i'd like to imagine this is what

Life goal; sleep on Ashton, play w his hair, kiss his face and make him v happy all day ery day

You know what, Booth and Brennan will always be my #1 otp because they gave me so much as a couple. I mean, I’m not talking about sex or smut because that’s fanfiction material (like you go girl, want to see your fave ship bang on a piano? go and read that !!!! that’s what that website is for) but everything else. The ‘platonic’ aspect of their relationship has always been the best part of their dynamic to me, but they were still able to overcome that phase and be a family. This being said, that original dynamic has never been compromized, not to me at least, because when it comes to the important stuff, Booth and Brennan are still partners first, they are still the people they would give up their life for, they would fight for each other. While the majority of other ships kinda change once they get together. Booth and Brennan never completely changed, so much that people complain because they’d rather have them being romantic the 100% of the time. I don’t. Also, it’s the little things that matter to me, like it might sound stupid, but I find it extremely adorable and precious that Brennan knows Booth by knowing his injuries. Every time something happens, she’s able to compare factures and other stuff to Booth’s. And that’s so IC, that’s something I really want to see because it’s them. And it’s been this way since she first found out about his past in 1x15 and it never changed. She imagined him on that autopsy table in 11x01 by looking at the bones, just like it happened on 12x04 with Aldo and in other many occasions. Brennan saying like I know that because of your brain tumor. She knows his brain scans. YAAAS. Give me this stuff. Give me Booth and Brennan that can’t sleep without each other at night when one of them is struggling with something, give me them talking about taking someone’s life and carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. Give me them hurting each other to save each other. They would never cheat on each other or hurt each other because they want to. They only do it because it’s the only way. Yaas. Screw sex, just give me this stuff.

Imagine your OTP...

Person B is in a poorly lit room, eating their lunch, when their lover/crush, Person A, enters the room and notices B.

Person A : It’s so dark in here, how can you eat there ? Nobody likes eating in the dark !

Person B : Depends on what you’re eating *smiles*

So I was just thinking about those posts you get in the Discworld tag about the way belief works on the Disc and how Vetinari and/or Vimes is so integral to the way Ankh-Morpork works that they might just sort of… not ever die.

You know, the ones like ‘Vimes is going to become a god of policemen and he’s going to hate it”.

Well. What if it happens to both of them? There are two parts to the city, after all. ‘Proud Ankh’ needs taking down a peg or two (or seven) by Sam Vimes, and if anyone can terrify ‘pestilent Morpork’ into being better then it’s Havelock Vetinari. And they can drive each other mad with stealth puns for centuries, if they want.

Also, this would potentially make them literally Law And Order, and that just seems very fitting in a way that would probably annoy them both.

Lines SVT would probably use on their crush

S.Coups: They say thick thighs save lives… Are you in need of saving?

Jeonghan: The only way my hair can look any better is on your pillow.

Joshua: I speak many languages but there’s one I’d like for you to teach me and it’s called Love. 

Jun: Excuse me. Do you have a name or can I call you mine?

Hoshi: Do you know what Hoshi means? Star. Do you know what a star is? You.

Wonwoo: If you were a book, I’d stay up all night reading you.

Woozi:  Are you a Seventeen song? Because you’re looking 아주 nice today.

DK: Some people call me DK, Dokyeom or Seokmin but you can just call me tonight.

Mingyu: My friend wants to know if you think I’m cute.

The8: If I’m the prince of China will you be the prince/princess of my heart? 

Seungkwan: Have you heard me sing? *laughs* Of course you have. Well one night with me and I’ll teach you how to hit all those high notes.

Vernon: *freestyle raps* Me without you is like a nerd without braces, a shoe without laces, a sentence without spaces.

Dino: Are you sick? I think you might be suffering from lack of Vitamin Dino.

1D Hiatus: Day 350

* Niall posts two pictures and two videos on Snapchat

* Pap pictures of Liam shopping for groceries at Sainsbury’s in London yesterday are released (poor Liam via Twitter: “Can’t even do your shopping these days without some creepy guy stalking ya with a huge camera”)

* Videos of Louis leaving Warwick nightclub on the 16th are released

* Niall changes his Twitter icon

* Joe Lycett talks about Harry in a recent interview

It’s Nov 27th, 2016.

I have really bad pareidolia - hearing imagined patterns in white noise. I constantly hear things that don’t exist. I sit up lots of nights, listening to these phantom sounds in my fan. 

