no i can't make a happy thing sorry

I wonder if you ever felt like I abandoned you….  
If you ever thought I should have fought for you…

The truth of it is I never left.  
I’m still here.  
And I do fight for you - every single day.   
Not to win you…. not to trap you or cage you…  
But for your happiness.

I wage war on myself day in and day out for you.  
Tearing strips off myself, swallowing hatred and tears….  
So if you hate me because I abandoned you…. don’t worry…  
….. I hate myself for it too…
—  Ranata Suzuki

happy birthday @imaginaryanon ♥

“It doesn’t need to be like this. There’s another way. A way that doesn’t make you lie to everyone including yourself while claiming that you’re not a liar. We call it the Dark Side, yes, but it’s a description that desperately lacks depth. What’s dark about being true to yourself? What’s evil about love and passion? Tell me, if you still think yourself a Jedi.”

My Christmas Wishlist

Here’s a list of things I want to find under my Christmas Tree or under me.

Originally posted by parlayy

Originally posted by slashpit

Originally posted by black-fly

Originally posted by endeil

Originally posted by allendsarebegginings

Originally posted by juliannas-wild-oats

I’m really tired of faking happiness because I hurt all of the time.
—  Kay

~12x02 codas keep making me cry, so I’m offering up a happy one lmao here goes~

“What are you doing?”

“Ordering dinner.” Mary looks up from the takeout menu with bright eyes. “You can do that over the phone, can’t you?”

Dean knocks his hip against the counter and squints at his mom. “Yeah. You planning on picking it up yourself?”

“Why is it that I feel like I’m the child here and you’re my mom?” She playfully raises her eyebrows at him to punctuate the question.

Dean smiles down at the floor. “Uh, overprotective I guess. I’d, uh, love it if you went and got us some grub. Let me just get the keys and–”

“I’ll need 10 dollars. I wasn’t resurrected with any cash.”

Dean doesn’t hold back his laugh as he pulls a wad of cash out of his back pocket. “You’ll need more than that, Mom. Wait ‘til you see gas prices.”

She frowns down at the bills in her hands, but she doesn’t say anything else. As she makes her way toward the garage, she pats his cheek.

When she’s almost out of the room, he calls after her and reminds her that she hasn’t placed the order yet. She laughs and hits her forehead. He shows her how to use an iPhone. She calls it ridiculous and asks why they even say it’s a phone when in reality its other uses far outweigh its ability to make calls. He blinks at her.

Some stress drops from Dean’s shoulders once his mom is out of the bunker. He grabs a beer out of the fridge and downs half of it before joining Sam and Cas in the war room. Sam is staring intently at his laptop while Cas reads an old Men of Letters journal to see if there’s anything about the British chapter.

As Dean walks around Cas’ chair, Cas reaches his hand up without taking his eyes away from the book. Dean hands over his beer, Cas takes a drink, hands it back, and Dean pulls a chair out and sits close enough to Cas that their legs are knocking under the table.

Dean sighs heavily and leans back in his chair, reaching his arm toward Cas so he can give him a neck massage. Cas very briefly closes his eyes before resuming his research.

“How you doing, Sammy?”

From the opposite end of the table, Sam offers a tightlipped smile and trains his eyes back to the screen. “Still think I’m hallucinating, but at least it’s pleasant for the time being.”

“Did you try–”

Sam lifts his hands and presses his thumb to the old scar in his palm.

Dean smiles and drinks his beer.

“You trusted your mother to take the car?”

“You eavesdropped?”

“It’s easier than actively blocking you out,” Cas deadpans.

Dean stops rubbing his neck but keeps resting his hand on the back of his chair. “Should I have stopped her? I mean, she’s getting us dinner when she’s a guest in our home. Doesn’t that make us bad hosts?”

Cas just barely rolls his eyes as he closes the journal. “When I was sick, you let me watch Netflix and eat all of your Lucky Charms. I think you’re a fine host.”

Dean smirks at him and squeezes his shoulder. “That’s when you started sleeping in my bed, too. I think I went above and beyond as a host.”

“I don’t think that would be appropriate with your mother.”

“OK, the hallucination is once again a nightmare,” Sam says seriously. He closes his laptop and heads toward the kitchen.

Dean scoots his chair closer to Cas so he can nose at his jaw.

“You don’t seem too concerned about the British Men of Letters.” Cas’ neck betrays his words by tilting to the side and angling toward Dean’s mouth.

“Too hungry to care right now.”

“You could’ve offered to cook. That probably would’ve taken less time than Mary picking something up.”

Dean stops kissing Cas’ neck. “Honestly, I thought she might offer to cook. I was about to ask her what she wanted to do for dinner when I found her hovering over a menu.”

“Did you even check to see what she ordered?”

Before Dean can answer, Mary walks in empty-handed. She stops in the middle of the room and plants her hands on her hips.

“They were backed up. Said it would take an hour to fill our order! I’m starving.”

