running tap

do you ever think that maybe when you pull out your cell phone ghosts from other eras get real interested and just stare at you as you text people, or watch you use your laptop

or sighs wistfully as you shower like ‘frick I wish we’d had THOSE dang’

gets jealous as you make your coffee, awkwardly tries to figure out your video games when you’ve left the house

turns on your sink and just watches the taps run and drives your water bill through the freakin roof

idk man ghosts

  • person: how can you keep that in your ROOM? it wants to kill and eat you!! it's vicious!!
  • my snake: (balls up because I wiggled her feeder at her)
  • my snake: (balls up because she saw a paper towel)
  • my snake: (balls up because she saw her reflection)
  • my snake: (periscopes too high and falls over dramatically, balls up and peeks around like "WHO DID DAT")
  • my snake: (hides in my bra for warmth)
  • my snake: (puts her own head under a running faucet and sits there for ten years) (it feels nice I guess?)
  • my snake: (rubs her chin all over my hand until I scratch the itch)
  • my snake: (gets stuck inside a paper towel tube, balls up when I free her from it, immediately goes back in)
  • me:
  • me:
  • me: totally agree
PLEASE READ THIS AND TAKE IT SERIOUSLY

WRITTEN BY A COP: Everyone should take 5 minutes to read this. It may save your life or a loved one’s life. In daylight hours, refresh yourself of these things to do in an emergency situation… This is for you, and for you to share with your wife, your children, & everyone you know. After reading these 9 crucial tips, forward them to someone you care about. It never hurts to be careful in this crazy world we live in.

1. Tip from Tae Kwon Do :The elbow is the strongest point on your body. If you are close enough to use it, do!

2. Learned this from a tourist guide. If a robber asks for your wallet and/or purse,
DO NOT HAND IT TO HIM. Toss it away from you… Chances are that he is more interested in your wallet and/or purse than you, and he will go for the wallet/purse.
RUN LIKE MAD IN THE OTHER DIRECTION!

3. If you are ever thrown into the trunk of a car, kick out the back tail lights and stick your arm out the hole and start waving like crazy.. The driver won’t see you, but everybody else will. This has saved lives.

4. Women have a tendency to get into their cars after shopping, eating, working, etc., and just sit (doing their checkbook, or making a list, etc.
DON’T DO THIS!) The predator will be watching you, and this is the perfect opportunity for him to get in on the passenger side, put a gun to your head,
and tell you where to go. AS SOON AS YOU GET INTO YOUR CAR ,
LOCK THE DOORS AND LEAVE..

If someone is in the car with a gun to your head DO NOT DRIVE OFF, Repeat:
DO NOT DRIVE OFF! Instead gun the engine and speed into anything, wrecking the car. Your Air Bag will save you. If the person is in the back seat they will get the worst of it. As soon as the car crashes bail out and run. It is better than having them find your body in a remote location.

5. A few notes about getting into your car in a parking lot, or parking garage:
A.) Be aware:look around you, look into your car, at the passenger side floor ,
and in the back seat.
B.) If you are parked next to a big van, enter your car from the passenger door.
Most serial killers attack their victims by pulling them into their vans while the women
are attempting to get into their cars. C.) Look at the car parked on the driver’s side of your vehicle, and the passenger side.. If a male is sitting alone in the seat nearest your car, you may want to walk back into the mall, or work, and get a guard/policeman to walk you back out. IT IS ALWAYS BETTER TO BE SAFE THAN SORRY. (And better paranoid than dead.)

6. ALWAYS take the elevator instead of the stairs. Stairwells are horrible places to be alone and the perfect crime spot. This is especially true at NIGHT!)

7. If the predator has a gun and you are not under his control, ALWAYS RUN!
The predator will only hit you (a running target) 4 in 100 times; and even then,
it most likely WILL NOT be a vital organ. RUN, Preferably in a zig -zag pattern!

