practically everything was green or dark

Imagine Dean coaching your daughter’s soccer team.

Characters: Mechanic!Dean x Teacher!Reader

Warnings: mild angst, super fluff, daddy! Dean (yes, it’s a warning because *swoon*)

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: 6k Celebration and One Year Fic-i-verary Celebration Fic TEN. The line requested was “The whistle makes me their god.” It was requested by @pinknerdpanda​ . It will be highlighted in the fic. Thank you so much for celebrating with me. I didn’t get to add in the smut that you requested because the story in my head just didn’t lend itself to it. Hope you aren’t too disappointed with the outcome. I personally had tears of joy in my eyes as I was editing it. I LOVE daddy! Dean. 

Feedback Appreciated

Tags at the bottom

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Ben descended down the cold dark echoing steps towards the dungeons. Even though Auradon prep was a school it was his parent’s castle at one point, the one they lived in before he was born. No one was technically allowed in the lower underground levels of the school but that never stopped the rebellious students from sneaking down there to do whatever they would do in some secluded underground threshold at their boarding school. That wasn’t really Ben’s scene, he couldn’t imagine what they’d even get up to; well he could, but just not see it.

He finally reached the lowest level of the dungeons. This was where his parents first met. It was so dark; he could only see the silhouette of his hand in front of his face. He reached for his phone and turned on the back flashlight to find his way through the maze of cells. He should have brought a jacket, it was so cold. But there wasn’t enough time to.

He had come here straight after dinner to be able to make it back before curfew and anyone could really notice that he was gone. Ben felt guilty for lying to his friends about coming down there, especially Mal; he had said that he had a study group meeting at the library to buy himself some time alone.

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In which Dean and Cas buy their daughter 7 dresses.

The first time they buy her a dress, they haven’t even met her yet. Dean is touching every tiny little garment he can possibly get his hands on, marvelling over how tiny everything is and how “d’you think she’d like pink? Or maybe blue? Ohhh, Cas, look at this orange one, it’s got pockets!”

Cas, meanwhile, is too busy fawning over the miniature patterned-socks to pay any real attention.


The second time they buy her a dress, she’s four years-old and is skipping between them, practically vibrating as she swings on their arms and thanks them profusely. “Thank you thank you thank you!” she gushes as the store clerk scans the large poofy white thing. Her dark brown hair is tied in a messy ponytail and her green eyes are bright behind her small glasses, freckled nose scrunching up as she smiles, toothy and wide.

“Can I wear it now pleasepleaseplease?

The tiara she’s wearing falls into her eyes and she pushes it up, one of the straps of her overalls falling with the movement. Cas looks at Dean expectantly and the latter sighs. “’Course, bug.”

When they emerge ten minutes later, Chevy Marie Winchester is dressed in an over-the-top poufy taffeta number, black clunky boots on her feet and tiara on her forehead. She launches herself into Castiel’s arms and her papa helps her into her tiny leather jacket.

“Our kid is a total badass,” Dean murmurs to his husband as she sleeps in her carseat on the drive home.

Cas grins back.

She really is.


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This is a photograph I created a few days ago.

Now, I’ll not be talking about the story about it, but I’ll discuss some technical aspects.

I’m a newbie regarding compositing images, so with every single new composite, I come across obstacles on my path.
Resolving these (purely technical) problems that arise is a means of learning more, and learning on my own mistakes, which is why practice is SO important.

You could watch a thousand tutorials and believe you know EVERYTHING, but once you actually start shooting, you’ll see how much knowledge you won’t get unless you DO something.

Anyway, this photograph was taken in my backyard with one dried-out Christmas tree (my mum bought it in a pot, but it apparently didn’t make it).
I wanted the mood to match the overall ‘deep in the woods’ dark theme, so I also chose the clothes accordingly (I’m wearing my lacy dress bought for my Bachelor’s promotion in December, which I completely adore).

Then there’s also the green 'wall’, a certain halt, which makes the pose meaningful. Why the halt? What is going on? Is it a secret passage behind it?

Compositing is so much fun!
I wasn’t into it before, but as my imagination started creating this stories that would cost MUCH more to have all props actually created/bought, I’ve decided I should take advantage of Photoshop and digital technology.
In this way, my stories can become surreal, dreamy, almost whatever I want them to be (depending on my current Photoshop skills).


Everyday Holtzmann

How to create a Jillian Holtzmann inspired capsule wardrobe

When I saw Ghostbusters: Answer the Call for the first time earlier this year, I fell in love with Jillian Holtzmann very quickly for a number of reasons. One of these reasons was her sense of style; she always looks so incredibly interesting and cool, and I knew I wanted to try and absorb some of a her quirky choices into my own wardrobe. I’ve posted a few ‘Holtzmann-inspired’ outfits and so far the response has been pretty positive. I’ve been working on creating a ‘capsule wardrobe’ in the style of Holtzmann - a capsule wardrobe is a collection of around 25 items of clothing which follow a similar style/colour scheme, and so can be combined in many different ways to create multiple different outfits. I know there are a lot of fans out there who have similar goals, and so I’ve decided to post my own collection as a kind of guide, which you’ll find under the cut below.

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“ℰver since I was a little girl, I’ve wanted to see inside your house.”

Inside the house there were no clocks and no mirrors and three locks on each and every door. Fifteen different sorts of wood had been used for the window seats and the mantels, including golden oak, silver ash, and a peculiarly fragrant cherrywood that gave off the scent of ripe fruit even in the dead of winter, when every tree outside was nothing more than a leafless black stick. No matter how dusty the rest of the house might be, none of the woodwork ever needed polishing. It was dark in every room, even at noon, and cool all through the heat of July. Anyone who dared to stand on the porch, where the ivy grew wild, could try for hours to look through the windows and never see a thing. It was the same looking out; the green-tinted window glass was so old and so thick that everything on the other side seemed like a dream, including the sky and the trees.

anonymous asked:

please make a super fluffy harry x fem reader imagine where they're already dating and it's just super cute xx love your writing btw!