After a pause, Cas says, “I see where Dean gets his impatience.”

“And my appetite apparently,” Dean adds as he stands. “Don’t worry, Mom, we have steaks in the freezer. I got it.”

They’ve got some onions and peppers and a freaking eggplant in the fridge, so Dean quickly throws together an orzo salad with macaroni noodles since they don’t have orzo. Once the steaks are thawed (in the microwave, but nobody needs to know that), he throws them on the grill, heads back inside and tells Cas to keep an eye on them. He definitely doesn’t waste five minutes passionately explaining to Cas how to make sure all the steaks turn out perfectly medium rare.

While he’s roasting some broccoli, carrots and zucchini, Mary comes up behind him and asks what he’s doing.

“Uh, just roasting some vegetables. We went to the farmer’s market right before…well, a few days ago. Everything’s still good. You good?”

“You’re roasting the vegetables?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“And they taste good that way?”

“You kidding me? They’re amazing. I didn’t know I liked broccoli until I tried roasting it.”


Dean mixes the not-orzo salad and lets the silence sit between them for a second.

“Oh! I gotta ask you. Um. That meatloaf you used to make when I was a kid. You still know the recipe?”

Mary laughs and takes a seat at the kitchen table. “Piggly Wiggly, sweetheart.”


“I hated cooking. Why do you think I gave you PB&J for lunch every day?”

Dean huffs a laugh and scratches the back of his neck. “That’s, uh–I gotta be honest, one of the main things I’ve thought about you over the past three decades is that you’re a good cook.”

She immediately gets up and walks over to him. “Well, we’re getting to know each other now.” She pats his back a few times. “So, show me how you roast these vegetables.”

By the time Cas comes in with the steaks, Mary is cutting up some feta and laughing as Dean goes through the list of all the different kinds of mac and cheese he made for Sam when they were kids.

“He’s gonna be pissed when he sees the macaroni noodles in the salad,” Dean says with a wink to Cas and a nod toward the table.

Cas sets the plate of steaks down and stands with his hands by his sides, waiting.

“Macaroni and feta,” Mary says.

“Babe, go get Sammy, would you?”

Once Cas leaves, the conversation dies.

Dean and Mary laugh some more as they navigate around each other to set the table. When Sam comes in and asks what’s funny, they shrug him off.

Dean takes his usual seat next to Cas and squeezes his hand before they start eating. It’s his way of saying grace, which Cas finds sacrilegious. And hilarious.

Mary immediately stuffs her face and sings Dean’s praises with her mouth full. Sam looks at her, slack-jawed, but doesn’t say anything.

Dean loves cooking. He’s good at it. Not because he was trying to imitate his mom or take care of his little brother–even though those things are true–but because he just loves cooking. And that’s something he can share with his mom, show his mom, because they don’t have it in common.

After dinner, they all sit around the table and talk for a long time. Dean rubs Cas between the shoulder blades like he always does and then he scoots himself closer to Cas like he always does and then he wraps his arm tightly around Cas like he always does and then Cas leans up against his chest practically in his chair like he always does.

It’s not until Cas lazily turns and presses a kiss to Dean’s cheek that Dean registers something.

“Uh, Mom?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“You know Cas and I are–we’re–we have a, uh–I should’ve said–mentioned–”

Mary downs the rest of her beer. “You had a crush on John Travolta when you were 4, Dean.” She winks at Cas. “If you want my approval, you’ve got it.”

Merry christmas and Happy New Year @yamarygraylu

just tried pinting for once I am sorry if it looks awful … I tried … I mean it doesn’t look too bad … I wanted to make something special cause it’s a gift , and experimenting and it’s been so long since I used my tag . I still hope that you can overlook all the bad there is in the drawing , one thing I am proud of are the eyes of the teddy bear and the bunny slippers , at least there is that you can enjoy . Well I also want to thank @graylu-angstweek for making my participation possible .

Being near you is enough to make me feel like I’m safe from myself, and that’s hard as hell to do.
—  I just need you here.

Happy Valentines Day everyone! In the spirit of things, I’ve decided to make a video–on why having crushes suck. And to also offer you some tips to woo your crush ;)) (Disclaimer: I’m not responsible for getting your house haunted nor a restraining order)

Hope you guys enjoy, and as always, if you like/comment/subscribe I hope you have a wonderful day!!

How to: social life (for ENTPs)
  1. Don’t make promises.

  2. Go live a happy life without disappointing anyone.

~Bun, ENTP

Anonymous requested 24 for wardrobe meme, “wedding clothes” ( i know this was a while ago, sorry ‘bout that).

d’awww look at them. So cute. make it stop.

