmermann knows she is a bad mother.

It started out as a worry, as maybe it does for all new mothers, that she will be a bad mother. That she won’t know what to do with a baby or a toddler that one day she will accidentally drop him or forget to feed him or feed him something he is actually allergic to or maybe she’ll scar him emotionally somehow and she worried but she survived his childhood okay. And then, after he was five or six, she stopped worrying about it. She thought she was doing pretty good. Jack had hockey and loved hockey and, sure, they didn’t have deep emotional talks but she didn’t exactly have any basis of comparison. Television families told her she was doing okay. No teenage boy wanted to have deep talks with his mother. And, look, if Jack didn’t talk to her all that much as he turned 12 and then 13, at least he was still talking to his father. Mostly still about hockey but she… she thought that had counted. Hockey was like French, to her. Another language she could understand but couldn’t quite speak. But Bob could. He was on top of it. Jack was taken care of.

She loved Jack. That was never the problem. The problem was that her love wasn’t enough. It didn’t matter. It didn’t alert her to any of the facts and maybe it even blinded her– She loved her son and her son loved hockey and so she loved hockey too. She loved her son and then her son seemed to love a boy named Kent and they never talked about it but she let Kent come over all the time and she figured they would discuss it at some point. She just… assumed everything was okay. Even after he was diagnosed with the anxiety disorder and given pills. It was always… well, that was a little problem but it’s handled and under control and everything is okay now.

See. Bad mother.

A good mother would have known somehow.

A good mother would have pushed and prodded or sensed it without even having to be told.

A good mother would have paid attention to how hard Jack was on himself. A good mother would have made sure her son had interests outside of hockey. A good mother would have known that Jack’s long silences after losses weren’t normal. A good mother would have preached balance and fostered friendships with different types of people and stopped the fucking hockey.

She didn’t though. Stop the hockey. No, not Alicia Zimmermann. She encouraged it. She went to the games and cheered the loudest and she even loved it a little bit because she thought it brought him joy, like his father. She bought into the vision: Jack playing hockey like Bob, the Zimmermann legacy continued throughout the ages…

God, she even used to tease Jack about how it took his father three years to win a Cup and she was sure Jack could manage it faster than his old man.

A good mother wouldn’t have done that. So, see, she’s always been a bad mother. Even now, now that she’s almost lost him, now that she’s promised to do better, now that she’s finally read all the books and online articles about anxiety and pressure and the danger of sports and hockey culture… now she’s still just as bad. Just for different reasons.

Now she is a bad mother because it’s Saturday afternoon and he’s been at Samwell for almost three months and she does not feel like mothers are supposed to feel in this moment.

She glances around. At the sea of other mothers and fathers crammed onto Samwell’s campus for Parents’ Weekend. They are not nervous. They are excited. Happy. Enthusiastic. Overjoyed to see the teenager they had left just a couple months ago again. To her right is a father almost (but not quite) breaking into a run to give his son a hug. To her left, a mother has burst into tears. Happy tears.

And then there’s her. She’s not excited to see Jack. Well, no. No, it’s not that she’s not excited. She is. She is. (She is. She repeats it once more just to remind herself). She is just…

She is nervous too. More nervous than she is excited.

Keep reading

Imagine changing in your room while your neighbor, Dean Winchester, is watching from his own window.

Related to this: Imagine your neighbor, Dean Winchester, getting jealous when he sees a guy leave your house in the morning when your parents are gone on a trip.

You slowly let the summer dress your friend had convinced you to wear for the day slide down your body, your hands sliding down with it and trailing all the way down, bending just slightly. In the end you were only in your underwear.

You didn’t know why she insisted at first but when you saw she had invited Tom you understood why. He was cute and all but he couldn’t compare to your gorgeous and, well, older neighbor Dean Winchester. You were finally home and ready to spend the rest of your night in bed thinking about said older man and hopefully catch a glimpse of his straight out of the shower.

You rubbed the sore muscles of the crook of your neck. Standing there for a moment you bit your lip, glancing down at the small mirror you had on your desk to see him still standing there with wide eyes. 

You didn’t know what got over you at first and you didn’t know how you could be thinking all of these things at the moment. It wasn’t right, no, but without letting logic take over you reached and slowly slid one strap of the the bra after the other. Your eyes didn’t leave his reflection on the small mirror and you reached behind your back to unclasp your bra and let it fall down on your feet.You stood with your back still to him and when you turned just slightly to look ont he corner of your room you did have your arms slightly over your chest.

You wanted to look over your shoulder, see what he would do if you locked eyes, but you didn’t have it in you. One mere glance at the mirror showed how affected he was, with those perfect lips of his slightly apart and an awe-struck look on his face. You nibbled on your lip, your hands resting on the hem of your panties on each side of your hips. You saw that he took in a sharp breath, and his eyebrows shot up. He stilled himself, almost awaiting for it and you had to keep yourself from giggling at the look on his face.

Who would have ever thought you could have this effect on him? Maybe you should really start taking advantage of it, seeing as he really did his best to torture you with the way he acted around you. 

