most beautiful car ever

Okay I’ve been thinking about this forever and I need opinions

You know that post going around telling white people to dress like they’re going to a job interview and then plant their milquetoast selves in front of poc/minorities because police won’t want to arrest them???

Imagine Tony walking by a peaceful protest and nodding at all the young people he sees there, says “you’re doing good work!” because hey when he was there age he was either drunk or high and he’s proud of these kids for having opinions

He goes to his meeting and it sucks because Business but he’s pleased with the results and that’s kind of what he’s thinking most about when he notices the peaceful protest he’s passing to get to the car is no longer peaceful oh shit the protesters are huddling together and they look scared oh shit people are throwing eggs and garbage what the fuck oh shit police what the fuck

So Tony, in his Armani suit and Italian loafers, stomps over to stand between the police, the people throwing garbage at these kids, and the protesters. Happy appears a moment later, looking resigned, and then Tony feels a hand gripping his and he glances over and it’s Pepper, looking fierce as usual

And the police that aren’t busy trying to corral the assholes throwing garbage or the protesters that had gone to fight them to protect the rest look at him a bit unsurely, and then finally one of them steps forward and calls out, “Gentlemen, ma’am, please move aside!”

And Tony’s so pissed, he’s become part of this now, and they expect him to just move aside and let them arrest these people who had been attacked and baited into fighting, so he sets his jaw, straightens his shoulders, and snarls, “No, you move!”

(The police come for them anyway. “Get in the limo!” Happy snaps, and Tony is offended before he realizes he’s got the arms of a young girl and a boy in each hand and is shoving them toward the car. “Yes! Go! Get in the car! Go!” Tony adds, and the group scatters for the car, and cabbies are leaning out their windows, flashing their lights and shouting “’ey, no fares here!” and then people just on their ways to work are unlocking doors and calling out how many empty seats they have, and it’s the most beautiful thing Tony’s ever seen

Pepper drags him into the car in the confusion, and there’s so many people in it they have to squat on the floor, and it takes him a moment to realize he’s shaking, but he can’t tell if it’s anger or adrenaline)

((“Hey,” he says when he notices one of their passengers is quite young. “I’m Tony. What’s your name?”

And the girl smiles even though frightened tears are rolling down her cheeks and she says, “I’m Kamala.”))

Second Love (pt. 02)

Pairing: Yoongi | Reader.
Genre: Angst, SummerLove AU, Fluff & (future) Smut
Word Count: 6.3K

A/N: thank you for all the support you’ve been giving to this story <3 The next part will be the final one ohh :’(

Pt. 01  |  Pt. 02  |  Pt. 03


Summer 2006

Since that night you were sure of one thing: you would stop thinking about Yoongi. You would stop liking him. You started ignoring him at the Gong’s farm, but that was an easy task, since he was the first that started ignoring you in Mr. and Mrs. Gong’s presence.

But unfortunately, Yoongi started going out with the boys again. You had to see him every night and when you arrived home you were exhausted from the effort it took you to ignore him. He was still staring at you every time your eyes accidentally landed on him and you were sure he was trying to drive you nuts. First he told you that you should get over him before you fell something deeper for him, and then he kept staring at you like that. He was contradicting himself. Maybe he didn’t hate you, but you were starting to hate him.

Keep reading

Wisdom Teeth Struggles

Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam

Word Count: 2,286

Warnings: None

Summary: You get your wisdom teeth out and Dean and Sam take this opportunity to mess with you… Or you mess with them. 

Author’s Note: This isn’t edited. I just wrote this a while ago and never looked at it until today so I am sorry for all the mistakes in it. 

Originally posted by yaelstiel

Dean was lucky to not have wisdom teeth. However, you did, and they were on their way to pick you up from the orthodontist.

“Remember when you got yours taken out?” Dean looked over at his brother with a smirk.

“Dude, I was 17 and I was hopped up on all those drugs.” Sam grimaced at the memory.

“You tried to kiss me and feel up dad. You thought you were at a gay strip bar.” Dean started to laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, can we not talk about that? That happened a long time ago and frankly, I don’t want to revisit my teen years.” Dean till laughed but he shut up about it and continued to drive. He got to the orthodontist a while later and walked with his brother into the lobby area.

Keep reading

The first time I saw her..
Everything in my head went quite..
All the ticks, all the constantly refreshing images just disappeared.