8. As women, we are always trying to be sympathetic: STOP It may get you raped, or killed. Ted Bundy, the serial killer, was a good-looking, well educated man, who ALWAYS played on the sympathies of unsuspecting women. He walked with a cane, or a limp, and often asked ‘for help’ into his vehicle or with his vehicle, which is when he abducted his next victim.

9. Another Safety Point: Someone just told me that her friend heard a crying baby on her porch the night before last, and she called the police because it was late
and she thought it was weird.. The police told her ‘Whatever you do, DO NOT
open the door..’ The lady then said that it sounded like the baby
had crawled near a window, and she was worried that it would crawl to the street and get run over. The policeman said, 'We already have a unit on the way,
whatever you do, DO NOT open the door.’ He told her that they think a serial killer
has a baby’s cry recorded and uses it to coax women out of their homes thinking that someone dropped off a baby.. He said they have not verified it, but have had several calls by women saying that they hear baby’s cries outside their doors when they’re home alone at night.

10. Water scam! If you wake up in the middle of the night to hear all your taps outside running or what you think is a burst pipe, DO NOT GO OUT TO INVESTIGATE! These people turn on all your outside taps full blast so that you will go out to investigate and then attack.

Stay alert, keep safe, and look out for your neighbors! Please pass this on
This e-mail should probably be taken seriously because the Crying Baby Theory was mentioned on America ’s Most Wanted when they profiled
the serial killer in Louisiana

I’d like you to forward this to all the women you know.
It may save a life. A candle is not dimmed by lighting another candle..
I was going to send this to the ladies only,
but guys, if you love your mothers, wives, sisters, daughters, etc.,
you may want to pass it onto them, as well.

Send this to any woman you know that may need
to be reminded that the world we live in has a lot of crazies in it
and it’s better to be safe than sorry..
Everyone should take 5 minutes to read this. It may save your life.

Types of water and their uses (+ how to cleanse water for spellwork!)

TYPES OF WATER AND THEIR CONNOTATIONS

Sea water 

- cleansing, purification and banishment

River water 

- movement, change and new opportunities

Lake water 

- peace, contentment, self-reflection

Rain water 

- creativity, inspiration, energy, cleansing, protection

Melted snow water

- transformation, new beginnings

Moon water (water that has been charged under moonlight) 

- universal magickal properties, can be used in most spells for cleansing, purification, balance, and energy

Cleansed water (tap/filtered water that has been cleansed) 

- again has universal magickal properties but not as strong as moon water. Mostly used for cleansing and purification. 

HOW TO CLEANSE TAP WATER FOR SPELLWORK

1. Run tap water into an empty bottle and immediately pour it out

2. Fill the bottle again but this time seal the bottle.

3. Draw out a cleansing sigil. I use this one HERE

4. Tape it to the outside of the bottle.

5. Arrange four white tea lights and a long candle into a pentagram with the long candle at the apex.

6. Place the bottle of water at the centre of the pentagram

7. Light the long candle and use it to light the tea lights in a clockwise rotation.

8. Place a clear quartz on the bottle

9. Place your hand over the clear quartz and allow your positive energies to flow through it. Imagine the quartz like a magnifying glass and your energy the sun.

10. Finish your spell with your preferred method. I  blow out all the candles and say “so it is”

The Average Intergalactic Cadet’s Field Guide to Understanding Their Human Classmates and Crewmates.

Written in Earth English
Current as of Earth Date 05-09-17

Understanding Their Competitive Nature and Occasional Aversion to Physical Activity or Friendly Sports

The Barbaric Practices of Young Human Physical Education.


Physical Education in many Human Schools

In the required Physical Education class, the students play all sorts of physically demanding games such as: Kickball/Matball, Dodgeball, Prisonball, or Linetag. These names may sound alarming and rightfully so. In our observations, the “games” they play are often humiliating for some and potentially injury inducing for others. Pardon our generalizations, but if your human is academically inclined, it is likely they do not have fond memories of their Physical Education classes and you will understand why after reading this breakdown of a typical class period (45 minutes to an hour long)

Kickball/Matball:
In Kickball and Matball, the small humans are divided into two “teams”. This may be done by the “coach” or by an outdated and socially cruel process of assigning “team captains” among the students who then alternate picking their fellow students to be on their teams. From this, the students who are either athletic or popular or both are easily determined from the shy, clumsy, or awkward students.