AN: Hey, hope this is okay!! thank you for requesting :)) xx

“For the umpteenth time, Harry, I can’t dedicate a fraction of my time to you, let alone kiss you right now. I’ve got to study. You know, open a book or two, and read the words of text on each line? It’s a hell of a strategy - maybe you or Ron could test it out sometime.”

For the last hour, you’d been sitting on your bed trying to focus, while Harry was spread out beside you, flicking the pages of your book with annoying incessancy. You wanted to slap him. You loved him, but you were beyond ready to slap him. Oh dear god, he deserved to be slapped.

“It must’ve been easy, right? Easiest decision you’ve ever made?” Harry continued to bug you, jabbing his index finger into your hip, wandering his way to your thigh, trying to coup a feel.

He wanted to throw you off your game so badly - sick of the Hermione games you were playing. It was nice that you were studying; he found it undeniably attractive when you bit your lower lip in concentration, and the like. But it was Christmas break - you had all the time in the world to study, except for Christmas break. That’s when he was supposed to get you, not the books.

“What?” You answered monotonously, before flicking his hand away without so much as a glance up at him. “Was what easy?”

“Saying yes to going out with me. Easy, huh, love?” He stretched his legs out to play footsie with you under the comforter, but given that you were waist-deep in your herbology textbook, it was rather one-sided for him.

You loved Harry -you swore, you loved Harry Potter more than life itself- but good Godric, he was such a little shit sometimes. “And just why do you assume it was so simple and easy?” Although, H and you both knew it was anything but easy.

Much like James had with Lily, Harry fell into a hopeless, desperate sort of love with you. Being a fellow Gryffindor, you had each and every class with him, and a few weeks into first year, you caught him making constant googly eyes at you. More than twice a class period, there was practical drool running from his mouth. You had to admit, he was cute, but you guys were eleven. What were you going to do - hug?

Over time, it didn’t get much better. With him veering off course to fight the Dark Side, girls started lining up to date him. Despite his woefully awkward ways, he was the talk of your year.

The chameleon green-orange eyes, the scar, the cheeky grin, and innocent complexion. He’d always been adorable, but the older he got, the more attractive he grew. It wasn’t just a cute face sort of thing anymore, it was everything about him. You were such a sucker for his half-mature, mostly-boyish humor in class, and whenever you worked on a project with him, you went weak at the knees.

But, of course, you would never admit that to him.

For the first four years at Hogwarts, he pined for you. Finally, when you returned for the fifth year, you approached him in the Gryffindor common room. Gathering all your moxie, you strutted toward the fireplace where he sat by himself, deep in the middle of the night, and told him in as serious a tone as possible, “You mustn’t tell these delusional lies about Cedric. It’s in your best interest to listen to Professor Umbridge - she’s such a wise woman.”

He sat there in silence for a solid ten seconds, surveying your lips and eyes and every last inch. Eventually, Harry blinked. “What the fuck rubbish did you jus-”

“I’m kidding, Potter. Apparently you’re choosing not to get jokes, Chosen One.”

“I only choose to get jokes that are actually funny, Y/L/N.” But he said it with such a wicked grin.

It had been history ever since.

Back in present day, he continued to fuss about studying. “Y/N, do you not love me anymore?”

You inhaled; counted to five. He was right - even if you didn’t want to admit it. You needed to stop studying. It was Christmas break, and knowing him, sometime during the second semester, he’d run off and do something ridiculously preposterous to fight the Death Eaters. Time with Harry (especially time where he wasn’t gabbing about Malfoy) was precious. It needed to be cherished while it lasted.

“I love you more than you’ll ever know, my Green-Eyed Dearest,” you sighed, tucked your quill inside your book to page mark it, then closed the cover. In one motion, you collected all your books and parchment, then set them to the floor. “You want to cuddle?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Harry erupted into his notorious fit of laughter, tugging at your shirt to pull you closer to his body. Now that he had you away from your studies, all he wanted was you you you. Your skin, your touch, your body. You. His. His. His. “C'mere, I just want you against me.”

Obliging, you allowed him to draw you as close as he wanted, but to tease him, you slipped his glasses down the bridge of his nose, then put them on yourself. “Lookie, I’m Harry Potter! The Chosen One! Dumbledore and McGonagall’s favorite!”

With all the sunshine in the world in each eye, Harry glimmered and gleamed and looked at you more lovingly than a boy had looked at a girl before - even more loving than the way James had looked at Lily. He laid in awe of you for a minute, chewing his lower lip, with deep imprints of where the nosepiece of his glasses usually sat.

“I am so in love with you, Y/N Y/L/N, it’s sickening.”

“And to think,” gently as possible, you returned the glasses to your boyfriend. “I didn’t even have to slip you amortentia.”

“Or so you say.” Harry bantered back.

And as the castle lights twinkled, the garland hung, and the halls ran quiet, you felt all the compassion a girl could feel, from the fluttering-heart and sugary-smiling love of your life snuggled beside you.

Imagine #13- Tell Me A Story

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Plot: The reader it seriously injured during a hunt, and Sam tries to keep her awake.

Words: 1,260

Warning: Slight blood, near-death-ish situation.

The last thing you remember clearly is the searing pain as the werewolf’s claws rip down your chest and the sudden spurt of warm liquid gushing from the wounds. From there, everything’s a jumble of black and pain and yelling.

You hear Sam yell your name, his voice a mix of terror and anguish. You feel his arms picking you up, gentle but shaking. He cradles your head on his shoulder, your arm drooping down and the other curled against his body.