When you have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, you don’t really get quite moments.

Even in bed, I’m thinking:

Did I lock the doors? Yes.
Did I wash my hands? Yes.
Did I lock the doors? Yes.
Did I wash my hands? Yes.

But when I saw her, the only thing I could think of was the hairpin curve of her lips..
Or the the eyelash on her cheek-
the eyelash on her cheek-
the eyelash on her cheek.

I knew I had to talk to her.

I asked her out six times in thirty seconds.

She said yes after the third one, but none of them felt right, so I had to keep going.

On our first date, I spent more time organizing my meal by color than I did eating it. Or talking to her..
But she loved it.

She loved that I had to kiss her kidney sixteen times or twenty-four times at different times of the day.

She loved that it took my forever to walk home because there are lots of cracks on our sidewalk.

When we moved in together, she said she felt safe, like no one would ever rob us because I definitely locked the door eighteen times.

I’d always watch her mouth when she talked-
when she talked-
when she talked-
when she talked;
when she said she loved me, her mouth would curl up at the edges.

At night, she’d lay in bed and watch me turn all the lights off.. And on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off, and on, and off.
She’d close her eyes and imagine that the days and nights were passing in front of her.

But then.. She said I was taking up too much of her time. 

That I couldn’t kiss her goodbye so much because I was making her later for work..

When she said she loved me, her mouth was a straight line..

When I stopped in front of a crack in the sidewalk, she just kept walking..

And last week she started sleeping at her mother’s place.

She told me that she shouldn’t have let me get so attached to her: that this whole thing was a mistake, but..

How can it be a mistake that I don’t have to wash my hands after I touch her?

Love is not a mistake, and it’s killing me that she can run away from this and I just can’t.

I can’t go out and find someone new because I always think of her.

Usually, when I obsess over things, I see germs sneaking into my skin.
I see myself crushed by an endless succession of cars..
Ans she was the first most beautiful thing I ever got stuck on.

I want to wake up every morning thinking about the way she holds the steering wheel..
How she turns shower knobs like she’s opening a safe.

How she blows out candles-
blows out candles-
blows out candles-
blows out candles-
blows out..

Now, I just think about who else is kissing her

I can’t breathe because he only kissed her once-he doesn’t care if it’s perfect!

I want her back so bad..

I leave the door unlocked.

I leave the lights on.

—  Neil Hilborn. Our Numbered DaysOCD
Female Winchesters

Characters: Dean x Reader, Amanda (Reader’s sister), Sam

Word Count: 3,022

Warnings: just fluff here with a side of implied smut at the end for all you Dean girls

Request: Can I request one where the reader is a badass chick and she hunts with her little sister and they’re basics like the female Winchesters and a pairing of Sam, Dean or Cas? If you don’t mind. :) 

Author’s Note:  If you want to be tagged, leave an ask or message and I’ll add you! Same goes for my Series Rewrite! If you want to request a fic, please send them in! I love writing what you guys want!

Feedback is always appreciated

Tags at the bottom

Originally posted by mishaisgodaf

“Amanda! Would you hurry up? The spirit is going to end up killing more people! Who cares if your hair is perfect or not.” You said, rolling your eyes. Your younger sister was a pain in the ass sometimes. You were the more chill one, being ready in .2 seconds.

“I’m coming! God, you’re worse than mom, you know that?” She said, coming out in her FED suit. She was the tallest person ever, coming up to 6’. You were barely 5’7 and even though both of your parents were short, she still managed to be a tall ass motherfucker.

“Don’t compare me to mom. It was bad enough she brought us into this life.” You said, pulling on your jacket.

“I know. But hey, we had each other. That’s all that mattered.” She said with a smile.

Keep reading

He’s one and there is a smile when he speaks his first words and a hand that guides him when he takes his first steps. Neither belongs to his father.

He’s four and there’s an arm that catches him when he falls and an embrace that comforts him when his knees are bloody and tears are streaming down his cheeks. Still, neither of them is his father’s.

He’s ten and there are soft words and warm dinners for him when he returns from school, tired and a little bit hurt (because his classmates made fun of him again). It’s not his father who provides them.

He’s thirteen and there’s a needle stitching him up after his first hunt and a quiet “I’m proud of you, Sammy” whispered in the dark. His father is not there. His father is never there.