Once the teams are decided, the team that will be attempting to score points will line up; they are called the “visiting” team. The team trying to keep the opposing team from scoring points fan out across the gym; they are called the “home” team. The defending team will roll a spherical object called a “ball” at the line of students visiting team. One of the offensive students will then kick the ball as hard as they can and then run for a mat/base like a Idjwluge is chasing them.

Now this is the part where things get interesting. The home team students will attempt to catch the ball. If they catch the ball in the air before it hits the ground, the kicker is “out”. Three “outs” will cause the teams to switch roles. The kicking team doesn’t want out; the defending team wants to cause outs. If they don’t catch the ball, they can still grab the ball and throw it. We do not joke: the only way to get the kicker out after a non-catch is to THROW THE BALL AT THEIR BODY SO THAT IT HITS THEM. There is another option where the defensive team holds the ball and taps the running player with the ball, BUT THAT NEVER HAPPENS; THEY ALWAYS RESORT TO THROWING THE BALL AS HARD AS POSSIBLE. BECAUSE HUMANS LOVE TO MAKE THEIR LIVES AS DIFFICULT AS POSSIBLE WITH THE MOAT POTENTIAL FOR PAIN. However, if the runner gets to the base/mat before the ball hits them, they are “safe” and cannot get out as long as they are on the base.

This is one way where kickball and matball differ. In kickball, the runner on base is required to keep moving to allow room for the next kicker in line to get on base. In matball, there can be as many people on base as can fit on the mat. This routine will continue: kick, run, kick, run until you can run “home”. “Home” is the place where you kicked from. The bases form a diamond and there are four of them that form a circular running pattern. You kick from “home” base, and run towards “first” base. You then head for “second” base. Then “third” base and then back to where you started. If you safely make it home, you score your team a point. In kickball, you run the bases once. In matball you run them twice: first, second, third, back to first, second, third, then finally home. This probably to makeup for the advantage of choosing when you run to the next base rather than being obligated to.

The goal is to score as many points as possible before the other team gets any person on your team out three times.


Dodgeball:
If you thought that game was horrid prepare yourself again. After this description, the word “dodgeball” will strike fear in your heart. The entire goal of dodgeball is TO THROW A BALL AT THE OPPOSING TEAM WITH THE EXPLICIT INTENTION OF HITTING THEM WITH IT.

THAT’S IT.
THAT’S THE GAME.

The humans are split into two teams similar to the kickball teams. They line up on opposite walls. Precisely in the middle of the “gymnasium” (which as near as we can tell is the official name of the torture chamber of public schooling) are a row of spherical balls lined up parallel to the lines of students on each side. When the “coach” blows a whistle the students sprint for the balls, grab them and retreat. What follows is a chaotic battleground the likes of which we haven’t seen since the Battle of Wakowwnoif. The “game” is simple. Throw the ball at a member of the opposing team. They avoid the ball. If they are unsuccessful at dodging the impact, they are “out” and move to the wall. If they do dodge, they are fine and nothing happens. If they catch the ball thrown at them, they can bring one of their teammates back into the game and the person who threw the ball is out. If the person gets hit in the head, the person who threw the ball is out (this is the closest we could find to any sort of safety precautions laid out in this game). The game continues until one team systematically hits every member of the other team out.

Humans.

Prisonball:
Prison ball is exactly the same as dodgeball, it just has a few more enhancements and opportunities for social humiliation. Teams are still split in two. However, each team has three figurines called “bowling pins”. They are placed on the gymnasium floor. The goal of prisonball is to knock down the other team’s figurines and get the other team out. So each team is guarding their figurines while still playing dodgeball. Another twist comes when you are hit with a ball. Instead of simply being out, you are in Prison. Prison is an area in enemy territory separate from your team.