Your head spins and with it, the world.

The next thing you know, is lying in the back of the Impala and  a panicked conversation between the brothers.

“Faster!” That’s Sam.

“I’m trying, dammit!” Dean snaps, and you feel the vehicle swerve violently. “Five minutes!”

You crack your eyes open, your squinting against the minimal light. Sam, who’s been looking at you desperately, instantly perks up.

“Y/N!” He whispers, his hand reaching to caress your cheek. You manage a small smile, dizzy from blood loss. You can feel the blood, sticking your clothes to your body, coating his hands and body, where he’s held you close. You’re sprawled out on the back seat, your head in his lap as Dean speeds you to the hospital. “We’ll be there soon.” He promises. “Just hold on!”

“I’m so tired.” You whisper, “I want to go to sleep.”

“No!” He says, “You have to stay awake, alright? Focus on me.”

Everything is so blurred yet the colours are so intense, so bright, despite the darkness- both literal and trying to drag you down.

His face is suddenly close to yours, his nose practically touching yours. “Look at me.” He tells you, and you try to focus on his eyes.  Hazel eyes, like a touch of autumn. Brown with hints of greens and yellows, maybe a touch of blue sky.

Suddenly, you feel warm. Like…an inviting warmth, and your eyelids droop. The pain is ebbing away.

“Stay awake!” Sam demands, giving you a small shake. With great difficulty, you force your eyes back open.

“Tell me a story.” You beg, needing something to focus on. He nods, his hand on your bloodied cheek again.

“Alright.” He pauses, his eyes flickering away again as he thinks. His hand reaches for yours, squeezing tightly. You offer a small squeeze back, making him smile. “Stay with me.”

“I promise.” You mumble, unable to force your mouth and throat of form the words properly, it probably sounds like a mangled mess.

Like my chest. You laugh internally as he begins to speak.

“So we’re working a case, a while ago,” He begins, “And we go to this diner in the evening. It’s nice enough, but there’s something special about it.”

You know this story.

“You see, while we’re there, we meet someone. She’s a hunter too, but she’s so much more than that. She’s smart and beautiful, and to tell you the truth, I had no desire to end up on her bad side.”

It’s getting harder to focus, but you keep trying.

“She’s just stopping by, not realizing there’s a case. But soon, she’s in on it and with her help, we get done in doubly quick time.” He’s whispering and you feel a warm tear land on your face. “She’s brilliant. When I’m with her, the world is so much brighter. I thanked whatever deity there is when she agreed to travel with us.

“Of course, I managed to fall in love with her. I fell so far, so hard, the breath was knocked from my lungs and I thought my stomach had exploded. I was so mad at myself, whenever I love someone they die. It’s always been that way.” He’s desperately trying to hold back tears, and you give his hand a pathetic squeeze. Your entire body is throbbing, your heartbeat amplified a million times. You can almost hear the blood rushing around and out of the wound.

You close your eyes for one single, relaxing second, then force them open again.

“God, I’m so lucky.” He goes on, more and more tears hitting your face. “But I realised, I can’t lose her. I’d lose myself too. I need her to go on, it’s like she has the key to my life and if she goes, it goes with her.

“I can’t lose you, Y/N. Not now. Please, you have to hang on.” You feel the car stop but he keeps talking as he carefully takes you from the seat. “I love you too much; you have to stay with me. I need you. You complete me. Stay with me.” He says again. The blackness is near overwhelming. “I love you, Y/N. So much.”

You manage a small, “I love you too.” Before the dark warmth envelopes you.


Your head pounds and your whole body aches. Breathing is hard, and there’s something attached to you. Actually, you realise, as you slowly gain consciousness, there’s lots of somethings attached to you. In your nose and at least two in each arm, a monitor on your finger and something on your chest. There’s a hand clasped around yours, and you can feel that someone’s leaning on the side of the bed.

When your eyes open, they’re greeted by a painfully sterile, bright room. You turn your head.

“Y/N!” Sam’s voice is excited. “Oh, God, you’re awake! They weren’t sure…”

You merely look at him, willing your voice to work. There’s things you want to say but apparently, your voice box isn’t working today.

“You do know who I am?” A look of panic crosses his face, and he pulls back a little.

You laugh, your voice scratched and barely working.

“I remember you, don’t worry.” You whisper, each word carving another graze into your throat. At least, that’s what it feels like.

He passes you a glass of water, which you eagerly gulp down. You hold it out, silently asking for more.

After three glasses, you’re done.

“Oh, God, I love you so much.” He says, relieved. Tears spring to his eyes, “I thought I was going to lose you.”

“Where am I?” You ask, “What happened to me?”

“Some Saint’s Hospital. A werewolf got you. It could have been worse- head trauma, even.”

“What’s wrong with me?”

His spare hand moves to your cheek as he tells you, “Three broken ribs, severe blood loss, punctured lung. Probable concussion.” He adds, “You’ve been out for three days.”

“That long?” You ask, surprised. “I always was a heavy sleeper.”

He laughs at that, “Haven’t lost your sense of humour, then.”

“Nope.” You smile, looking accusingly at the needles in your arms. “Are these really necessary?”

“For now, I think so.” He smiles.

You catch up, talking for a while. You joke around, trying to avoid anything serious. After a while, the nurse comes in and gives you pain meds, which makes you incredibly drowsy.

“Listen, Y/N.” Sam suddenly. You, trying to stay awake, nod. “I need you to promise something.”

“Anything.” You tell him honestly.

“Never leave me alone, please. I need you with me. Everything I said was true. I don’t know if you believe in marriage or whatever, and frankly I don’t care, but I need you with me for the rest of our lives.” He says, his words totally heartfelt and honest.