I brought it up to my therapist yesterday, because I was hoping for some sort of ‘trick’ to ignore it and go to sleep, and you know what? Apparently, most people hear music or rhythmic, repeating phrases. Nice, gentle, calming type things. She said it’s very normal and there’s nothing to do about it, and just sit back and learn to enjoy it.

Then I informed her that I don’t hear music; I hear the screams of the damned. Shrieking, moaning, hollering, bawling… eerie screeches of agony and fear all night. The occasional voice that comes through is not… necessarily pleasant.

My therapist said - and I quote: “That’s not okay, dear.” Then she suggested that i get rid of my fan because, “you never know when you’ve accidentally opened a portal to Hell until it’s too late.” (I love my therapist, btw)

I bought a white noise machine on my way home, and now have a fan up for sale.

Anyone interested? :)

anonymous asked:

you did it with Ryan, and kind of mentioned it with the one about them being kids on Los santos at the same time but could you consider team nice dynamite being a thing before the fahc?

What a horrifying catastrophe. Not so much terrifying rumour as neon warning sign; the epitome of collateral damage, less interested in taking over the world than they are burning it to the ground.

They met when they were almost painfully young, when Gavin comes all the way to America to work with a crew only to find that they’d misrepresented themselves. Had sold him on a single job, with the possibility of discussing more work, when in reality they had no intention off letting him go. It’s a big gang, nasty, and while they covert his talents they clearly think Gavin is otherwise more or less harmless; quick and clever but easily cowed. There’s an argument, some unfortunate unpleasantness, then a week or two of waiting for some violent action, some futile stand. When it doesn’t come they know they’ve got him, crew leaders more smarmy and self-satisfied than ever as Gavin slinks about the base with drooping shoulders and a permanent guard.

Michael had been working with the crew, not really a full member yet – they were stringing him along, making him prove himself over and over and he wasn’t exactly rushing the process along. He’d gotten involved without knowing enough about them, young and eager to make his mark, only realising his predicament when it was too late to just walk away. It’s not the way things are done with this kind of crew, and Michael resigns himself to hunting for someone bigger and badder to align with or risk catching a bullet to the back of the head.

Michael didn’t know what was happening with the British kid until the fallout, and honestly he didn’t really care. Made him respect the crew less, made him more eager than ever before to trade up and get gone, but he’s no one’s hero and anyone dumb enough to take an offer from Los Santos at face value, swallow the promise of some kind of utopian partnership from strangers across the sea, deserves what they get. The fact that Gavin seemed interesting, weird and bright and funny before the carpet was pulled out from under him definitely doesn’t haunt Michael’s thoughts. Doesn’t make him consider breaking them both out – he can’t go carrying deadweight after all, and anyone who crumbles this quickly will never be an asset. It’s just sad really, kind of pathetic, and Michael does his level best to stay away from him. Doesn’t want to watch Gavin shrink into an obedient shadow, or worse, make a friend only to abandon him in this hellhole when the opportunity to leave finally presents itself.

What he failed to anticipate was the fact that Gavin doesn’t fold like a house of cards, doesn’t resign himself to a new life or kill himself trying to get away. He doesn’t even make a quiet escape, slip out in the dead of night when even his guards are asleep, oh no. This, it turns out, would be America’s first taste of Gavin’s furious wrath, and they couldn’t have been less prepared.

Having kept himself apart Michael was the only one who noticed it happening, the only one who recognised the source of the slow destabilisation of the crew, the surprising origin of countless petty fights and ever growing tempers. He watches Gavin’s idle chatter seep out, tracks the path of poisonous rumours as they spread throughout the crew, and says nothing. Gavin turns harmless words into knives, bows his head to hide a vicious smirk as he talks the crew into gutting itself and Michael, who tried so hard not to look, suddenly can’t look away.

Bringing down the leaders doesn’t take all that much, in the end; when there’s nothing connecting them but violence and power there is no true loyalty, they’re each as paranoid and selfish as each other and all too willing to believe the others might plot against them. It was terrifying, morbidly beautiful, but not quite enough. Not when they’re armed and Gavin isn’t, free when Gavin isn’t, not when eventually they’re going to put two and two together and maybe Gavin is prepared to go down with this ship, die knowing they cannot recover from what he made them do, but Michael’s not done yet. More than ready to stop sitting on the bench, to exercise his itchy trigger finger, not quite prepared for the most interesting thing thats ever happened to him to end so soon.