There are two ways out of prison. One is statistically unlikely. On each side of the gymnasium, located high up on the wall is a hoop with a net hanging from it. If the opposing team manages to to throw a ball through that hoop from their side of the gymnasium, everyone on their team in prison gets to rejoin the game.

The other way out is if a teammate throws a ball from their side of the gym, over the enemy territory and the enemies heads and the comrade in prison catches the ball, then the prisoner is set free.
This method requires a few things. First it requires the prisoner to have a friend on their team willing to throw them a ball. Second, it requires the non-prisoner teammate to be able to throw a ball that great distance accurately. Third, it requires the prisoner to be able to catch the ball. Fourth, it also requires the non-prisoner to also get hit in the process of doing all this, and if the prisoner and would-be rescuer don’t have any other friends-they are simply out of luck. In other words: the human must be popular and athletically inclined or just very very lucky. This is where the social humiliation comes in. However, many of our reports have shown that this game is prefered to dodgeball because once the human is “in prison” they simply have to pretend that they are trying to get people to get them out but then can just fritter away the rest of the game not participating. These are the humans we want to recruit for strategic planning.

The game ends when all the figurines are knocked down-either by the opposing team throwing balls at them or by the guarding team’s clumsiness.

Linetag:
Linetag is the least strenuous “game” the humans play in Physical Education. In all honesty, it looks rather fun. The human game of “Tag” is usually characterized by chaotic running around and avoidance of the human that is “it”. If “it” touches another human, that human is now “it” and must “tag” another human. There are many variations of this game that we will detail below since they are the least barbaric of the human “games” and might be useful in certain training exercises.

Linetag is one of those variations. Linetag requires a floor with different sets of intersecting lines. For some reason, humans decorate their gymnasium floors with a design of lines. Further research is required to discover if these are sacred markings, if they have special meanings, or if they are just for aesthetics. Two to four humans are chosen to be “it”. They remain “it” for the remainder of the game. Their goal is to tag every one of the non “it” students. When the student is tagged, they must sit down right where they are-no matter what.

The trick to the this game, however, is that the humans are only allowed to walk on the lines. They cannot deviate from a set of prescribed routes. They cannot hop lines. They must find intersections to avoid “it”. When a player is tagged and they sit down, they become a “roadblock”. The fleeing humans cannot pass them-but the “it” humans can. The game continues until all students are sitting.

Other Tag Variations:
Freeze tag: chaotic running pattern, but when “tagged” the player freezes though touched by a Nxiebxwoie. Game continues until every player is frozen. Players can unfreeze friends by crawling through their legs. (We do not understand why this would work to unfreeze someone but we have discovered that humans have very vivid imaginations when it comes to recreational activities)

Amoeba tag: also known as “sticky tag” or “worm tag” one player is “it” until they tag another player and then they are “stuck” together and must hold hands while chasing the other humans. With each tag, the “it” group gets larger and larger continuing to hold hands, link elbows, etc. Great fun to watch.

Circle tag: humans pair up and link elbows in a circle. “It” and a “runner” will begin a pursuit. The “runner” can link elbows (the bendy bits of their upper limbs) with anyone of the pairs and the partner that didn’t get linked must then run away. If they are tagged they are now “it” and the former “it” is now the “runner” and must find a pair to break up.


For the athletically disinclined human, you could understand why these activities would be traumatizing. Oftentimes these games were treated as though they were the equivalent to our Yeqipguited Games by the more athletically inclined. The less talented humans may have been mocked. If the human you are working with seems less inclined to participate in a game of Bejbpoi, you now understand why.

Sleeping Over

Combined request from two anon readers for a Jax x Reader using the following prompts:

#18 - “You’re warm, s'great for cuddling.“

#36 - “Woah, I never knew you had a tattoo!”

Originally posted by marip0sadahlia

Throwing yourself down on the couch, you yawn, the episodes of today wearing you out.

Pretty much all day you’d been helping Jax redecorate the house, him deciding he wanted a fresh start combined with the fact that Abel was dying for a race car bed, so why not just give him a whole new room?