“I promise.” You squeeze his hand and he leans in and kisses you softly.

“Get some sleep, Y/N. I’ll be here when you wake up. I love you.”

You’d answer, but you’re too far into the realms of sleep.

anonymous asked:

Hello! I never written any of these before so sorry it's weird but I love your art style and you are really good with colors, I fell in love with your "Gathering flowers for a funeral." I also enjoy drawing but I am terrible with colors, I know this sounds silly to ask but how do you work with your colors?

hi there! thanks so much for saying so! i answered a similar question here, but i’d like to expand on it. (also your question is definitely not silly!)

i think the first thing you should ask yourself is why you think you’re terrible with color. take a look at some work you’ve done and identify what you’re unsatisfied with. speaking from experience, it’s not a lack of technical ability or just being inherently “bad” with color, but rather a lack of goal. 99% of the work i see where people struggle with color, they’re just using way too many colors. if you jump into a piece without having a goal in mind, you’re probably going to just throw colors around because nothing is influencing your decisions. and the goal can be anything! but it helps if there is a narrative reason. in the early stages of this piece, i wanted the pink roses to be the focal point (first goal: just draw pretty roses), then the piece got creepier on accident, and i wanted to turn pink into a dangerous color (second goal: show the viewer that the statue is evil and the statue’s color is pink, therefore pink is a color coded to mean evil in this context). this influenced my decisions, like having the possessed boy flooded with pink light while it doesn’t hit his friends at all. since pink is the focal point, all other colors should be subordinate to pink. i picked shades of greyish blue for the rest of the image because the human eye is not very sensitive to dark blue, so it will stimulate the eye less and give a calm/still sort of mood to the piece. the viewer sort of glosses over it and focuses more on the pink.

using color narratively is super fun because you can basically “teach” the viewer what colors mean. this was the basis for how i approached my little shop of horrors color script. i gave myself very specific constraints on what colors represented what, and when i could use them. for instance, i decided gold would be a color that represented desire, whatever that meant for the different characters. for instance:

gold light is hitting both seymour and mushnik. for seymour it means a desire to have a father figure. but for mushnik, it’s a desire for some sweet ¥ ¥ ¥  by keeping seymour around.

i also made green audrey II’s (the plant) color, and it basically means “something bad is happening or going to happen.” another example combining this and gold:

on the left, audrey II is using seymour’s desires to manipulate him. in the middle, the gold light is cast on orin (an obstacle to seymour’s desire) and audrey (part of seymour’s desire). however, they also have green rim light on the opposite side, to hint that orin’s actions will have consequences. and on the right, seymour’s desires (love, fame, etc) are now swallowed up by the will of audrey II (hence why everything is green), and very bad things transpire.

i dont have much advice for the practical side of color. as i’ve mentioned, i’m not rly good at color theory and i can’t tell you which colors to pick or where to put them, beyond the basic rule of opposites (saturation vs desaturation, light vs dark, etc). but, giving color a job, a goal, a task, putting it to work, helps me keep it in check. it’s much easier to solve problems when you have a reason for why you picked a color, rather than “well i guess i’ll make this flower purple.” and the goal can be simple! the goal can be “i saw a really nice purple flower today, so i want to paint a purple flower”, but if you’re not sure what color you should make the sky behind the flower, then that’s a problem to solve and not a decision to be arbitrarily made. you have to force yourself to edit and simplify. dont forget to study photographs or art with colors you like, to build up a personal taste profile for color! i tend to like warm, saturated colors, so they find their way into my art a lot.

IN SUMMARY: edit your color choices and simplify them, focus on opposites, think of how to use color to push a narrative, be cognizant of your own tastes and preferences. hope this helped, and thanks again for your ask :)


Originally posted by alataleir

Request: Hi Sweetheart! Would you write an imagine in which Derek and the Reader share a common past, and Derek idk plays the piano and the Reader stumbles upon the bar he’s playing in, and at the end of the song, Derek notices her in the crowd (for the first time in years), but as soon as that happens, the Reader turns around and makes a beeline for the door only to be stopped by Derek’s voice calling out her name. The Reader agrees to drink something with him to talk, but when it turns out Derek (pt.1) (pt.2) wants to reestablish what they used to have in the past, the Reader (with contradicted feelings) stands and leaves so that she won’t have to break down in front of Derek. Then Derek calls her a lot of times, but only manages to contact her after a lot of attempts and she tells him that she already has someone else. Then Derek goes nuts over it and visits her flat and they end up together. You can make it smut if you want, I let you decide :) Thank you! The blog is astoundingly great <3333

Author’s Note: This is a really old request, but I am in love with it!!! It is an AU story, just so you don’t get confused. I had a lot of fun writing this and I hope you enjoy it! :)

Warnings: Language; slight drinking; emotions; smutty smut


I pulled the jacket tighter around my body as we walked toward the bar. My friends and I had never been to this place. It was fairly new, only having opened a few months ago, but we had heard good things from others that had visited, so we decided why not head there for girl’s night out? The wind was vicious tonight, so we picked up our pace, making our way through the front door in a fit of laughter and giggles.

There were flyers advertising live entertainment tonight. We had heard that this was becoming a popular place for talent scouts, so it wasn’t surprising to hear the deep voice and twinge of guitar strings as we made our way to find a table that would seat all of us. My friend volunteered to buy the first round, disappearing into the crowd as she made her way toward the bar.

This was good, getting out like this. Having fun. Not thinking, over-analyzing.

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Togrutan Soup

Anon said: Ahsoka makes Rex food she thought would be better than clone grub but it’s worse. Rex eats it anyways
(Apologies; there are some things even Rex isn’t cut out for.) 

