never seen this one either

9

¾ of Queen, a study in beards

Sansa bit her lip and nodded. Arya lowered her face to stare sullenly at her plate. She could feel tears stinging her eyes. She rubbed them away angrily, determined not to cry. (Arya II, AGOT)

When the bar was down, Arya finally felt safe enough to cry. (Arya II, AGOT)

It was the scariest thing she’d ever done. She wanted to run and hide, but she made herself walk across the yard, slowly, putting one foot in front of the other as if she had all the time in the world and no reason to be afraid of anyone. She thought she could feel their eyes, like bugs crawling on her skin under her clothes. Arya never looked up. If she saw them watching, all her courage would desert her, she knew, and she would drop the bundle of clothes and run and cry like a baby, and then they would have her. She kept her gaze on the ground. By the time she reached the shadow of the royal sept on the far side of the yard, Arya was cold with sweat, but no one had raised the hue and cry.  (Arya IV, AGOT)

Two of the guardsmen were dicing together while the third walked rounds, his hand on the pommel of his sword. Ashamed to let them see her crying like a baby, she stopped to rub at her eyes. Her eyes her eyes her eyes, why did … (Arya V, AGOT)

She could not have said how she got back to Flea Bottom, but she was breathing hard by the time she reached the narrow crooked unpaved streets between the hills. The Bottom had a stench to it, a stink of pigsties and stables and tanner’s sheds, mixed in with the sour smell of winesinks and cheap whorehouses. Arya wound her way through the maze dully. It was not until she caught a whiff of bubbling brown coming through a pot-shop door that she realized her pigeon was gone. It must have slipped from her belt as she ran, or someone had stolen it and she’d never noticed. For a moment she wanted to cry again. She’d have to walk all the way back to the Street of Flour to find another one that plump. (Arya V, AGOT)

Everyone was moving in the same direction, all in a hurry to see what the ringing was all about. The bells seemed louder now, clanging, calling. Arya joined the stream of people. Her thumb hurt so bad where the nail had broken that it was all she could do not to cry. She bit her lip as she limped along, listening to the excited voices around her. (Arya V, AGOT)

She had cried in her sleep the night before, dreaming of her father. Come morning, she’d woken red-eyed and dry, and could not have shed another tear if her life had hung on it. (Arya I, ACOK)

I won’t, Arya thought stubbornly, but when Yoren laid the wood against the back of her bare thighs, the shriek burst out of her anyway. “Think that hurt?” he said. “Try this one.” The stick came whistling. Arya shrieked again, clutching the tree to keep from falling. “One more.” She held on tight, chewing her lip, flinching when she heard it coming. The stroke made her jump and howl. I won’t cry, she thought, I won’t do that. I’m a Stark of Winterfell, our sigil is the direwolf, direwolves don’t cry. She could feel a thin trickle of blood running down her left leg. Her thighs and cheeks were ablaze with pain. “Might be I got your attention now,” Yoren said. “Next time you take that stick to one of your brothers, you’ll get twice what you give, you hear me? Now cover yourself.” (Arya I, ACOK)

He was going to take me home, she thought as they dug the old man’s hole. There were too many dead to bury them all, but Yoren at least must have a grave, Arya had insisted. He was going to bring me safe to Winterfell, he promised. Part of her wanted to cry. The other part wanted to kick him. (Arya V, ACOK)

“But one guard won’t be enough, we need to kill them all to open the cell.” Arya bit her lip hard to stop from crying. “I want you to save the northmen like I saved you.” (Arya IX, ACOK)

She looked at their filthy hair and scraggly beards and reddened eyes, at their dry, cracked, bleeding lips. Wolves, she thought again. Like me. Was this her pack? How could they be Robb’s men? She wanted to hit them. She wanted to hurt them. She wanted to cry. They all seemed to be looking at her, the living and the dead alike. The old man had squeezed three fingers out between the bars. “Water,” he said, “water.” (Arya V, ASOS)

Arya had never heard of Old King Andahar. She’d never seen a horse with two heads either, especially not one who could run on water, but she knew better than to ask. She held her tongue and sat stiff as the Hound turned the stallion’s head and trotted along the ridgeline, following the river downstream. At least the rain was at their backs this way. She’d had enough of it stinging her eyes half-blind and washing down her cheeks like she was crying. Wolves never cry, she reminded herself again. (Arya IX, ASOS)

My school’s 7th-12th grade art room (it’s a k-12 school so) is an absolute horror show. Like, I was going through all of the paint with some people to find some white because I swear we have every color but black and white.

So, we’re digging through and we go down to this shelf that I have NEVER touched, and I have never seen anybody, including the art teacher, ever touch either. And this one guy pulls out this little mini toolbox, and we’re like “ooh what’s in it”. So of course, we opened it. 