He’s fifteen and he’s so, so, so afraid, because he’s never kissed a girl and he doesn’t know what to do, but there’s a clever mouth that tells him, and a sure hand that shows him. His father doesn’t know anything.

He’s seventeen and his head is spinning, because he’s feeling things he isn’t supposed to feel, but he confesses anyway. There are fierce kisses and lingering touches to reward him and show him that he’s not the only one who’s lost. For the first time he’s grateful that his father isn’t there.

He’s twenty-one and he misses everything, even the bad things, but especially the good ones. There’s nothing there, nothing physical, just the memories and a distant voice on the telephone. His father can go fuck himself.

He’s twenty-two and he’s just lost the girl he wanted to marry, but he’s sitting shotgun in the most beautiful car in the world next to the most beautiful man he’s ever known, and in a way it’s more perfect than it has been for a long, long while. There are looks, and touches, still, and kisses, and there’s lovemaking (sometimes languid and slow and sometimes more like fighting), and he feels complete. They’re searching for their father, but somehow he doesn’t matter anymore.

He’s hopelessly, helplessly, forever in love with his brother, green eyes, crooked smiles, leather jacket and stupid jokes, whiskey and gun oil and an old, black car. His father will never know.

Dean’s version

A Car With a Story (1)

Summary: Takes place in a world where Jughead really did move to Toledo and in the wake of his absence, Betty’s father has taken it upon himself to cheer her up by dragging her around town looking for parts to fix up cars together like old times. But when Betty becomes mesmerized by the old cars that her father shows her, she finds herself imagining what her life might have been like with Jughead if they were around when the cars were in their prime. With each car, and each fantasy, she starts to come to terms with why Jughead left - but will that be enough to mend her broken heart? Or will these make-believe scenarios just make her miss him even more?

The Wanderer 

Betty Cooper shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, glancing around the peculiar front yard and taking in the various piles of trash with skeptical eyes, sure that the owner referred to these rusted pots and broken telephones as priceless treasures instead of useless junk.

“Dad?” Betty whispered, stepping cautiously over a broken microwave and dodging a beat-up toolbox that rested precariously on the edge of the sidewalk. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

“Betty, I have been coming here for nearly ten years,” her father reminded her, leading them around the corner of the rundown shack to head into the backyard, which Betty soon realized looked far worse than the front. “Where do you think I go to get all those parts for the cars we fix up?”

“I don’t know, a junkyard?” Betty guessed, her eyebrows drawing together in concern at the dead trees that lined the edge of the property and the ancient pieces of equipment that looked like they shouldn’t have been allowed to run anymore. “This looks like the set of an 80′s slasher film meets every summer camp that you never wanted to go to when you were a kid.” 

“Honestly, Betty, you have your mother’s colorful take on reality, and it’s more than I can take most days,” he told her, pushing a few cardboard boxes of gardening tools out of the way and continuing down the cluttered path to the very back of the yard. 

“Great,” Betty muttered sarcastically under her breath. “Can we get this over with? I have a lot of studying to catch up on and an article to finish for the Blue and Gold. Where’s this guy you said we were meeting?” 

“Richard’s around here somewhere,” he announced, glancing around the yard for his friend as if he was going to be able to find anyone amidst the vast amounts of clutter. “But I wanted to show you something first. Follow me.” 

“Uh, Dad, is it okay for us to be back here?” Betty wondered, nearly knocking her elbow on the surface of an unsteady machine. “This equipment is older than I am.” 

“Just don’t trip over anything,” her father warned, pointing past a large oak tree at the very corner of the yard near the creaky old fence that separated the property from a cemetery. “It’s right around this corner, come on.” 

Hal and Betty stepped around the tree, dodging several overgrown thistle bushes and weeds to find a 1952 series 62 convertible resting lazily by the fence, its front bumper hanging by a thread and the passenger’s side door completely ripped off its hinges and resting uncomfortably against the fence. 

“Here she is,” Hal announced, smiling dreamily at the car like it was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on. “What do you think?”

“I think she’s been through a lot,” Betty observed, slowly circling the car, her hands grazing the busted mirrors and chipped paint with uncertainty. “The hood is torn up, the interior is falling apart, I’m too afraid to look underneath the hood to inspect the engine. But…”

“But?” Hal prompted her to continue, raising his eyebrows at her expectantly and patting the side of the car hopefully. 