Era: TCW
Characters: Rex, Ahsoka
Words: 1,120

To Rex, seeing a clone transition into domestic life—owning land, integrating into a family with a wife and kids—seemed so foreign and natural all at once. Yet it was something Rex could imagine happening after the war, if he could imagine an end to the war. After all, kids weren’t much different than shinies, who still got into trouble no matter how much Rex had warned them otherwise, and a wife basically held the rank of a general.

Rex had meant it when he’d told Cut Lawquane “my family is elsewhere.” The hearty reception his 501st brothers and Cody gave him when he rode straight to their location on a lumbering eopie was proof enough that Rex was right. He grinned and bore the rough slaps on plastoid and the hugs that squeezed his injury a bit too tightly.

Men still counted on him, still looked up to him.

Jesse and Kix hovered the most, attempting to make up for the whole situation on Saleucami as if it had been their fault to begin with. Kix pulled rank again and forbade anyone else from touching Rex. That worked right up until they landed on Coruscant.

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Beyond The Screen
submitted by evanescent!anon:

A/N: So, uh…I’m pretty nervous about this, but I wrote a fic and I thought people might wanna read it (even though it’s pretty crappy but whatevs) so I guess I’ll submit it. I hope you guys like it! The idea kind of just popped into my head one night, and I hope it’s okay I borrowed the blogger!au. -evanescent!anon (I don’t think that name is taken, is it?)

P/N: (publisher’s notes if you didn’t catch that) yes okay so this is great???????  shh do not say crappy. is v good. also, i was very confused because i thought that you meant blogger!au like TDAH verse stuff, but this is an au all its own (A WONDERFUL ONE WHICH YES YOU SHOULD CONTINUE), and it’s wonderful. and it should basically just be real life for us all. /thebest-medicine

(part 2) (part 3)

Castiel’s heart pounded in his chest as he parked his car in the driveway of the big white house with evergreen-hued shutters. He couldn’t believe it—after all the days crossing big X’s over the dates on his calendar as today grew closer, counting down the hours until it was time to get into his car and drive to his destination—after all of that, here he was, in Dean Winchester’s driveway.

He had never been so nervous to meet anyone in his entire life. He knew it was ridiculous; Dean was a big teddy bear, one of the nicest bloggers on the entirety of the Internet, and he was, honestly, Castiel’s best friend. They had met through ask box messages talking about the subject of both of their blogs, both of which happened to be part a little-known to those that didn’t hold a particular fondness for tickling. Castiel wrote, and Dean drew art. Once they became friends, Dean started drawing art for his fics, and Cas wrote drabbles for his art. They made quite a team, and a significant number of their followers had begun to ship them, referring to them as ‘Destiel’, some even writing fanfiction about /them/, something that made Castiel very happy and very embarrassed all at once.

Dean, a ‘ler, and Castiel, a ‘lee, were about as close as you could get just knowing someone online. But all of that was about to change.

Because I’m about to meet him, Castiel mused to himself, trying to quell the shaking of his hands. My best friend. I’m going to meet him in real life. His mind wandered back to the few selfies Dean had posted, calling forth the image of a green-eyed, freckled man with a bright smile and crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes to his mind. He shouldn’t feel so nervous. It was silly. Dean knew practically everything about him and still assured him almost on a daily basis that he was a wonderful person, that he had nothing to be ashamed of, et cetera.

Castiel took comfort in those words as he exited his car and headed for the door, rapping his knuckles on the dark cedar wood and trying not to worry that he might have the wrong house.

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asorrycanadian  asked:

Have you done any wedding/honeymoon headcanons? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) because I am all for that, SG. OR married life headcanons!?! >:o !!!!!


  • when victor wakes up, he’s whiney af, and once, he looks for his slippers but they’re “too far” from the bed so yuuri messes with him and kicks them farther away. victor pouts. 
  • yuuri sings in the shower. victor records him one time. yuuri only finds out bec victor set it as his ring tone. 
  • deciding how much room they needed for a closet was… interesting. in the end, they didn’t have much choice but to make it a walk-in closet with three different sections bec victor has so many goddamn costumes and suits. and the exact same kind of trench coat in like 15 different colors. 
  • victor is the impulsive, indecisive shopper. he buys random furniture bec it looks nice and will buy it in at least three colors bec he can never decide. yuuri always gets exasperated explaining to him that it’s not practical to buy SEVEN LAVA LAMPS so victor ends up picking two and the rest become christmas gifts for the other skaters
  • CHRISTMASTIME IS THE BEST TIME. it’s also victor’s kissy time: he likes taking advantage of his birthday. while they decorate the house, he hangs mistletoe EVERYWHERE when yuuri isn’t looking. they might be putting the star on the tree when victor taps yuuri on the elbow with a mischievous smile and points at the mistletoe he’d expertly hidden in the branches. 
  • “that’s not fair, victor,” yuuri groans
  • “there are rules to this?”
  • yuuri just rolls his eyes and leans down from the stepladder to give victor that kiss
  • the one time victor insists on eating natto, yuuri does everything he can to stop him. later, yuuri treats him to green tea opera cake and a movie because natto was a terrible experience. 
  • they both practice jumps in their sleep. victor has videos of yuuri doing it and yuuri has photos of victor doing it. neither of them know that they do that. neither of them know that the other knows. 
  • VICTOR WANTED TO PUT TEN THOUSAND LAMPS AROUND THEIR BED BECAUSE HES AFRAID OF THE FUCKING DARK. yuuri obviously doesn’t want to, but after seeing victor’s face as he recounts how, as a child, he’d never liked dark, lonely nights, yuuri decides that a lamp or two wouldn’t be too bad. he also has several night lights placed around the house in case victor gets up at night.
Aprons and Sticky Notes

(You can thank @yespleasehawkeye for this.)

read on AO3

Felicity lay on the couch under a mountain of blankets, a box of tissues and a recently-refilled 64 ounce travel cup of water within reach. Balanced precariously on the couch cushions and far enough under the blanket so Felicity didn’t have to risk exposing an arm was a bag of potato chips and a bowl of melted chocolate. Netflix was playing on the TV over the happily burning fireplace. It was winter, so thankfully it was cool enough to be burning a fire and Oliver didn’t complain when she’d asked him to turn it on before he left for work this morning.