You’re probably the strongest mother figure that Abel has, although yours and Jax’s relationship is only platonic. Of course, you’d love it to be more than that, but you’re not one to push, and Jax has been through more than enough these past few months.

The man himself appears from the hallway, smirking at you before lifting your legs up and sitting down on the couch, your limbs being draped across him. “Look at you, all worn out.”

“I have been helping you since eight this morning.” you remind him, your eyes flickering to the clock on the wall. “I’d say fourteen hours of work is more than long enough to tire anybody out.”

Jax whistles lowly, his head lolling back as he looks up at the ceiling, his hands moving soothingly up and down your legs. “I guess time flies when you’re having fun, babe.”

“Easy for you to say. I’m pretty sure half of your paint went in my hair.” Jax chuckles in response, your fingers pulling at the knotted strands that are splattered with blue pigment. “I should be going anyway.”

“Or, you could stay.” Jax suggests, your cheeks tickling pink as he turns on his pleading eyes and his charming smile. Pretending to think about it for a minute, you roll your eyes, nodding in acceptance.

“Guess it makes more sense, probably easier for you to put me through more slave labour if I stay the night.” Jax smiles at you, the sight seemingly more beautiful everytime you see it. “Is it alright if I take a quick shower?”

“Sure. We could take one together, you know, save water and all that.” he says, a smirk on your lips. Sitting up, you move your legs from his lap, tapping his cheek twice before standing.

“Keep dreaming, big boy.”

You walk through to the bedroom from the bathroom, humming a random tune as the smell of Jax covers you, the combination of his shower gel and his clothes that you’re currently wearing making you smell nothing but him. Moving to the mirror, you adjust the waistband of Jax’s sweatpants, running your fingers over the inked writing on your hip.

“Woah, never knew you had a tattoo.” You almost jump out of you skin as Jax speaks from the doorway, a smirk on his lips as you look over your shoulder.

“What can I say? I’m full of surprises.“ He shakes his head and smiles before stepping back and heading into the bathroom. “You still sleeping on the right side?”

The toilet flushes, followed by the running of the tap, before Jax reappears in the bedroom. “Yeah. Surprised you still remember.”

“Of course I do, I used to stop here all the time before you started being a dirty stop out.“ You tease, your heart clenching at the idea of Jax sleeping with other women. Many other women.

“Jealousy suits you, babe. You mind?“ he asks, gesturing to his shirt. You shake your head, trying to contain the flush that’s definitely crawling up your face as his toned physic comes into view. However, the knowing look in his eyes makes you think he’s already aware of the effect he has on you.

The two of you pull up the covers, slipping inside the sheets. For some people, sharing a bed with a male friend would be awkward, but for you and Jax, it was comfortable, normal.

Once he’s turned out the lights, Jax settles into the bed, the two of you facing one another, a barely there gap between your faces. “Thanks for today. Sometimes I wonder where I’d be without you.”

You smile within the moonlit room, Jax’s expression changing to a slightly more troubled one. The struggle and hurt is heavy within his eyes, the man in front of you having seen a lot more shit than most.

“Probably dead.” you deadpan, attempting to lighten the mood. You pat yourself on the back mentally when it works, Jax’s pink lips tugging up slightly. Rolling his eyes he turns onto his back, lifting his arm up and silently inviting you into him.

You comply - obviously - shifting to rest your head on his chest, his arm closing around you as you rest your palm on his chest. He sighs, content with your position, something about you just calming him like nothing else could.

“You’re warm. S'great for cuddling.” you whisper, Jax trailing his fingertips up and down your arm as you close your eyes, the melodic sound of his steady heart beat acting as your lullaby. He hums in response, a gentle kiss being placed on the top of your head.

“Abel loves having you around, you know.” Butterflies swarm your stomach at Jax’s words, your ears open and listening, your mouth not sure what to say. “So do I. Just feels right, like everything isn’t completely shit.”