“But,” Betty said, her lips curling into an amused smile as she ran her hand along door handle and leaned forward to inspect the red interior. “She’s beautiful and I think I’m in love.”

“I thought you might like it,” Hal beamed, scrambling forward to open the passenger’s side door and ushering for her to climb inside. “Go on, take a look.” 

Betty did as she was instructed, sliding onto the leather seating and running her hands up and down the steering wheel, breathing in the scent of old leather and built-up dust particles. 

“Cars like this have to have some good stories,” Betty muttered dreamily, turning to her father with bright eyes. “Imagine the people who have been in the driver’s seat, the places it could have traveled, the things it’s seen!” 

“Should I give you two a minute while I go find Richard?” Hal asked with an amused smile, looking down at his daughter with a look of satisfaction. 

“Don’t be weird, Dad,” Betty scoffed, adjusting her position on the bench and running her fingers along the buttons of the radio. “But yes, please.” 

With that, her father shut the door to the convertible and headed back through the maze of never-ending junk to the house. Betty smiled to herself as she let her hands fiddle with the fraying lining on the seat cover, her eyes dancing wildly as they drifted to the pair of fuzzy dice sitting at the bottom of the car’s floor and imagining that they once hung proudly over the mirror as the car sped down the highway going nowhere and everywhere all at once. 

“What’s your story?” Betty mumbled to herself, leaning back onto the seat and closing her eyes. 

As if answering her own question, just as her eyes shut and everything went dark in front of her, her mind drifted to images of the past - poodle skirts and cat-eye glasses with thick-rimmed frames and doo-wop music that made her head bob back and forth and her foot tap to the beat.  

Keep reading

Nightsky

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Words: 1.870

A/N: This is my entry for the ‘Cheesy PickUp Line Challenge’ from the wonderful @impalaimagining.
My prompts are: “Are those space pants? Because that ass is out of this world.”  and “I know you must be tired because you’ve been running through my mind all day long.” - I hope you will like it :)

Warnings: none, just fun, some swearing

- italics are flashbacks -

You looked into the night sky. It was dark around you, just you, the sky and the deep universe with billions of sparkling stars above you. You liked it to be alone … sometimes. The last case was hard. Sam, Dean and you were able to kill the beasts but it wasn’t easy.

Keep reading

Kitten pt 6

Bruce’s POV

“Alfred!” I yell. I need to find her. He probably knows who I am now. But I don’t care, (Y/N) is more important.

Alfred comes in the room as I’m changing into the Bat-Suit.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred announces his presence. “The Joker took her, his whereabouts are unknown, however, he’s supposedly going to make an appearance at his club tonight.” He says.

“Thank you Alfred.” I say back as I push a button on the wall. The Batmobile’s engine roars to life and I hop in. “I’ll find her Alfred.”

“Master Bruce, you’re going to have to tell her eventually.” He speaks softly.

“I know.” Was all I said before I floored it out of the BatCave.

—————————-

Jokers POV

‘You know the Bat is probably gonna show up at the club tonight right?’ the voice in my head says.

‘He’s probably already on his way if he’s not already there,’ another says.

I growl at the voices in my head that won’t shut up. Yeah I know he’s probably going to be there. But that just makes it all the more fun. I grin just thinking about the expression on Batsy’s face when he sees his beloved innocent little girl with me in that tiny dress.  Maybe I’ll get her drunk; I want her to be all over me when Batsy shows up.

‘Oh I like that,’ one voice says.

‘Yeah, break his spirit; maybe let him know that you deflowered his little princess,’ says another.

‘Get his hopes up that’s he’s gonna get her back and rip his heart out when you disappear with her,’ says yet another.

I laugh at the conversation that just unfolded in my head. (Y/N) just looks at me because of the sudden outburst.

I enjoy how innocent she is. I grab her arm and escort her outside.

———————-

(Y/N) POV

Joker takes you outside and that’s when you see the most beautiful car ever. You gasp when you see the purple Lamborghini sitting out front.

“This car is beautiful!” you squeal. You run your fingers across the body as Joker opens your door for you.

“Thanks doll,” he says, shutting your door after you get in.

He goes to the driver’s side and gets in. He starts the car with a grin as the engine purrs.