She heard door to the loft open. Speak of the devil. It spoke to how horrible Felicity felt that she didn’t even try hiding her chocolate-and-potato-chip snack.

“Hon?” Oliver called and she heard him moving toward the couch. “I know you said I should do Arrow duty without you tonight, but… Are you dipping potato chips in melted chocolate?”

She didn’t turn over. Didn’t even move. Her entire body was one huge ache and her head and nose were so stuffed that she didn’t even know how her brain was processing information.


Oliver was silent for a moment and Felicity knew exactly what he was doing.

There was a new side to Oliver she’d found during their road trip. She called it Master Chef Oliver. Ever since he discovered an undying love for cooking, he didn’t stop. Much to the chagrin of her clothes. Despite his protests – both verbal and… biblical – that he loved how she looked, she’d had to start working out. Sure, she could’ve eaten healthy, but why?

Oliver had made it his mission in life to get Felicity to give up her “teenage boy going through puberty” diet and actually eat like a healthy, functioning adult. It hadn’t gone well so far, but Oliver was nothing if not determined.

Whenever she worked at home, he always brought her these healthy snacks like organic carrots with homemade secret dipping sauce (that she thought tasted like celery but everyone else seemed to love). He would sneak around behind her when they were getting ready for a movie night and replace all her snack choices with much healthier (and far less tasty) options. Except her ice cream. He knew better than to touch her ice cream.

Even now, when she was home sick with the flu, he was trying to help her recovery while still getting her to eat healthy. Like being sick didn’t automatically give a person a pass on all things greasy and chocolatey.

Master Chef Oliver was trying to compose himself before he made his argument.

“Did you run out of the soup I made you?” he asked. She heard him opening the fridge and couldn’t help but grin, knowing he’d find the entire quart still in there.

“Nope,” she responded, popping the ‘p’ with as much power as she had in her sniffly, sick self.

“Felicity, all that sugar and grease isn’t going to make you feel better. Weren’t you listening when I read you that research study?”

Ah, yes. Her fiancée only did research outside of work for one reason: food.

“You weren’t wearing the apron.”

“When I handmade those noodles and perfectly cooked everything exactly how you like it before making my own broth I most certainly was – ”

“You weren’t wearing just the apron.”

That made him go quiet.

Oh, the apron. Felicity may get occasionally annoyed at Master Chef Oliver, but he came with the perks of the apron she’d given him randomly one day. She’d seen it in the window when she was out shopping and couldn’t resist buying it for him. The apron was normal, but it was printed with an over-drawn, super muscular guy in tiny white underwear. It’s not as good as the real thing, she’d said, but I can’t ask you to cook naked all the time.

They’d done a lot of adult, non-cooking related activities after she’d said that.

She often joked since then that she’d only eat his healthy food if he cooked it for her in that apron. Only that apron. It had led to some truly fabulous countertop and dining-room-table orgasms. It was kind of an open invitation whenever he wore it.

“Felicity,” he groaned, walking over to the couch and leaning over it so he could look her in the eye. His were molten hot, but his mouth was pinched. “Remember what happened last time we had sex when you were sick?”

She pulled her face into an expression that she often said was her version of his “grumpy face.” He said he didn’t see the resemblance but that didn’t stop her. “I infected your scientifically perfect body with my impure germs and made you sick,” she grumbled, not stopping mocking him at his voice.

His mouth opened but he seemed slightly stunned for a moment before he couldn’t hold back his laugh. “I didn’t say that!” he insisted, his eyes still hot but also sparkling with humor and Felicity couldn’t resist smiling back.

“Not in so many words, but I felt the silent judgment of my less-than-scientifically-perfect immune system.”

Oliver leaned over and Felicity’s eyes slid shut in anticipation of the kiss, but she felt his soft lips and scratchy stubble on her forehead and couldn’t help but pout. Which he laughed at when he pulled back. He laughed!

“I love every part of you,” he said. “Even your inferior immune system.”

Felicity sighed and gazed up at him. “Oh, well. I guess this was a waste,” she said, throwing back the blanket to reveal Oliver’s greatest weakness.

Aka: her tight green sleep tank top and teeny-tiny pajama shorts that were dark green and covered in lighter green arrows. She thought they would just be a cute joke, but the first time she’d worn them Oliver’s eyes had darkened before he practically dragged her into bed.

It had been funny at first. Of everything he’d ever seen her in it was these sleep pants that did it the most for him? He said it was a combination of the green, the arrows, and the undeniable power of her ass.

Felicity would never admit that the majority of the working out she’d done after her clothes started to get tight in Ivy Town was squats and lunges.

“Felicity,” he said again, but it was much more of a whine this time. His hands clenched on the back of the couch, his knuckles going white. His brows furrowed over his bright, beautiful, hot eyes and Felicity grinned.

“I guess I might as well change. I have this cute onesie that – ”

She never got to finish her sentence because Oliver vaulted over the couch, wrapped her in his arms, and kissed her so hard she thought their mouths were going to fuse together.

Fine by her.


Felicity woke up disoriented. And still sick.

She was naked now, but there was a nice, warm Oliver draped over her on the couch so she didn’t mind. At some point, he’d put the apron on and she’d laughed the most she ever had during sex.