“I like being here, feels like home.” you admit, placing a small, experimental kiss on Jax’s chest, his grip on your arm tightening encouragingly. Grinning to yourself, you wrap your arm around his torso, part of you wanting to see if anything progresses tomorrow and the other half wanting to stay here forever. “Goodnight, J.”

“Goodnight, (Y/N).” Jax says, holding you close within his arms, the two of you drifting into the best sleep you’ve had in ages.

A/N - Hope you liked this!! I wish I had me a Jax Teller 😭 maybe without the cheating😂 Check out my masterlist if you’re new, I write mainly SOA but also some SPN! Tomorrow’s imagine will be a Chibs x Reader! ❤

without really meaning it

The Way You Said “I Love You” Prompts
@stileslydiah requested “24. Without really meaning it”

Watching Derek dote on someone is hard – harder than Stiles thought it would ever be, despite the fact he knows it’s insincere; despite the fact it’s the job and nothing more.

 It’s hard because Stiles hasn’t had those arms around him in months, hasn’t had opportunity to arrange a chance meeting on a crowded street in weeks, hasn’t had Derek’s eyes meet his and watched his mouth curl into a smile for him.

 Derek’s team have been fairly indulgent, letting Stiles tag along on the assignment to observe and allowing him to blend with various crowds just to be close to Derek. Early on, before Derek insinuated himself into their mark’s life, they even allowed them to talk on the phone, but that might as well have been in another lifetime.

 Sometimes, Stiles hates his job, hates Derek’s job, hates the fact they’d never have met if it wasn’t for their jobs because then he can’t hate it as much.

 Stiles is across the restaurant and he can’t tear his eyes away from the back of Derek’s head for more than a few seconds at a time, usually at the prompting of the agent he’s sitting across from.

Keep reading

Victor’s POV from Chp5 of BMSCV


“Give it here. Makka, I can’t play with you if you don’t gimme the toy. I know you want to pla–aha, gotcha!”

Victor was wasting water. He knew it. Felt the warm stream over his hands, draining down the sink. Yuuri’s laugh washed away any eco-consciousness in him, flowing over the sound of running tap water. Victor would run the entire state into a drought if it meant he could continue watching Yuuri for just a second longer.

Yuuri was a blessing and a curse. A gift in the form of sweet insecurity and flawed perfection, wrapped up with a bow that Victor did not get the privilege of pulling on.

Perhaps he should not have offered to pick Yuuri up. Walking in and seeing him skate was like a punch to the chest. The rink had been silent save for the sound of Yuuri’s skate cutting across the ice. Yet Victor could hear the music coming off Yuuri as he danced, like he was trying to grasp at something that was just out of reach.

Victor had never seen so many facets in a person as he saw in Yuuri. Sharp humor and good wit. Humble in his accomplishments, while still carrying pride in his victories. His ambition and self-doubts. He could make Victor weak at the knees with his bold flirty lines, then make him crumble with the realization that no one had ever been as good to Yuuri as he deserved.

Watching Yuuri roll around the sofa with Makkachin in his arms felt like a wish being granted, but not for him. It wasn’t his to take.

Victor had given an interview not long ago, the question asked being in regards to his ultimate fantasy. His co-star had laughed at the simplicity of his response.

A home-cooked meal made with his partner. Laughing at silly jokes others might find ridiculous. Side-stepping each other, not caring if they bumped elbows or had to skirt around one another’s feet. Makkachin nearby, eagerly awaiting any scraps or dropped ingredients. Ending the night with their legs tangled under the sheets, falling asleep wrapped up in each other. Comically domestic.

Unfair, how easily Yuuri made him forget that they weren’t dating. And unfair, because in that moment, Victor almost didn’t care.

Victor smiled when Yuuri’s warm brown eyes met his, then instantly dropped as if in shyness. Makka licked happily at the side of his face when Yuuri nuzzled into her fur, his soft laugh weaving in through Victor’s chest to constrict around his heart.

Victor watched, how Yuuri cooed quietly to his poodle, all kindness and affection. Stretched out in comfort on Victor’s couch, his skate bag deposited casually in the corner the moment he’d arrived. Like he belonged.