You shook your head and grabbed a nearby oversized shirt, pulling it over your head; it reached your mid thigh. You may or may have not actually bent a little too much on purpose to pick up your dress and bra and without looking up you made your way to the other side of the room. You rested your back against a wall and slid down. You could feel your entire face heat up not just because this wasn’t usually your thing - he could really bring out the worst and best in you all at the same time - but because as you took a look at the mirror you saw his face.

You could practically hear him let out a growl of frustration, it was obvious on his face, and the way he mumbled something to himself and ran an angry hand down his face made you giggle. He went out of view, striding somewhere, probably in the direction of his shower.

“Payback’s a bitch huh Mr Winchester?” you thought, biting your lip.

He would call you kid one moment and then the other he would suggest that you looked more delicious with or without wiped cream than his pie? Oh he was going to get what he deserved.

Dark: I’ve been studying Anti for years and I’ve condensed what I’ve learned into this chart: “How Anti Spends His Time”.

Dark: You can see we have “Whining” and “Stabbing and Distracting Others”.

Dark: And this tiny sliver here is “Critical Thinking”.

Dark: I made it bigger. So you could see it.

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top 50 otps of all time ☆ #10. Seth Cohen & Summer Roberts

“You see, back then, you were just this fantasy. You were this little girl who when I would see, you would either ignore me or make an obscene gesture and keep on walking … But now look at you, you fight for sea otters, you’ve befriended Taylor Townsend, you’re an incredible mom to that bunny. You’ve evolved. And over the last nine hundred and fifty days we’ve been dating - yes, I’ve counted and yes, I counted the Zach era because really, who were we kidding? - I’ve watched you grow into this incredible woman. And that is who I love.” 

anonymous asked:

I have this personal headcannon where Andrew actually has the cutest laugh in the fucking world but NO ONE CAN EVER KNOW THAT HES SO CUTE. Anyway, could you write a thing where Neil or even the foxes hear it for the first time and are like ???? He's so cute???

The years go on and on, and even though the other foxes might not think so, Neil can tell that Andrew is making huge steps in his recovery. He can see it in the way Andrew carries himself, in the ways he responds to certain situations, and how he acts when they’re alone together.

Quite frankly, he doesn’t care if anyone else notices, and neither does Andrew. Bee probably knows; her and Andrew still do weekly sessions over skype once he graduates and moves away, and that helps too.

More than anything, Andrew learns how to enjoy little things in life, and it all builds up to more and more good days. He still has bad ones, but deep wounds can still heal with time and distance and therapy.

Today, they’re having a quiet day in on their rest day. It’s mid-November and Chicago is miserable, so they’re content to wrap up in blankets and drink coffee and write the day off as a rest day. Neil wakes up to find Andrew in the kitchen, mockingly meow-ing back at King who is pacing around his ankles.

“He’s talkative this morning,” Neil mumbles, pouring himself coffee and then leaning against Andrew who is making them eggs.

“I drop one bit of egg on the ground and he suddenly thinks it’s all for him,” Andrew says, his hip bumping Neil’s in a silent good morning.

Neil chuckles, making kissy faces at King and drinking his coffee until the eggs are done.


After breakfast, Andrew and Neil grab their spare blankets and wrap up on the couch (which is really more of a loveseat), both of them in a corner with their legs tangled up together. Andrew grabs a book from the coffee table and opens it to wherever he had stopped last, and Neil messes around on his phone before deciding to flip through the TV channels.

It’s peaceful until King begins meowing up a storm again, pacing all around the couch like he can’t quite decide where is the best place to jump up. Andrew meows back at him once more, which gets a smile out of Neil, and Andrew glances at him out of the corner of his eye. Neil sees the telltale signs of Andrew’s happiness around his eyes, and although it’s still a rare occurrence, it’s not a complete surprise when Andrew grins too.

What does surprise both of them is the fact that King tries to jump up onto the back of the couch. It’s a lower seated piece of furniture, so he usually can make it, but today his claws sink into the fabric next to Andrew’s shoulder and squirms around for a second before dropping back to the floor. It’s almost comically Lion King-esque, and Andrew and Neil both stare at him for a second.

Then, Andrew laughs.

It’s short, but it’s almost a giggle and it’s nothing like the quiet snorts Neil has gotten so used to.

It’s so endearing that Neil can’t help but laugh along, and while he still laughs like it’s been startled out of him, he catches the way that it makes Andrew smile a little wider.

Neither of them mention it, because they don’t have to. They just go back to reading and watching TV, but every once and a while Neil can’t help but sneak a peek at Andrew.

“Pay attention to your show,” Andrew comments, not glancing up.

“Can’t,” Neil says, smile sliding back onto his face as Andrew finally looks up at him.

He doesn’t smile again, but his eyes soften and he nudges Neil’s knee with his own. “Your attention span has gotten worse and worse.”

Neil shrugs, clicking the TV off and snuggling back into his corner. “It’s not as interesting.”

Andrew rolls his eyes and looks back down at his book, and slowly Neil drifts off into a nap. Their house is quiet and calm and full of everything that makes Neil happy, and he wouldn’t trade it for the world.