She grappled for her phone on the counter, wondering how much time had passed, and was distracted by how many text notifications she had. All from her mother, talking about how she was going to come see her “sick baby” and “give her some mama love” to make her get better.

She was concerned to see they came with increasing frequency until, about an hour ago, there was one that said, I’m here!

It was then that she noticed something weird on her face.

She reached up, pulling the small yellow sticky note off her forehead and staring at it like it had grown out of her head before she groped for her glasses to read it.

Hi, baby! Came by to see you. Found you like this. Good job, baby! P.S. – I didn’t peek!

Only her mother could fit so many words on such a small, yellow square.

She turned to wake up Oliver and share the story before she saw another sticky note on his forehead. And realized his ass was bared to the world since he wasn’t wearing anything under the apron.

I didn’t really have to peek.

Felicity’s face felt like it was on fire and she was sure she was even more crimson that the flu made her. “Oliver!” she exclaimed, nudging him to get him to wake up and get off her so she could appropriately freak out and schedule her life not to see her mother for the next month.

He snuffled and groaned, which was a big difference from his normal wakeup of instant-readiness.

Maybe flu-sex wasn’t such a great idea.

“Oliver, wake up. We have to plan how we’re going to avoid my mother for the next month.”

Internet Friends:

@yespleasehawkeye @acheaptrickandacheesyoneline @dettiot @octoberwren

Mine Now.

Prompt: Imagine Dark Pan finding you and your brother stranded in Neverland and claiming you as his. 

As plates, pieces of cutlery and various other household objects flew through the air, you dragged your little brother Simon out the door into the late afternoon. With no idea where you were going, your only purpose then was to escape the incurable wrath of your parents. Both were drunkards, often forgetting about you their children, preferring to drink their lives and money away while you struggled to keep Simon fed. Now as you wandered the streets, lost and unloved, you made up your mind.

We were never going back. 

As it grew later, you trudged on carry you brother’s sleeping figure through the streets in search of a place of solace. But none was available and after numerous pleas, you settled Simon into a nook under the bridge and laying beside him, you fell into a deep sleep. 

‘Y/N, wake up, wake up.’ Simon’s voice filtered through your subconscious. ‘Wake up.’

Instantly you were awake and sitting up abruptly, you grasped your brother’s arm. 'Simon what is it? What’s wrong?' 

'Look,’ he said, pointing at our surroundings. Glancing around, you found yourself in a secluded forest cove, at the edge of a huge lake. Tall trees stretched above you and sounds of birds singing reaches your ears as you gazed in wonder at everything around you. 

'Isn’t it pretty?’ Simon asked, wonder evident in his voice. ‘That boy said he’ll show us around.’

'Yes, it is,’ you breathed, turning in a circle to get a full view of your surroundings. Then your brother’s word hit you. 

‘What boy?’ You ask, grabbing his shoulders. 

‘That would be me,’ A voice rang out from behind you. A tall, slender boy stepped out from the fringes of the clearing. Dressed in green and brown, his face was handsome but his eyes were dark. He practically radiated danger. 

You shivered, pulling Simon close to you. 

‘Wh-who are you?’ Your voice quivered despite your attempts to sound confident.

‘I am Peter. Peter Pan and this is Neverland. Here’s where all the children who feel unloved and unwanted come.’ he answered, sweeping his hands across the clearing. 

Looking at your wary face, he made a clucking noise with his tongue. 

‘Oh don’t look so scared now. This is a place of fun. We do all sorts of stuff here. Going fishing, having campfires, running races, playing pirates, treasure hunting , you name it.’

Simon’s head perked up. ‘You have pirates here?’ It was his latest obsession ever since you’d read him Treasure Planet. 

Peter Pan’s eyes glinted. ‘Of course we do. We could go treasure hunting, dancing till the late night. You do anything you want here.’

Simon immediately tugged on your sleeve. 

‘Hear that Y/N. We can do whatever we want to. Not like at home. Mummy and Daddy would never let us do that.’

‘No, Simon, they wouldn’t,’ You begrudgingly agreed, but you still weren’t convinced. 

‘What do you want with us? Are you going to make us stay here?’

Peter shook his head. ‘All I want is to show you two around. And if you do want to stay it will be entirely your own choice. But at least give this place a chance. It’s worth a shot and better than anything you’d have back home.’

‘Please Y/N could we have a look around? Please?’ Simon pleaded, looking up at you. 

If this was a place of solace for unwanted children, then you and Simon definitely belonged here but there was something unsettling about Peter Pan that urged you to run away fast. But in the end you gave in, sick and tired of running and protecting Simon from your tyrannical parents.

 Maybe this place wouldn’t be so bad. 

‘Alright,’ you answered. ‘Lead the way.’

A devilish grin grew in Peter’s face. 

‘Now that’s more like it.’

Holding a hand out to Simon, your little brother gladly clasped it as Peter lead the two of you through the forest. 

‘Peter, you won’t send us back to them will you?’ You heard Simon ask.

Eyes trained on the stranger’s back, you watched as he shook his head. 

‘No Simon, I would never do that. You’re mine now.’

Damn, Son! - Calum Imagine

Requested: Yees

Word Count: 1013

Content Warning: The word ‘fuck’

Author: Emi:3

I apologize for being inactive lately. I am so homesick of Hawaii and i kind of just poured it out of my writing. I’m sorry. the extreme heat is getting to me so yeah

Calum fluff where he says ‘I love you’ for the first time

“Alright. Operation Fun Time with Y/N begins!” I cheered as I closed the door to the driver’s seat of the jeep. Turning on the engine as Calum climbed onto the passenger seat, he chuckled at my excitement.

“What have you got planned today? I hope I don’t die. Oh God.” he said.

I replied back. “Forgive me, Calum. But today is the day you die. Of fun! HA!”

