otp: it's because of you

8

The Oracle and the King should stand together always…for it is they who safeguard our world. (insp)

Keith, at the store because Lance is having his monthly: :< 

Clerk: How can I help you?

Keith: Oh I’m just picking up some pads for my boyfriend. 

Clerk: That’s so sweet. :3 

Keith: :3 

~ SPN 12x15 coda ~

This is my voicemail. Make your voice…a mail.

Dean pursed his lips and pulled his phone away from his ear. Three missed calls…where was Cas? 

Usually, if he was not back home by this time – Dean tapped his screen. 10:47 pm – then he was at a hotel for the night. By now, Cas would have texted Dean to check in. To let him know that everything was all right. Maybe he was too tired to carry on an actual conversation. Maybe that’s why he sounded off on the phone earlier,

After a moment of staring at his phone, Dean opened it up and found the messages between himself and Cas. No reason he couldn’t text Cas first, right?

10:48 pm // Any more news about Dagon?

He stared at his screen until it went black. Sighing, Dean set his cell down on his nightstand and pulled off his flannel shirt, tossing it on the foot of his bed. He toed off his heavy boots and kicked them away before he tugged off his jeans. As he sat down, he glanced over at his phone.

Still no notification. Maybe Cas’ phone was dead?

Dean slipped under the covers and sat still for a second before reaching under and yanking off his socks. He threw them across the room and rested his arm behind his head. He stared at the ceiling for a long while, watching the shadows from the lamp creep over the popcorn ceiling.

His phone buzzed. Twice. 

Dean jolted up and rubbed his eyes with one hand and grabbed his cell with the other. His shoulders sagged as he rested his phone on his knee. It was only Crowley. If he actually wanted to talk to Dean, he would call him – several times in succession until Dean picked up, judging by past experiences. 

Dean unlocked his phone with a swipe of his thumb and his eyes fell to Cas’ contact picture. It was one that Dean took who know how many moths ago during a lull in a research session. In the picture, Cas was glaring over the top of Sam’s computer at Dean in response to his endless attempts to get his attention. 

“Hey, Cas,” he said, clearing his throat. He glanced up at his closed bedroom door before continuing. “I…I know it’s been a while since I’ve prayed. But that’s because you’ve been here. And, well…you’re gone now.”

He frowned, tapping his phone on his knee. Yes, Dean talked to him today – just hours ago, even – but something was wrong. Sam did not seem to notice, but Dean did. “I don’t know what to do,” he said, though not necessarily to Cas. 

“I need you here, man. You help me, you know? More than I’ll ever be able to say.” His eyes darted up to the ceiling and back down to the phone. “I’m over-reacting, huh?…You’re probably just tired.” Dean gave his phone a half-hearted smile, his eyes drooping in exhaustion. He really should try to sleep soon.

12:12 am, his phone read when he tapped the screen. He hesitated for only a second after unlocking it before he decided to call Cas again. Dean’s fingers tightened around his phone as he raised it to his ear. “Come on, buddy. Pick up.” 

His plea was answered by the trilly dial-tone, which rang three times before there was a soft click on the other end. Dean’s breath hitched in anticipation as Cas said, This is my voicemail. Make you – 

He hung up the phone and tossed it away. It bounced off the pillow next to him and onto the bed. Dean rubbed his hands over his face, sighing. “Where are you, Cas?”

2

I know … last night was unexpected. If you regret it –

10

TOP 20 21 FEMALE DYNAMICS ACCORDING TO MY FOLLOWERS

17-18. clarke griffin & raven reyes (the 100)

“I used to be picked first for everything. Earth skills, zero-g mech course. First… every time. So, how the hell did I end up here?”
“Hey, Raven? I’d pick you first.”

10

the shy shy shy Goblin and her bold bride 😆

10

“We gave them a prom they’ll never forget.”
Me neither. It’s the best night of my life.
“Even if it was ridiculously romantic?”

7

“Colonel Baird. Where’s Mr. Carsen?”

every steve/tony argument ever

the world: is fucked and in immediate peril

tony: how about this pragmatic but morally dubious solution

steve: TONY NO that’s imperfect and therefore wrong

tony: ok, what should we do instead then?

steve: LALALA CAN’T HEAR YOU OVER THE SOUND OF MY MORAL PURITY

anonymous asked:

Sherlolly librarian au

“Could I take this out, please?”

Molly turned around and nearly tripped over her own feet as she rushed over to assist her outrageously handsome customer; she was more than a little confused when she found a small slip of paper waiting for her.

“Sir, this is a blank piece of paper.”

“Yes,” Sherlock smirked, exuding confidence as he leaned closer, “I’m going to need your name and phone number.”

send a ship, an au and I’ll write a four three sentence fic

Making Sense

A SnowBaz fic for the Carry On Countdown

There was flour fucking everywhere.

“Did any of the flour get into the bowl?” Baz mused as Simon dumped another cup of the powder on the countertop, dropping a ball of dough on top and sending a cloud of flour drifting across the kitchen.

“Shut up,” Simon grinned, gingerly biting the leftover dough off of his fingers.  “Do you think we put in enough cherries?”

“We already did double what the recipe called for.”

“I know, but I want there to be cherries -”

“In every bite,” Baz finished, smiling fondly at Simon concentrating on the dough, his brow furrowing involuntarily.  Baz loved that furrow.  That furrow was only one of countless things Baz loved about Simon.

Simon turned to meet his eye, and Baz quickly dropped his gaze to the flour-covered counter.  Baz loved Simon’s eyes too much to even be able to look at them.  It was like trying to stare at the sun; he had to look away after a second, but the image was still there, stuck behind his own eyes, burnt onto his retinas.