And I’m not joking you guys here, the WAVE OF STENCH that came from that toolbox was DISGUSTING. It smelled like moldy cheese and dead rat and rust and anything disgusting you can think of. There was also a weird piece of metal that had “she’s falling save her falling falling save me save me” carved into it which was also mildly terrifying. 

So then, after we couldn’t handle the smell anymore (like I almost actually vomited I couldn’t handle it anymore) we closed it up, shoved it back into the depths of hell where it came from, and proceeded to have a good few rounds of Smash Bros. on this kids Gamecube that he brought in. No teachers noticed the entire time. 

So yeah. We can find that shit in that art room, but god forbid you try to find a glue stick or some scissors. 

anonymous asked:

Could you write something where Lance calls out for Keith in his sleep because he's having a nightmare and Keith is up training late so he comes and talks to him? I don't know if that made sense, sorry

I am so weak for Klance and anything to do with nightmares/late night talks/bed sharing. Like. It’s a problem. It’s a real problem.

Please enjoy.


“Keith? No, no please… Keith! KEITH!” Keith froze, dumbstruck, one foot still halfway through a step, staring uncomprehending at Lance’s door. There was another muffled sound and something that sounded like a curse. Before he could think better of it, Keith reached over and pressed the button to open the door.

The room was dark, leaving him squinting and just barely able to make out the shape of Lance sitting up in bed. His hands were clenched into fists in the blanket tangled around his legs and half falling off the edge. His shoulders were heaving with breath, and when he turned to look at the opening door his eyes were wide and glowed in the dark. As Keith’s sight adjusted, he could see the sheen of sweat across Lance’s forehead and upper lip, shimmering in the pale light spilling in from the hallway. His shirt clung close to his skin, almost as sweat-soaked as Keith’s own.

“K… Keith?” Lance asked uncertainly. “Are you…?”

“I… Uh, that is, I—” Keith coughed, suddenly awkward. “I heard you calling my name?” Lance’s fists clutched the blanket even tighter, turning his knuckles white.

“That was… Sorry, I had a bad dream. I’m fine, now.”

“Oh,” Keith said. He felt a flush creeping up his neck. His heartrate, still elevated from his late-night training session, pounded irregularly against his ribcage. “I’ll just… go, then.”

“Why are you awake?” Lance burst out as Keith turned to exit. He paused, looking back over his shoulder, and shrugged.

“I train when I can’t sleep. It helps tire me out and clears my head.”

“How often can’t you sleep?” Lance asked. He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on them, leaving the blanket discarded in a messy puddle at the end of his bed.

“Oh, um… I dunno… Not too often, when we’re busy running missions and stuff.” He hesitated in the doorway. “Did you, uh, did you want to… talk? About your… dream?” Lance hesitated, shaking his head slightly.

“No, no, you should go to sleep,” he urged. “It’s just a stupid nightmare.”

“What, did you dream I get crowned winner of our rivalry, or something?” Keith tried to joke. Lance’s entire body flinched and Keith felt his attempt at a grin fall off his face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Look, don’t worry about it,” Lance said, staring past Keith at a point on the wall. “Go to bed. Like I said, it’s just a stupid nightmare.” Keith glanced out into the silent hallway. His limbs ached for the soft comfort of his bed, but whatever clarity he’d achieved in his head had vanished. He sighed, turning back to Lance, crossing over and sitting on the bed next to him. Lance yelped, scooting further away, until he was pressed against the headboard of the bed.

“Talk,” Keith said.

“I told you, I’m really fine—”

“Well, you don’t seem fine. If you really want me to leave, I will, but I’m sitting here so if you need someone to listen, then talk.” Lance hesitated a long moment, licking his lips carefully, before he gave in.

“I have a dream where you die,” he said. Keith blinked.

“Have a dream, like… one you have had multiple times?” Lance’s nod was a bare bob of the head, hardly visible in the pale light leaking from the hallway.

“This was the… third or fourth?” he said. “It’s nothing flashy, really. We’re fighting Galra, and we think we’ve won, and we’re laughing and tossing some insults back and forth, as we do, you know, but something goes wrong and an airlock opens up. I always manage to grab hold of something and I try to grab your hand, but every time I’m just a second too late and you get sucked out into space. And every time I watch you getting pulled away from me with this expression of slight surprise on your face and…” His fingernails dug into his palms. “It scares me so much. I have to lose you, over and over and over—”

Keith wasn’t sure what possessed him to do it. In fact, later, he wouldn’t even remember moving. All he knew was that he had suddenly reached out and grabbed Lance’s hand in his own. Lance went silent as his eyes went round, staring between Keith’s face and his hand as if he had never seen either one before.

“You haven’t lost me,” Keith said. “You won’t. I’m right here.” He squeezed Lance’s hand. Lance, perhaps on nothing more than instinct, squeezed back.