It’s not even that difficult, really, not with the whole crew fractured and dwindling, when everyone’s too busy pointing fingers at each other to look for threat from the distant outsider. Michael’s let them think little of him for far too long for them to worry about him now, and it’s the last mistake they’ll ever make. What Gavin ruined Michael destroys, neatly foreshadowing the future of their partnership.

The two stay together even once they leave, recognise each other for what they are, kindred souls, matching violence in their smiles, chaos in their blood. The flame and the gasoline, inseparable once combined, delighting in devastation. The reckless carelessness of youth combined with near heartless violence results in a dangerous kind of confidence, flippant and self absorbed, interested in nothing outside their own amusement, refusing to accept the possibility of any line they shouldn’t cross, any difficulty they cannot overcome. What could stop them now that they’re together? What could anyone do but get out of their way? Gavin talks them into fortunes, Michael tears them out of trouble and they both revel in the mayhem they leave in their wake. Relish the ability to do whatever they like whenever they like with no unwanted master pulling their strings.

Not that no one is interested; their reputation precedes them and everyone from big crews to wanna-be somebodies have recognised their potential. Bar some serious behavioural issues they’re basically the dream team if anyone could keep them. Clever, violent, entirely amoral and quick on their feet, appealingly loyal and young enough that they should have been easy to manage if only they could be convinced to care about anything outside of each other, outside of playing and performing and planning the next wild adventure.

It almost shakes them apart, sometimes, that need to do something drastic. Something grand and unforgivable, cataclysmic. Chasing after any flashy thing that catches their attention, forever wanting bigger and more thrilling but lacking any real direction. It has them at each others throats as often as not but they always pull it together in the end, unshakable affection winning out over frustration every damn time, and woe to any who tried to capitalise on their momentary troubles. Who try to pull one away, encourage the rift, who think this priceless opportunity rather than a minor bump in the road.

The more harmless opportunists, the ones who just try to sell their own grandeur, to recruit Michael and Gavin, or worse, one or the other are merely jeered out of the room, left confused and humiliated but still whole. Those who try to contain them, restrain them, pull them back to some degree of responsibility for their actions and force them into deals they have no interest in complying with are simply torn apart. Left as warning, as promise, a reminder that for all their inexperience, their aimless wandering and lack of allies, Michael and Gavin are the furthest thing from harmless.

It’s not that they’d never work with another crew, theres something to be said for a steady home, for someone else to watch your back, to plan your attacks, its just that they have a hard time trusting anyone else. A hard time believing that joining a crew won’t land them right back where they started, that any boss would truly understand that loyalty can’t be taken by force, that allegiance needn’t look like subservience.

So when the infamous Ramsey comes along and offers them a job they turn up their noses, bare their teeth and laugh in his face. When he offers again they try to disappear, ghost away like they have countless times before. When he tracks them down regardless they take out one of his safe-houses in explosive retribution. He comes back and they taunt him, sharp words and defensive sneers. Still again he returns, to threats, to violence, to childish graffiti and a layer of furious distrust coating possessive fear. They push and shove and snap and snarl and do everything in their power to chase him away and every time they think they’ve managed he turns up again, unnervingly mild mannered and relentlessly insistent. He offers and is met with complete disbelief, offers and is met with a million and one questions, he offers and somehow winds up in a negotiation that costs him his car and all the cash in his wallet with nothing in return. Geoff offers more than a job, offers a home, a family, a surprising tolerance for their many quirks; he lays all his cards on the table and lets them try to shred him apart, faintly amused but never condescending. He offers and offers and offers but never takes, never forces, never even alludes to the fact that he could, the way his position of power is so disproportionately greater than theirs. Geoff offers, and in the end they say yes.

  • Jinhong: can I have that doughnut?
  • Jeonguk: no, I licked it so it's mine
  • Jinhong: can I have some of that ice cream?
  • Jeonguk: *quickly licks it* no, licked that too. It's mine
  • Jinhong: *looks over to Cory*
  • Jeonguk: you bet I licked that
  • Cory: *sweats*

I have a feeling that Sebastian and Ciel’s way to annoy each other gets more personal as years pass like at the start Sebastian’d probably put Ciel’s things at really tall places so the boy would have to climb all the way up to get something (or ask another servant to do it while feeling embarrassed) and Ciel would just give the demon more tasks to do throughout the day so the butler’d need to ‘finish his duties’ for a longer time (which would annoy the demon most likely). But then once they start learning more things about each other it kind of escalates into things like “Young Master I have made you a salad cake today please enjoy” or “Sebastian I ruined your cat plushie have fun just looking at its fluffy tail tonight”.