Oblivious little fuck.

“Should I roll it thinner?” Simon asked, snapping Baz out of his thoughts.  Not that it mattered, the thoughts would carry on, like subtitles in his brain, impossible to ignore.

“It looks fine,” Baz shook his head.  “I wonder though, should we add something to them?  Like peppermint extract or something?”

“Why would we do that?”

“They are meant to be for a Christmas party…”

“So we’ll make Christmas cookies next,” Simon shrugged, “I’m not going to change the scones, they’re perfect as they are.”

Baz got an idea.  “How about we cut them with Christmas cutters?”

Simon laughed.  “The scones?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright.”

They dipped their cookie cutters in the inch-thick layer of flour that covered the counter and cut their scones into Christmas trees and gingerbread men.  They worked in silence, side by side, Baz trying to hide the bristling that occurred whenever he was close to Simon.  He still found it hard to believe that after all these years of being friends and spending time together, Simon had still never seemed to notice the effect he had on Baz.

They both reached into the flour bowl at the same time, their hands brushing.  It shouldn’t have made Baz blush, it wasn’t like they never touched each other, but Baz couldn’t help the fact that every touch felt like an electric shock, like it made his neck crawl.

The second their hands brushed, Baz fought the urge to snatch his back.  He wasn’t expecting Simon to do the snatching.

Baz peeked at Simon’s face.  The boy was staring down at the dough, but his eyes were wide and his cheeks were…

Don’t overthink it, he told himself. You mean nothing to him, not like that.

But there was that tiny voice inside somewhere that kept him hoping.  What if you do?

“Ready for the oven then?” Simon broke the silence, a little loudly for such a simple question, especially with Baz right beside him.

“Sure,” Baz replied, trying to sound light, and they transferred the dough onto the pan, sliding it into the oven and setting the timer. Baz brushed the flour dust off his hands and turned back to Simon.  “Now we wait.”

Simon had an odd expression on his face.  He stared sort of… past Baz, like he was so lost in thought that he was seeing the things he was thinking, and they were happening right behind Baz.  “What shall we do in the meantime?” Simon murmured.

“Well,” Baz watched Simon’s face, puzzled.  “We could start to clean up, I guess.”

Simon’s eyes narrowed.  “We could, yeah.”

“Did you have something else in mind?”

Suddenly Simon’s eyes met Baz’s, too quickly for Baz to look away.  He returned the gaze as coolly as he could, feeling more and more exposed with every second that dragged by.  “Something wrong?” he managed, his mouth dry.

“No,” Simon murmured, not looking away.  “Nothing’s wrong.  In fact, something’s right.  Everything’s right.”  He took a deep breath.  “Everything is… making sense.”

“R-really?”

Simon took a step towards Baz, then another.  His gaze was so intense that Baz instinctively backed up, finding that he had nowhere to go, he was already backed against the counter. “Simon,” he stammered, “what are you doing?”

“There’s…” Simon cocked his head up at Baz, now only inches away.  “There’s flour on your face.”  He reached a hand up to brush his thumb across Baz’s cheek, so softly that it felt like a butterfly’s touch.  Baz could hear his heart pounding in his ears, louder and louder and…

And then Simon reached up…

And Baz’s heart went silent.

Because Simon was kissing him.  Shyly.  On the mouth.

Baz’s eyes scrunched shut, and he went so tense that his stomach almost felt sick.

Simon dropped away from Baz’s mouth.  When Baz opened his eyes, Simon’s face was red, and his brow was furrowed again.  “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

Baz had to take a couple of breaths before he found his voice. “W-what for?”

Simon’s eyes were blurring up.  “I thought I’d figured it out,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “I thought that you wanted… that. I guess not.”

“Did… did you want that?”

Simon squeezed his eyes shut, and a tear dripped from one of them.  “It doesn’t matter.”

“Simon,” Baz rushed to dry the tear from Simon’s cheek, not even thinking about the gesture.  “I need to know.”

For once, it was Simon who couldn’t meet Baz’s eyes.  “Yes, alright?  I wanted it, but clearly you didn’t, so let’s just forget it happened and carry on.”  His voice was hitching as he fought back tears, his breath becoming ragged.

Baz didn’t know it was possible for a heart to be broken and mended at the exact same time, but while Simon’s tears tore him apart, he felt light as air, practically giddy.  Without letting himself think about it, he leaned down and kissed the tear off of Simon’s face, letting his lips linger a second longer than they needed to.  He felt Simon’s shuddering stop in surprise.  When he met Simon’s eyes, neither of them looked away.  “Wait,” Simon breathed, “did you want that?”

Baz could barely whisper the words “God, yes” before he was crashing into Simon’s mouth again.  This time there was no hesitation, no stiffness, just a lifetime of wanting coming to a head.  

Simon’s mouth tasted of cherries and the salty sweetness of the dough he’d been sneaking the entire time.  Baz’s hands went from Simon’s face to his hair, one hand exploring the back of Simon’s neck.  Simon gave Baz’s chest a push, and before either of them knew what was happening, Baz was sitting on the countertop, Simon straddling his lap and kissing him so deeply that Baz thought he might faint.  Simon’s hands cupped Baz’s face, still pushing him back until Baz was leaning his head against the cupboards, the cold wood the only thing giving him any sense of direction.  His world was nothing but Simon, and he couldn’t hold back a moan as Simon angled his head and opened Baz’s mouth with his own.  

It wasn’t until much later, when they finally broke apart, dizzy and gasping for breath, that they realized they’d sat in the flour.

Do you ever just hear a song in an OTP playlist

And even though, logically, you know that song is PERFECT for that OTP

You can’t support it

Because it belongs to

YOUR OTHER OTP