“What if the last thing I ever say to you is, is, how stupid your mullet looks, or making fun of you for some idiot stunt you pull, or bringing up that dumb rivalry—”

“Lance, slow down,” Keith said. “Look, I… I can’t tell you neither of us is going to die, because, we’re fighting a war. Sometimes things happen. But I know you don’t actually… We’re a family, right? All of us Paladins? Sure, we’re kind of dysfunctional and imperfect, but you guys are the best family I’ve ever known. I… I think I know you don’t actually hate me.”

“I don’t hate you. I’ve never hated you,” Lance burst out. His hand squeezed Keith’s so tightly he was worried it would cut off his circulation. “You… Do you… You don’t hate me, right?” Keith laughed, low and humorless.

“Not even a little.”

They sat quiet for a moment, the calm buzz of the Castle filling the silence. Keith finally glanced up at Lance. He was curled up against the headboard, still, his eyes locked on Keith, their hands grasped tightly between them.

“I should… probably sleep,” Keith said, but made no move to get up.

“Yeah,” Lance said, but did not let go of Keith’s hand. Silence reigned another long moment. “Hey, uh… Do you feel like you can get to sleep right now?” Keith shrugged.

“Probably not really,” he admitted. Lance nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah I don’t sleep well after nightmares,” he said. His thumb brushed so lightly across the back of Keith’s hand that Keith wasn’t sure he hadn’t imagined it. “You know, sleeping with someone else is… Sometimes it’s soothing.” Keith went stiff and Lance jumped. “Sleeping in the same bed!” he shouted. He glanced to the empty hall and lowered his voice. “I– I didn’t mean like that I just meant sleeping in the same bed. Like. Kind of cuddling. But we don’t have to call it cuddling. It doesn’t have to be cuddling. Not that kind of cuddling.” Lance still had not let go of Keith’s hand but there was an odd tension in his fingers, as if he were on the brink of pulling away. “Maybe that’s just me, I mean I grew up in a house full of siblings and cousins and we had to share beds and bedrooms a lot, so I kinda got used to hearing someone else breathing as I was falling asleep so if it’s weird for you I get it we don’t have to do it I just—”

His words started to run together so fast that Keith could barely distinguish them anymore. He reached over and grabbed Lance’s shoulder, staring him dead in the eye, and Lance froze mid-word.

“I’m not opposed to trying it,” he said, each word slow and deliberate. He shied away from examining too closely the idea of what exactly he was getting himself into. An entire night with Lance’s heat pressed against his side, of the slow rise and fall of Lance’s breath in the bed next to him, might prove to be far, far worse for Keith’s sleep than being left alone with his own thoughts. Lance nodded once, in acknowledgment, his eyes as wide and round as saucers. “Let me just… close the door,” Keith muttered. He glanced down at their intertwined fingers. “Um…”

“Right!” Lance squeaked, pulling his hand free. Keith’s hand felt abruptly cold and empty. He stood, crossing the room to close the door. The room plunged into near complete blackness.

“Um…” he said, shifting from foot to foot. “I usually just… sleep in boxers and a t-shirt,” he said.

“That’s okay,” Lance said. His voice sounded oddly high-pitched. Keith could barely make out the shape of the bed.

“Right, I’ll just… Okay.” Keith kicked off his boots, pulled off his pants, and carefully made his way back to the bed. He dropped onto it and looked at roughly the spot where Lance’s face was. “So…”

“Okay,” Lance said, his voice still high pitched. “Now we… Now we sleep. Right.” Somehow, in a jostle of limbs, they managed to lie down next to one another, Lance a bare inch or two away from spooning Keith. Keith felt his heart pounding wildly against his chest and flushed with the knowledge that Lance might well be able to feel it too. “Hey, Keith?” Lance said softly.

“What?”

“Can you… tell me one more time, that I won’t lose you?” Keith flipped himself over, wriggling awkwardly to keep the blanket in place, and found himself nose-to-nose with Lance.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered.

“Okay,” Lance breathed. “G’night, Keith.”

“Goodnight, Lance.”

Somehow, Lance’s heat and even breathing soothed the storm in Keith’s mind, and before he realized he was getting sleepy, he drifted down under a quiet ocean, and slept.

[Please do not send me prompts at the moment, I am working through old ones]

people who make good looking male ryders should receive some sort of compensation because i’ve seen those presets and they made me want to die

Colors (Part 17) [Min Yoongi x Reader]

Genre: Gang - Mafia AU || Angst (m)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 /Part 11 / Part 12 / Part 13  / Part 14 / Part 15 / Part 16 / Part 17 / Part 18

Originally posted by sugakookie



November rain falls through the tattered grey sky like bullets of a pellet gun, hammering the earth and its inhabitants mercilessly. Min Yoongi stands near the window and listens to the rain battering the roof above his head and the window through which he looks at the world dancing below him. People are lost lambs running here there, shielding themselves up with their open umbrellas and looking for a safe space. But to him it’s ‘just rain’. It cleans and purifies, washes away our sins from yesterday, gives us a new beginning.

Rain is sad but rain is fulfilling.

He opens the window, just a little and puts his hand out to touch it.