Something terrible is going to happen i know it. Pray for them.

bruabba week 2017 prompt 1: first kiss
i don’t know how to make things happy
this is probably after a street scuffle idk
here we go
(here on ao3)

His mouth is dry and tastes of smoke and ash and the tinge of copper, and if regret could be tasted, then that would have been there, too. It’s all impulse, impulse that has him leaning in, tired and pumped full of adrenaline and with bloodstained knuckles, impulse that slips pale and shaking fingers under the jaw and lifts the head until he can catch it in his ink-colored lips. All that was needed, something quick and impulsive and life-affirming when everything is screaming the opposite.
He does not expect Buccellati (your superior, his brain screams, remember that don’t you dare forget—) to reciprocate.
Maybe it’s just a trick of the mind, maybe a hopeful illusion or another false memory, but he swears he feels it; the hesitation and then the pressure returned, their faces crashed inelegantly together where noses bump and lips don’t quite meet evenly; the opening of the mouth for just a split second before teeth clatter and the sensation bores back into his head as a reminder: this is real, this is real, this is real — Real enough that he’s already berating himself for the idea, for the thought, for the impulse, the fact that he’s doing it completely without the consent of the rational part of his mind, the fact that you can’t go back from this, idiot, you’ve ruined-
But then there’s the push back, the insistence, the fact that it’s clumsy and messy but it’s happening and he’s pretty sure that Buccellati is kissing him back.
And then they aren’t. Then it’s over and he’s still got a hand on his superior’s (right, remember, remember) jaw and the ends of his hair against the scrapes on his knuckles sting a little bit and despite all the regret that’s boiling in his stomach like magma, there’s something about the smudges of lipstick left behind and the way his skin glows in the pale yellow sodium streetlights and the telltale signs of being a bit too roughed up and too red in the face that make this the single most beautiful thing Leone Abbacchio has ever seen. Too beautiful, in fact. Beautiful enough that the guilt claws at his brain like it means to tear him apart.
The impulse to back away is stronger than the impulse to have even started, and Abbacchio’s stepping back more hastily than he’s ever moved in his life, taking all the courage he can not to run, to run and never stop running. 
“We need to get back,” Buccellati says, like it never happened, like those five seconds were in a tiny pocket universe that only they inhabited. And then, more quietly, adds, “we… we’ll talk about… this later.”
It feels like half damnation and half a promise.
They walk back not speaking a word.


I want to take this opportunity to wish Lee Seokmin–Seventeen’s resident happy virus, seokshine, and horse enthusiast–the happiest of birthdays. From your infectious smile to your Dracula laugh, I love everything about you. You’ve brought joy to so many fans like myself and I hope you continue to be the DK we’ve all come to know and love. I’m honestly so proud of everything you’ve accomplished in the past couple of months. I can’t wait to see what the future has in store for you because I just know that you will put 110% in every opportunity that comes your way *cough* hopefully a musical or your own radio gig or a variety show *cough*. Please continue to stay happy and healthy so that you can continue to be Seventeen’s main vocalist and energizer. Thank you for being born on this day and thank you for blessing Carats with your beautiful voice 💕


Their love . . . it's like. . .

This popped into my head the other night as I lay trying to fall asleep. I’ve had a rough week and this was apparently just what I needed to think about to drift off and finally have a nightmare-free night. It’s not necessarily head-canon or anything…just something nice to think about.


Raphael’s love is like the ocean. Storming, recalcitrant, and unfathomably deep. At turns violent and gentle, sometimes pounding the surf and other times lapping with remorseful gentleness at the sloping contours of the shore. Moody,unyielding, yet ever present.

Michelangelo’s love is like the wind. Playful and errant. Unexpected and sometimes alarming - buffeting the object of his passion with uncharacteristic force. It is at times vagabond and irreverent, but it is always there, lingering and innocently hopeful; a whisper, a caress, a teasing gust that lifts your skirt.

Leonardo’s love is like the sun. Compassionate and reassuring. Comforting while encouraging. The warmth on your back to urge you forward with confidence. And yet, it is blinding, too strong to look at directly. Never-ending. Permanent - until the world ends.

Donatello’s love is like the moon. Distant and mysterious. Luminescent and gentle, never rough, never heated, but sometimes seemingly remote. But it is the enigma which makes up his character. His love waxes and wanes but is ever present, even when it seems it is not there at all - a shy, but lasting love. 

anonymous asked:

Weren't you a HP blog? Stop posting TW and other things, please

How about I do whatever the fuck I want since it’s my blog and not yours? 

I mean, you can easily block other things if you just want the HP content or you can even stop following me, if that makes your heart happy.

Originally posted by reaction-resource-center

5 things that make me happy

 Tagged by @moosechester1812​ (thanks!)

Rules: When you get this, respond with 5 things that make you happy and pass it on to the last 10 people in your notifications.

1.  A good story

2.  Lemon sorbet in the middle of summer

3.  A night with friends, talking and playing

4.  Sleeping in

5.  Creating things

tagging: @hyrulehearts1123@high-on-spn@destiel-shmestiel@snorkles-the-pig@whoisaudreytoday@eshtiel@carry-on-my-wayward-girl@easilydistractedwriter @the-assbutt-impala @spooky-emo-trash (I’m so sorry if you didn’t want to be tagged)