What would you do for a Klondike Bar?

Relationship: Crowley x Reader

Based on this post: [x]

Word Count: 1522

Warnings: Language, Alcohol, Harassment nearing assault, canon typical violence

Tagging: @bkwrm523 @fandommaniacx (I saw you liked the post so I thought I’d tag you but if you’d like to be untagged I completely understand just let me know.

A/N: So I saw the original post and it allowed me to indulge my Crowley feels so I wrote a little something.  I hope you enjoy and please enjoy the crappy paint edit I made for the shirt. I just felt I needed to make one for visual effect.

Originally posted by crowleyslittleminion

He’s the King of Hell! What are you even thinking? What if he can hear you? What if Cas hears you? Stop thinking! Your inner monologue was running a mile a moment as you watched Crowley teaming up with Sam to hustle some frat boys in pool. Ever since the incident with the Darkness you found yourself being drawn more to Crowley. Admittedly though as a hunter having a crush on the King of Hell to begin with was already pretty ludicrous.

    You ordered another round of shots and decided the best thing to do was to drink away the thoughts of Crowley taking you back to the bunker. The King laying you down and making you come apart in new and heat inducing ways. You shuddered and quickly slammed back the shots the bartender had left you and ordered two more. A warm body took a seat next to you and you thought finally Dean and Cas had shown up to join in on the party. However, turning you came face to face with a man, who was looking at you like you were something to eat. He was one of the frat guys that came in with the boys playing Sam and Crowley and you hoped he didn’t stay long.

   “I hope you don’t mind I saw you here all alone and thought I’d keep you company,” he offered nicely enough.

  “That’s sweet but I’m not alone. I’m just waiting for my boys to finish kicking your friend’s asses in pool. Thanks anyway!”

  “You’re with them? Oh sugar you need new friends. A pretty little thing like you needs men her age that can keep up with her and meet her needs.” His hand dropped down gripping your thigh tightly.

  Although you were already tipsy from the shots you quickly pushed his hand away, “My needs are already taken care of. I’m not interested okay. Just get lost.”

  He frowned but didn’t move, “So, which one is fucking you then? You look like you have Daddy issues so I’m guessing the older guy is more your speed. Is that your thing sugar? A little daddy kink going on?”

   “You’re disgusting. Get the fuck away from me,” you tried to stand but all the alcohol seemed to hit you at once and you tilted falling back onto the stool. “Shit.”

   The dudes hand found your thigh again squeezing tighter as he leaned over, “I think I should take you out back and give you a taste of what you’re missing? Hmm. I bet you’re a screamer.” He quickly pulled you into a kiss and before you could push him off he was pulled away thrown to the floor.  He scrambled looking up, “What the fuck?”

  You turned finding Crowley standing over him, “I think she made it quite clear she wasn’t interested. Now leave while you still can you pathetic excuse of a man.”

  Sam wrapped his arms around you and helped you stand, “Come on Y/N let’s head back.”

  “Crowley is defending me. That’s so sweet!” you giggled as Sam led you away from the bar. “Isn’t he the cutest Sammy?”

   “Okay no more alcohol for you tonight,” Sam laughed motioning for Crowley to follow him.

   “I guess you’re going to let the jolly green giant have a turn at your toy tonight, huh?” the boy smirked standing. “She was probably a terrible lay anyway. You can have her.”

   The next sound you heard was a sickening crunch as Crowley punched him so hard he fell back unconscious. Crowley handed the bartender a wad of cash, “For the mess and taking out the trash. Apologies.” Crowley turned kicking the frat boy’s foot looking over at his friends, “I suggest you take this Neanderthal back wherever he came from and I better never see him near her again.”

   You giggled practically swooning under the influence of the alcohol, “Crowley is the sweetest. Do you think he likes me Sammy?”

   “Okay. Come on Y/N let’s get back to the bunker. Crowley come on we need to get her home,” Sam bent over picking you up bridal style and carried you out to the car. “I’ll text Dean and tell him we are heading back.”