The sleeve of his shirt starts to get soaked and he doesn’t really care. The sweet smell of rain pours in through the small crack; it’s so full of earth; he inhales it all at once. If he could keep some of it in a jar forever, he would take it with him everywhere. His bed room though always smelled like bitter perfume and cigarette smoke, the air was so thick sometimes he felt like he was choking on it.  And when he couldn’t breathe anymore he just had to get out. He would always leave without a word to anyone; wander around town for hours and hours.

A few days ago he didn’t come back home and stayed out all night just watching the stars. That night Min Yoongi saw the whole universe moving above his head, a sky freckled with so many stars he didn’t even knew existed.  In Seoul the only ‘stars’ you saw were on posters with a twinkling smile. He felt like a small kid who had just seen a real tiger for the first time, except, he has never actually seen one of those either. He has never even been to a zoo or an aquarium, even an amusement park.

On that day, Min Yoongi came to realize how sad his childhood truly was. He was never deprived of any of his materialistic needs. But now that he looks back, a little bit of affection would’ve shaped him into a better human being. He only had a brute for a father and a mother who disappeared from his life, never showed her face again..  He doesn’t really have a fond memory of being happy, like ever and that’s a bit depressing.

Jimin had found him that morning, sitting on a park bench looking all morose.

“Hyung” Yoongi, hearing that familiar voice, had looked back. The boy looked concerned. He always cared too much.

“I watched the stars all night” Yoongi had told Jimin. Jimin sat beside him, a hood over his head and hands shoved deep in the sweatshirts pocket.

“And how’s your ‘path to rediscovery’ going hyung?”

Yoongi had scoffed.

“I’m still looking for inner peace. One of these days I’ll find it.. I think I should just shave my head, it’ll help with the flow of thoughts and new ideas-”

“Don’t worry about that… You dye your hair so much it will fall off on its own.”

They both ended up laughing and sharing a cigarette before walking home together.  Another thing Min Yoongi learned that day was the true meaning of ‘Existential crises, as he was standing right in the middle of it.

Yoongi hears the bed creaking behind him, while he’s still staring out, he doesn’t really make an effort to turn and look at the cause of it. He’s more interested in the outside world; the streets down there have turned into a river of dirt, flowing from one alley to another.  

“Come back to bed” he then hears a sleepy voice behind him. But he chooses to ignore it “Why did you open the window? It’s so cold. Close the window and come back to bed”

He finally turns and looks at the person sprawled on his bed.

Minah sleeps without any manners, she doesn’t sleep on her side she sleeps on both – right in the middle.  But that’s not the only problem; Looking at her just brings back the taste of last night’s whiskey and regret in Yoongi’s mouth. He hates that aftertaste; it’s bitter and burns a pit in his stomach. Her face is covered with her long blonde locks and she’s wearing his t-shirt.

He rolls his eyes and walks past the bed towards the bathroom.

Min Yoongi washes up quickly, runs his finger through his messy hair and studies himself in the mirror. He finds a stranger staring back at him: With tired baggy eyes and face covered in fading bruises. His hair is no longer a shade of green, it’s not any shade at all. It’s just black - Plain, colorless black. He can’t remember the last time he saw his hair in its natural form. He noticed how his skin looked too pale under the burning fluorescent light in the bathroom.  He looked like he was glowing. It was becoming harder and harder for Yoongi to recognize himself these days.

Yoongi steps out of the bathroom, Minah was still sleeping - thankfully. He looks around for his jacket, finds it under a heap of clothes and exits out of the room.

The moment he stepped out of that room a strong smell of fresh coffee wafted through the air and hit his nose buds. His feet automatically chased the source of it which led him to the kitchen. Jimin sat near the dining table reading a book.  He looked up at his hyung once and then went back to reading.  

Yoongi found a mug and poured himself some of the bitter caffeine, sat on the chair in front of Jimin and sipped it quietly.

“We have to move” Jimin decides to speak first, snapping Yoongi out of his peaceful train of thoughts. “We’ve been here for almost a month. It’s time to move hyung”

Yoongi brings the cup up to his lips, first taking in its smell and then tasting it slowly. Jimin always made the best coffee.

“Okay. If you want to-” Yoongi said, sounding a wee- bit disinterested.

“Namjoon already bought Yungshin, his men are looking for us like hounds. Your father is hunting us down too. Ho-seok and I are his top fucking priority right now. We need to move out of here quickly-”

“Have you found Taehyung’s location? Where is that asshole hiding?”

“no..But don’t worry. We’ll find him soon, he’ll eventually come running back to us hyung. Where else could he go?” Jimin said drinking his coffee, turning his attention towards the book again.

“I’ll make all the arrangements to move out ASAP. We’ll be stronger if we’re together, right?”  

Yoongi finished his coffee and got up to leave.