He shook his head at me. “You’re lame.”

“Just this once, I’ll forgive you. Since you know. You’re gonna die today.” I joked again as I drove out of the garage and into the highway. Calum just got home from tour last night and this time, they’re going to have a long break. So we flew out to Hawaii. You know, because we can. And we wanted, too. Those are basically the reasons why we are in a rented jeep, cruising along the North Shore of Oahu, on our way to the beach, with Calum smiling so widely. That smile that makes his eyes almost closing. I hate that smile. It makes me melt.

We found a perfect spot where there is little to no people anywhere on the beach and that has a moderate amount of shade. It was beautiful. This was one of the best quick decisions we’ve made. Calum needed a long break from their tour. When he came home, he had bags under his eyes that would be considered designer. Yeah. That bad. I glanced over at Calum who was taking out out things from the back of the jeep.  I couldn’t help it. I stared at his really toned biceps. Fuck me. I am weak right now.

After hanging out at the beach, we went on a joyride. Calum had the genius idea of throwing out the map and burning out the batteries on our phone. We were lost in the Hawaiian tropical forest. Not really. Our jeep was parked near a mountain cliff, overlooking the ocean. I think it’s a popular tourist destination because there were signs everywhere in Japanese or something. But it was in the evening so basically no one else was here except two lost young adults. And by the second it grows darker, I grow more scared. The thought of having a wild boar capable of tearing us too pieces is the main reason.

Calum saw my distress and smiled sweetly. “Come on, Y/N. Stop worrying. We’ll be fine out here.”

“I don’t actually want to die, you know.” I said, referring to my joke earlier. I sat next to him on the hood of the jeep and held his hand.

“This is Hawaii. It’s always so peaceful here.” he said, stroking my hand.

“You don’t know that. For all we know, on the other side of the island, there could be a war going on.”

“Why do you always assume the bad things in everyone?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No I don’t. Just being practical.”

“You think about stuff like that on everything.”

“No I don’t.” I repeated. “I think about the good stuff too. Like uhh… food.”

He chuckled. “Of course.”

“Shut up.” I giggled as I nudged him on the elbow. “I also think of happy stuff about parties, raccoons, ships, eyeliners, the color green,  the end of your band’s tour, us.”


“Yeah.  Us. You know our relationship. The good stuff.”

“So does that mean there are bad stuff, too?” he said, as he pulled us both so we could lie down on the hood of the jeep. It was dark now so we could see the stars in the dark sky. It was beautiful.

“Well, yeah. You know, balance of the universe and all. Every good things has a bad thing. Blah blah blah.” I turned my head to face him only to find that he’s looking at me the whole time I was talking. “What?”

He smiled. “Can you tell me the bad things  in our relationship?” he asked while looking sincerely at my eyes.

I shrugged and told him, “Well, you’re away most of the time. Timezones suck. You’re fans are such beautiful creatures of God. And I’m……me. And you’re……you. Plus your band sucks. I am ashamed of being a big fan of it.”

Calum chuckled as he held my hand closer to his lips and kissed it. “Those aren’t bad things though. If you think about it, they’re just tiny little barriers to help our relationship stronger.”

I shook y head at him and chuckled. “Damn, son. That’s some Shakespearean shit right there!” I yelled out and laughed.

“You’re awesome, you know that, right.”

“I assume I am since you picked me. There must have been a valid reason, right?”

He laughed again and then we quieted down and just stared at the stars. I closed my eyes and just savored the moment as Calum held my hand close to his chest as the Hawaiian breeze blew across the wind.

I felt Calum’s chest rise and then heard him sigh deeply. “I love you, Y/N.”

“What?” I said, as I stood up and walked away from the jeep. Stupid. I know. “What did you just say?”

Calum sat up and shrugged. “I love you.”

Suddenly, I smiled real big and giggled. “You love me.”

“We established that. Yes.”

“You love me.”

“Okay. Y/N. Stop saying it over and over.” He said, standing up and walking closer to me, blushing a little bit.

I ignored him and started running around the place wearing a smile on my face. “Calum loves me! CALUM LOVES ME!”

“Y/N! Oh God.” he grinned so big and followed after me.



We ran around the place like idiots, declaring our love for each other, while screaming. It’s a surprise how no one told us to shut the fuck up. But then again, we were the only ones in the mountain. So…

“Hey.” I called onto Calum when we finally stopped to breathe.

“What?” He said, hugging me up front.

I kissed his neck and said, “I love you, too.”

-i hope you like this one. it’s a bit long and irrelevant and stuff. so yeah love you guys. send in requests please. -Emi:3

EDC - Day 1

A/N: Camila Cabello is a nurse at one of the biggest music festivals on Earth, just waiting for the day she will be able to live life like the rest of people her age. Lauren and her group of friends are best known for their party skills, and their will to step over boundaries for the best adrenaline rushes. What happens when the two girls cross paths at the Las Vegas Electric Daisy Carnival? 

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Color Contrast in Menswear

Now that the basics of color are understood, contrast can be introduced. To wit, a simple graphic:           

The above picture shows varying degrees of color contrast, starting with the highest on top and ending with the lowest on the bottom. 

The top example of yellow and blue contrasts in two ways: they are triadic primary colors (equidistant on the color wheel) and they differ greatly in luminance. The yellow is quite bright, while the blue is dark. 

The second example, a kelly green and fuchsia, are color wheel opposites but have the same luminance. They do contrast, but less so than the first example.

Next we have the analogous colors of red and orange. Since they are so close to each other, the contrast is low. Lower still is the final example - two of the same color, with one just slightly lighter than the other. 

How does this translate when wearing coat & tie? Generally speaking, as the contrast of an ensemble increases, so does the degree of difficulty of pulling it off well. Note the following examples.

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