   “Crowley, do you like me?” You cooed as Sam laid you across the back seat.

   Crowley took the passenger seat, “You are slightly more tolerable Little Dove than the Moose and Squirrel.”

    You giggled again, “I like you. I want to kiss you sometimes and I think that’s no good but I don’t care.”

    “Well,” Crowley said unsure of what to say as Sam started the engine. “She’s certainly an open book isn’t she Moose?”

   “Don’t get any ideas Crowley. She’s just buzzed and you defended her from a douchebag. She won’t remember a thing in the morning.”

   “Drunk words are sober thoughts. Isn’t that what they say?” Crowley offered and you giggled. “Do you mean what you said Little Dove?”

   You leaned forward, “Of course I do. I just don’t tell the boys because you tried to kill me that one time, but they don’t know you saved me from that witch four months ago. I knew then that this was love.”

    “A witch? What witch?” Sammy asked looking to Crowley.

   “She’s just buzzed lad. She won’t remember a thing. I doubt she knows what she’s saying.”

   “I do too,” you pouted lying back in the seat.

    After a tense drive home you got out on your own and ignored both Sam and Crowley’s calls to help you. Closing your bedroom door you stripped reaching for the old oversized t-shirt you liked to sleep in. You giggled as you read the block letters I’D DO ___________ FOR A KLONDIKE BAR on the old shirt. The blank line gave you an idea that sober you would probably hate you for.

    “Sorry sober me, but it’s funny,” you looked for a marker in your desk and laid the shirt out writing what came to mind and smiled sliding it on. “It’s perfect.” You smiled and crawled into bed.

     “Oh god,” you moaned as you woke up feeling the effects of a hangover. “I’m never drinking again.” After a few minutes you managed to make it to your restroom and relieved yourself before heading down the hall. Voices drifted in from the war room and you smiled realizing Dean and Cas were finally home.

     “So you punched the guy for her?” Cas asked.

     “He was being rude to her not to mention if we hadn’t been there who knows what the cretin would’ve done to her,” Crowley offered.

     “I think you got a crush on our Y/N,” Dean offered with a laugh as Sam agreed.

     You stumbled in blinking against the harsh light as they turned their attention to you, “I’m never drinking again, boys.” Stumbling forward you realized they had all grown very quiet as you sunk into a chair propping your feet up on the table. “Why’d you get so quiet?”

    Dean burst out laughing followed by snickers from Sam, “Are you serious right now? Could you be any more obvious Y/N”

    “Shut up Dean,” Crowley spit out giving you a curious look.

    “What the hell are you talking about Winchester? Obvious about what?”

    “Dean I don’t think she knows,” Sam offered into his own giggles. “She must have done it last night.”

    You were frustrated, starving, and your head was pounding, “Guys I’m hungover just tell me.”

     “Allow me,” Cas offered and pressed his fingers to my forehead and a warm wave seemed to wash over me and the hangover was gone. “Now you should be more open minded.”

     “Thanks Cas, but open minded to what?”

    Sam and Dean snickered as Crowley coughed grabbing your attention, “Your shirt, love. I think the boys are referring to your addition to your shirt.”

    You frowned stretching your shirt out, “What addi…” you stopped mid-sentence seeing written on your shirt in bright red letters THE KING OF HELL, which now made your shirt read I’D DO THE KING OF HELL FOR A KLONDIKE BAR. 

Your face fell and you felt the warmth of embarrassment flare in your cheeks, “Oh Chuck. I fucking hate drunk me.” You sunk back watching the boys and Cas smile while Crowley frowned.

    “Well that certainly paints a picture,” Crowley offered unsure of what to say. But then the smooth talker that he was recovered, “I’m in the business of making dreams come true, love. Would you care to find out?”

     “And we’re out,” Dean offered standing pulling Sam and Cas with him out of the war room.

     You watched the boys leave swallowing as Crowley stepped closer holding out his hand with a smile. You took it standing up and allowed him to pull you into a soft kiss, “Well how about we make sure you earn that ice cream?”

     You giggled, “You want me, seriously?”

      “Always have, Little Dove. Love the shirt so remind me to send my regards to drunk you,” he smirked.

      “Smartass,” you pulled him into a kiss and smiled also thanking drunk you and whatever made you buy this ridiculous shirt.

Every time I watch 5sos snapchat stories:

Originally posted by animatedtext