“..Hyung, I need to tell you something else. It’s important.” Yoongi sighed. He was really getting bored of this conversation; one, he was craving a cigarette and two, he promised to see Choi, the old man they owed ten grand to. He and choi were ‘friends’ now, a strange bond formed over drinking together every other day.

He sat down; literally fell on the seat, to show Jimin how disinterested he really was right now.

“What?” Yoongi asked him. Jimin spoke in his body language way louder than his words; Yoongi noticed how he straightened his back and leaned ahead on the table, he looks around nervously, as if looking for the right words to say. He looked like a doctor who was just about to give some really bad news to his patient.

“Hyung..It’s about Y/n.

Yoongi fell back on his chair, hearing that name after almost a month, still for some reason brought a burning sensation in his chest. He could feel – no, he could hear something fizzing up inside of him. He buried you, even though you’re alive, he buried you every day.

And it was working too. He was with Minah every night so he could forget your face; he drank every day with Choi because the taste of burning alcohol was still more endurable than you in his head. But now hearing your name again feels like the nails in your coffin that he hammered for past one month are getting pulled out.

“What about her?” Yoongi asks after a small pause, he did his best to hide the growing strain in his voice.

“Hoseok hyung.. is-” Jimin looked so small whenever he had to confess something. He looked like he was 14 all over again.

“Can you be fucking quick about it. I have important business to attend-” Yoongi scolded him.

“Hoseok is there. With Jin and Y/n”

‘What the fuck.’

Yoongi didn’t say it out loud. The sole purpose of sending you there with Seok Jin, was to keep you far away from this shit storm. Hoseok was one of the ‘co-producer’ of that shit storm, what the fuck was he doing there? He was dangerous. Not in the sense that he could hurt Y/n, but he could attract people who wanted to.

“He went there looking for Taehyung, turns out Jin and __ were in the same place. They were actually living at his house”

Taehyung was living with Y/n, Jin let it happen. This was a fucking joke, it had to be. It had to be, this didn’t actually happen, did it? Should he laugh? Taehyung was dangerous, in a sense that he could kill Y/n. How Jin could let it happen?

“Hyung,..He stabbed her.”

“What?”

He heard the door opening behind him, sound of bare feet dragging on the floor. Hold it in he told himself, hold it in Min Yoongi. The urge to completely dismantle this place and run out of here, he was holding it in with all his might, crushing his teeth and hiding his balled fist underneath the table.

“Taehyung? Did it-” Yoongi asked and Jimin nodded.

“You lied when you said you didn’t know where he is? I asked you 5 minutes ago. All this time, you lied to my face-”

“Hoseok didn’t want to let you know.” Yoongi kicked the table with his one foot in anger and got up.

“How long did you know? How long have you and Hoseok been in contact?”

“About 2 weeks now”

“-And you’re telling me now?”

“Ho-seok said that he wanted to deal with Taehyung himself. I-“

“Who do you fucking work for? Me or Jung “fucking” Ho-seok?”

“Hyung, we need to leave. We’re not safe if we’re miles apart from each other. You can’t protect people by sending them away from you. HYUNG-“

Yoongi was already up and about. As he was about to open the door and run out when a hand landed on his shoulder. He eyed the women from the corner of his eyes.

“Yoongi, are you okay?” Minah asked looking worried.

“Don’t fucking touch me” he snapped at her and she retracted her hand at his warning. And then Yoongi was out in the rain, running somewhere, hoping to find some peace and quiet. His head was screaming again.

Maybe some alcohol could numb it. He needed to see Choi anyways.

He wanted to forget. Forget it all.

…‘Forget’ that he needed you so much right now.

Keep reading

Art block ew

anonymous asked:

sorry for the potentially sexist sounding remark, but i've never encountered a (young?) guy who likes nature - and tbh, never seen one who makes their blog so aesthetically pleasing either. i really dig it. you keep doing you, buddy. it's really refreshing!

I don’t think it’s sexist, it’s just not common (apparently) for an 18 year old dude to have a passion for nature.

Who You're Meant To Be

Summary: These are the minutes before the ceremony on the reader’s wedding day.

Characters: Reader, Dean, Cas, Sam mentioned

Word Count: 727

A/N: Pure feel good fluff!


You looked at yourself in the mirror. The reflection you saw there was someone you had always wanted to be. You were a woman in love, content, happy, and completely sure of what she was about to do. Your gown was simple. There were no sparkles, no full skirt, no ruffles. It was an off the shoulder lace gown with three quarter length sleeves. It was not too body hugging and the skirt had some movement in it. You usually wore your hair loose, but today you had put it up in a bun at the nape of your neck. You wanted Sam to take it down tonight. In a few minutes, you would officially be a Winchester.

There was a soft knock on the door. You turned from the mirror. “Come in.” It was Dean. He had no doubt come to check on you and report back to your groom. You had never seen Dean in a tux before. The butterflies started fluttering in your stomach. You had never seen Sam in one either, but you were about to.