He puts it in gear and speeds out of the driveway, taking a sharp turn on the road to the club.  He speeds through the streets, passing people, cutting people off, and scaring a middle age man half to death when he had to leap out of the road.

You’re clutching your seat terrified while Joker laughs like a madman. You finally arrive at Joker’s club and he helps you out. There’s a line down the block of people waiting to get in. Joker takes hold of your wrist and pulls you throw the crowd of people by the front entrance, you can feel everyone’s eyes staring at you with him.

Joker pushes through and leads you to a booth up the stairs to the VIP lounge and sits down on the leather seats, pulling you down onto his lap. You blush and try to move off of him but he grips your hips tightly and prevents you from moving.

He orders two drinks and nibbles on your shoulder as he waits. The waiter comes back and sets them down on the table in front of the two of you. He picks one up and hands it to you.

“I-I’m not old enough.” You decline.

“I wasn’t asking,” he growls.

You cower a bit and accept the drink. You’ve never had bourbon before, so you smell it first and it smells strong and bitter. You shake your head and down it in one go. You cringe as the alcohol burns all the way down.

Joker looks at you and grins. “What’s the matter sweet-cheeks? Don’t like it?”

You shake your head as the bitter taste finally begins to fade. “I prefer sweet to bitter,” you grumble quietly.

He orders you a “screaming orgasm” and grins at you.  You blush and look down, already knowing what he’s thinking about.

A waiter comes back with your drink and a tray of shot glasses full of what you think is tequila.

You take your drink and sip it. ‘I think he’s trying to get me drunk,’ you think to yourself. You shrug and finish off your drink as you begin to feel the effects of the alcohol coursing throw you. You throw caution to the wind and grab two shots. You down them both and cough as the harsh drink burns your throat. Your head is spinning and you want to dance.

You begin to sway a bit, still on Jokers lap. He places his hands on your hips to steady you and you smile. You grab another shot still smiling as you drink it, the burn not as intense anymore. You go to stand but Jokers grip tightens. “Where do ya think you’re goin kitten?” he purrs softly in your ear.

“I wanna dance,” you smile as you try to get up again, this time he lets you.

“Fine but you’ll dance for me.” He growls.

“Okay,” you smirk at him as a particularly provocative song begins to play. You know this song; it’s one of your favorites.

You gracefully sway your body to the beat of the music; you play with the hem of your dress pulling it up a bit to show off more of your legs. Joker grins and watches you.

You run your hands up your body and through your hair as you sway your hips. You spin around so your back is facing Mr. J, you shake your ass and drop down, you come back up slowly and slap your ass in front of him. He chuckles softly and you spin around again, facing him. You drop again with your legs open, your hands resting on his thighs. He growls and you bite your lip, moving your hands up his legs, you straighten your legs back into a standing position, still leaning over Joker. You straddle his lap and grind against him.

You run your hands up his chest and grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him closer and crush your lips against his while rocking your hips back and forth on him. He purrs against your lips and slides his hands up your hips and squeezes tightly. You let out a small moan and he slips his tongue into your mouth. You wrap your arms around his neck and press you body against his.

You continue your make-out session unknowing of your father’s presence. He’s lurking in the shadows of the club watching the events unfold right in front of him. His beloved daughter was dirty dancing, grinding on, and kissing the Joker. The one who took you from him. Batman clenches his fists and emerges from the shadows and stalks towards you and Joker.

“(Y/N)” he says in a low voice.

You snap your attention to the familiar voice that called your name.

“D-dad?” you whisper. You stand up to run to him but Joker wraps his arms around your waist tightly, preventing you from running.

“Well what do we have here?” Joker laughs. He pulls out a gun and points it at the bat. “Enjoy the show Dad?” he laughs again.

Bred to Suffer

fandom: batman (comics continuity)

ship: amnesiac Joker/Bruce Wayne

probably needs trigger warnings for dissociation

also on AO3

The name on his release papers says John Doe, but he knows that isn’t a real name. His boss at the butcher’s shop calls him Jack, although whether that’s a careless error of memory or a real nickname he doesn’t know. Still. It’s the closest thing he has to a name of his own, so he grabs it with both hands as if he’s afraid that someone will notice what he’s got and take it away. Maybe he is. He feels like he’s living under the shade of a guillotine, waiting for the blade to drop.

Keep reading