Dean walked over to you and took your hands in his. He kissed you lightly on the cheek. “You’re beautiful, Y/N. My brother is a very lucky man.”

“How is Sam?”

“He’s pacing. He can’t wait to see you.”

“Keep him calm, Dean. Tell him I’ll be holding him soon.”

Dean tilted his head. “For you, I will.” He pulled an envelope out of his jacket pocket. “He wanted you to have this.”

You took the envelope from his hand. Sam had addressed it to: Y/N, my love, the woman who will be my wife. “I’m going to give you some privacy so you can read that.” You nodded still staring at the envelope. Then you looked up at the man who would soon be your brother. “I’ll tell him what you said.”

Dean turned and opened the door to leave. “Dean, tell him I love him.” He smiled and gave you a thumbs up.

You sat down with the letter. Your hands were slightly shaking as you opened it.

Y/N,

You make me feel things I have never felt before, and right now all I can think about is
spending the rest of my life with you. I’ll make you happy. I will live to see you smile. You
are beautiful in every way. I’m going to tell you every day and never let you forget. You are
everything that’s right and good in the world, Y/N. I will do all I can to be the
man you deserve.

My home is wherever you are. You’ve made me feel secure, and I didn’t think I’d ever have
that. I am going to remember everything about this day, so I can tell our children about it.
You are precious to me, my bride. Thank you for choosing me.

All my love is yours always,
Sam
You dabbed the tears at your eyes with the handkerchief you would be carrying today that had belonged to your grandmother. Cas appeared in time to see you press the letter to your heart. “Y/N, what’s wrong? Aren’t humans supposed to be happy on their wedding day?”

You smiled your most radiant smile. “I am happy Cas. Happier than I’ve ever been. Will you sit with me? The waiting is hard.”

“Of course. Is that what I’m supposed to do?”

“Yes, that’s what an attendant does. You are my bride’s angel, so that’s what you do. Do you have Sam’s ring?”

“It’s here.” He reached in his pocket to retrieve it and gave it to you. You held it in your hand. It would practically fit around two of your fingers. You brought it to your lips and kissed it before handing it back to Cas.

The church bells began to ring. Cas said, “I think that means Chuck’s here. It won’t be long now.” The butterflies in your stomach made their presence known again, stronger this time. It wasn’t everyone who got married by God himself.

“Will I be a good wife, Cas?”

“You already are. Nothing will change today except your name.”

Cas looked off into the corner of the room, then back at you. “Chuck says it’s time. Sam is waiting for you at the altar. Are you ready?”

You took his arm. “Completely.”

Tags: @nothin-after-79 @jotink78 @tom-is-in-my-tardis
@percussiongirl2017 @pain-of-artifice @raimie77 @fangirl1802
@roxy-davenport @mogaruke @27bmm @jensen-jarpad @sea040561 @ginamsmith @bea789 @emptywithout

Note: I don’t actually know that much about Star Trek as I only recently started watching it, and have been watching more of TNG than TOS, so I apologize for anything I might of gotten wrong.

KIDGE WEEK DAY 1 – JEALOUSY

Soda Pop Bubbly


Besides Shiro Keith had never really had friends. Had never really tried. His early years had been spent living in the middle of nowhere West Texas being homeschooled by his father. There had been no other kids around. There hadn’t been a lot of other people around period. There had been the waitress at the dinner they went to so his father could watch the news, and the grown sons of the owner of the ranch his father had worked on. The waitress had been nice. She had given him free slices of pie regularly. The rancher’s sons had been dumb, mean, or both. His father had been a conspiracy theorist and an incredibly paranoid one at that, so they hadn’t had Wi-Fi,  smart phones, computers, or a television because his father hadn’t wanted to make it easy for the government to spy on them.


After his father…went away when he was nine Keith had been shipped off to a foster home already filled with six other kids and located in the city of Lubbock. The city had been like another world, and the other kids just as alien. He hadn’t known about Transformers, Batman, or any of the other things they talked about, and they hadn’t known about the Barney and Betty Hill abduction, the Roswell crash, or anything else of importance.


His father had once told him that the majority of humanity were blind men who believed they saw all. He had learned in that first foster home just how true those words were. He also learned just how cruel kids could be. After that first home he didn’t bother with the other kids. With anyone really. They all had their heads in the dirt while he was gazing at the stars.


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anonymous asked:

I mean if “You have to tell me why we’re committing a felony before we do it. Not that that’s going to stop us, but at least I’ll have all the facts.” doesn't scream Coliver idk what does

This is also for the anon who asked for: “How inconvenient. I guess I have to deal with you.” X coliver? :)


“Hey Oliver”

Mildly jumping at the sound of his name, Oliver turns from his locker to see a smirking Connor Walsh standing on his left.

Oliver blinks once, then twice as if unsure what else he is supposed to do, “Em, hi Connor.”

Connor’s smirk diminishes ever so slightly, not by much. In fact it’s rather unnoticeable to anyone except someone who knew Connor really well.

Which is odd because Oliver feels like he doesn’t know Connor even remotely well after all this time.

Oliver tries not to let old feelings of betrayal and resentment rise to the surface at the thought of how long it’s been since Connor looked him in the eye, let alone the last time they spoke.  

“How are you?” Connor asks, leaning his shoulder against the locker beside Oliver’s. Oliver’s stomach twists at how familiar this all is, even though they haven’t been friends in so long.

“I’m fine.” Oliver replies courteously, returning to taking books from his locker and hastily stashing them in his bag, “I’m happy that school’s over for the day, you know? Same as everyone else.”

If it were anyone else who had asked, Oliver would have responded with the same answer but finished with politely returning the question. But Connor Walsh was not everyone and Oliver doesn’t really care how Connor’s doing these days anyway.

Well that’s probably a lie. Oliver just doesn’t feel like hearing all about the great sex Connor had last night with some junior guy in the all-boys school across town, or maybe he’s even branching out into fucking college guys now.

He doesn’t feel like listening to Connor complaining about his homework or how much studying he’s supposed to do because he’ll come out with all As anyway and he certainly doesn’t feel like listening to Connor’s fake attempts at small talk after they haven’t talked in so long.

“That’s eh, that’s good.”

Oliver hums an affirmative noise as he fumbles to close his bag and shut his locker at the same time.

Oliver huffs and wonders why lockers must be so complicated to close.

“Here let me help-“

“It’s fine Connor.”

“No please let me-“

“I said that it’s fine!” Oliver’s voice rises dangerously towards a shouting height that echoes in the deserted high school hallway.  

Connor’s wide brown eyes blink in shock and Oliver knows he’s mirroring a similar expression, except his is more of horror at his own behaviour.

“I didn’t- I didn’t mean to yell” Oliver stutters softly

Connor nods in understanding and Oliver isn’t sure whether he feels resentment or relief that Connor still knows him so well after all this time. That they both still know exactly what the other means in the vague words they say.

It’s an uneasy sort of comfort that Oliver isn’t familiar with.

After finally shutting his locker and swinging his closed bag over his back, Oliver turns to fully face Connor again.

“What do you want Connor?”

“I just wanted to-“

“And don’t bother coming up with some bullshit reason about how you just want to chat or see how I’m doing, I won’t buy it.” Oliver snaps sharply “You’re clearly here for something otherwise you wouldn’t even be looking at me so why are you here?”

Something flashes across Connor’s face, an emotion that Oliver either has never seen on Connor’s face before or one he simply can’t remember seeing Connor wear but Oliver doesn’t have enough time to analyse it before Connor speaks again.

“I need you to hack a phone for me.”

Oliver couldn’t stop the small laugh that escapes past his lips.

“Really?” Oliver asks, his eyebrows darting up to his hairline, “You haven’t spoken to me in two years and now you’re asking me to commit a crime for you?”

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Amortentia (Ashton/4)

Hello again! Nearly three months since @0kbutmichaelclifford hosted her Hogwarts!5SOS Blurb night and I’m still thinking about this concept! Never enough Hogwarts!5SOS if you ask me… I hope you’ll enjoy the 6k+ (I know, but apparently I don’t get the definition of a blurb!) of Hogwarts!Ashton below. Let me know what you think? 

1. Potions Class

You’re yawning when you walk into the dungeon, following your housemates into the Sixth Year Potions class. It’s Monday morning, first class of the new semester and it seems as if both Gryffindors and Slytherins alike have a lot to share with their friends.

The Hogwarts Express had pulled into Hogsmeade Station on Saturday evening, bringing back the students who’d gone home over Christmas break, and clearly most inter-House friends hadn’t had a chance to catch up yet. The chatter is loud, but somehow still quiet; alerting you that something’s missing. You revel in the extra couple of moments without the worst sound known to you: The Giggle. You rest your head on your table, cushioned by your bag, while you count your blessings of some extra Ashton Irwin-free moments on top of the Ashton Irwin-free day yesterday.

(According to the rumor mill, Irwin visited family abroad over break and had been unable to catch the train back. He’d arrived late Sunday evening, after curfew, and the late hour had kept him from showing his face in the Slytherin Common Room to visit two of his sidekicks: Michael Clifford and Luke Hemmings, two of your Fifth Year housemates.)

Alas, your luck eventually runs out and Irwin shows up for class. Fortunately for you, so does Professor Slughorn and the old man doesn’t waste time: after hurriedly greeting the group of students, he beckons you all to the front of the class where several cauldrons are stood simmering. Many of your classmates are greedily breathing in the intoxicating fumes wafting off the unidentified potions and you roll your eyes: how did these idiots even make it to N.E.W.T. level Potions when they pull stunts like sniffing potentially toxic vapors?

One cauldron, obviously attracting the most attention from your fellow students, is soon identified: the way the people surrounding you are gluttonously breathing in the fumes makes it easy. Slughorn points at you to explain the potion to your peers. (You’re not surprised by it: both you and your class have already made peace with your role as Slughorn’s star pupil.)

“That’s Amortentia, the world’s most dangerous love potion.” You start. You hear someone scoffing and you don’t need to look to identify the person: Ashton Irwin has never dealt well with being second-best. You glare at him and he sticks out his tongue. Shaking off his childishness, you continue explaining.

“The potion causes the drinker to grow an infatuation with the one who administered it. Beware: it is not love; the potion needs to keep being fed to the drinker if one wants the effects to last. The mother-of-pearl sheen and the spiraling steam are two of its most noticeable characteristics. Also, the potion smells differently to every individual, depending on what that person finds attractive.”

“Very good, Miss Y/L/N,” Professor Slughorn praises. “5 points for Slytherin. Care to share what you smell? For the sake of this class, of course.”

Professor Slughorn winks at you and you grin. Before you can answer however, someone else shares their input. (You’d be more surprised if he hadn’t opened his mouth.)

“Allow me to guess, Professor,” You have to hand it to the kid, though: he never did keep his distaste for you under the teachers’ radar. “Y/N is a complicated person, after all. No one really knows whether she comes from a long line of Acromantulas or Dementors…”

You interrupt him, ever so politely, but with a tone as poisonous as your supposed ancestors. “It’s not so much an ‘or’-matter, Irwin, as it is an ‘and’-matter. And don’t worry, you can’t please either one of my bloodlines despite your valiant efforts of being noticed. Not the Dementor one, since you already are a sad excuse of a human being and not the Acromantula one either, since I’ve never seen someone as tasteless as yourself.”

You smile finely at him, your classmates sniggering behind their hands, and Irwin’s right eye twitches. (You mentally congratulate yourself: the eye-twitch was always the ultimate end to your feuds. It usually only takes one more push before Irwin starts blowing things up, throws hexes your way, and inevitably lands himself in detention for another week. Call it one of your talents, if you will.)

“I’ll keep it short,” You turn back to Professor Slughorn and the man gives you a wry smile, still somewhat keeping an eye on a probably less-than-amused Irwin. “I smell the Quidditch Pitch, vanilla candles and the waxy scent of the vinyl Muggle records I collect.”

“Very well, my dear,” The old man excitedly claps his hands and shoos everyone back to their worktables. “Now it’s your turn: 2 hours ‘til the end of class. Should be just enough time for you to brew your own Amortentia. Ingredients are in the supply closet like always. Samples are left in a named vial at the front of the class in the panniers for your House and the remainder of your potion should be Vanished before you leave the classroom. Best of luck to you!”

The remainder of the class progresses without much difficulties (other than the occasional smart remark from Irwin). By the end of the two hours, you bring your sample to the front like instructed.

While you’re busy doing so however, someone else casts a Notice-Me-Not-charm on themselves and manages to steal a sample of your potion before you can empty out your cauldron. They’re careful not to swap your scantling with theirs when leaving theirs in the basket full of Gryffindor vials and hastily exiting the dungeon…


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Stuck with Me - Part 2

Catch Up Here.

Originally posted by canonspngifs


Words: 1,718

A/N: Sooooo part 1 went over really well. Like WAY better than I ever thought it would, which is so amazing. And a little fucking scary honestly. I really hope you guys continue to like it. (Please let me know I’m a slut for tumblr notifications) Thank you so much for reading!!! You’re all just delicious little confidence boosting nuggets and I love you.


 ~


“Do you want me to find her?”

Sam looked across the diner’s table at Cas. Nobody had spoken about the whole soulmate debacle since that morning in the bunker. Two days. It had been two days, and even though they were on a case it was all Sam could think about. Not talking though, was the Winchester way so he kept his mouth shut.

“I don’t know Cas,” Sam answered quietly, glancing over at Dean. “I mean, we find her, then what?”

Neither one answered.

“Guys I’m serious. I’m at a loss here.”

“Look, all I know is we need to make some kind of decision. I can barely think about this damn case. We’re distracted, Sammy. Someone’s gonna get hurt if we keep this up.”

“Dean’s right. You’re both very distracted by the whole situation. I will do whatever I can to help, no matter what you choose to do, but you must choose something.”

“Ok. Ok, we find her. Just where she’s at. Don’t kidnap her or anything. Maybe if we know where she’s at it’ll help us know where to go from here?”

It shouldn’t be a question, but Sam had no clue what would help and what would make everything worse.

“Well, you heard the man Cas. Go look for Sam’s baby mama.”

After Cas left, Sam and Dean both agreed to put a lid on that situation in order to finish the case in relatively one piece. It was a salt and burn that shouldn’t be taking this long. They knew that they had to put everything about Y/N aside, at least until the case was done. They also knew they were both completely full of shit, and there was no way either was going to stop thinking about it.

At least they were on the same page.

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