Like he was there to stay.

And when Yuuri slipped into bed with him that night, bumped their feet together and asked to be held, Victor felt like shattering. Instead he drew Yuuri back to him and buried his face between Yuuri’s shoulders, hanging onto him like he so desperately wanted to.

He fell asleep with Yuuri’s warmth against him, thinking the same thing he had so foolishly thought watching Yuuri from the kitchen.

I could marry this boy.

Request: Sharp Objects

Request: HI I love your fics!! could you do a deanxreader where dean broke his right hand on a hunt and can’t shave himself so the reader, with hidden feelings for dean, does it for him with lots of fluff please

Word Count: 1,270

Thank you<3

“Ouch! Jesus Christ, that’s a bitch.” The muffled cursing comes from behind the bathroom door, then followed by the clinking sound of something falling into the ceramic sink, and finally a, “Son of a bitch!”

Despite the laundry pile you’re carrying, you swerve across towards the door and knock a couple of times with your free hand, “Dean? Everything alright in there?”

There’s a moment of silence, and then a short reply, “Fine.”

He’s obviously frustrated – a tone you’ve quickly become accustomed to hearing after dragging him home from the hospital a few days ago. He’d landed badly after being catapulted across the room by an overzealous ghost and broken a hand, whereas Sam had gotten off with a concussion and you’d somehow managed to slip away injury-free – which had inevitably resulted in you skivvying around to cater to their every whim.

While Sam had managed to get over himself somewhat and take it easy while the hellish egg on his head goes down, Dean has been trying to do everything as normal. He hates being laid up like this, and trying to get everything done for himself has just resulted in more hurt and hindrance than help.

You still linger outside the door for a few moments, “Can I help at all?”

He hesitates, and for a long moment you wonder if he’s actually going to accept, “I could use a clean towel.”

“Got one here. Mind opening the door?” You ask, after trying to get in and finding the door locked. Again, a hesitation, but then the door opens, Dean fumbling with his good hand for a few moments to get it undone.

You pride yourself on being able to keep a poker face. Sometimes giving the enemy no indication of your emotions could mean the difference between life and death – sometimes it’s imperative that a victim doesn’t know what you’re thinking. But this time, when it’s important that you don’t make a sound so Dean doesn’t slam the door in your face, you just can’t seem to freaking manage it.

“I know, alright?” He huffs as you sidle into the bathroom and begin draping the towels from the pile over the towel rack, trying desperately not to laugh. It’s not your fault – he’s covered in shaving cream – it’s smudged over his nose and there are even splatters in his eyebrows. It’s all white, apart from a trail of crimson blood slipping down the side of his face.

“You can’t shave left-handed?” You guess, taking note of the razor left in the sink and the cast immobilising his right hand. He sighs wearily, and then nods.

“Nope. I’ve never had to try before, and I was starting to look even more homeless than Sam.” He complains, taking a towel from you when you offer one to him.

“Dean, for crying out loud, you shattered your hand. I think you’re allowed to look homeless for a little while.” You reassure him, balancing the rest of the laundry – mostly jeans and a handful of flannels – on the countertop, “If you really want it sorted, I’ll do it for you.”

As soon as the offer has left your mouth, you regret it – the very idea of managing to get so close to him without blushing like a five year old, or completely losing your breath… impossible. And yet, he nods, smiling ruefully.

“Would you mind? I just… can’t.” He shrugs, and you smile back, nodding and shooing him off towards the closed toilet seat.

“Go on then, sit down.” You instruct, picking up the razor and running the warm tap to clear it off. You let the tap run for a little while, filling the basin, and then approach Dean carefully, “You have to promise to stay still. Usually when I’m so close to someone with something this sharp it doesn’t end very well for them.”

He laughs, leaning back with the force of it, “That’s not encouraging, Y/N.”

“I said I’d do it. I never said I’d do it well.” You remind him with a smile – humour: humour is how you get through this without making a complete idiot of yourself.

“Much appreciated, beautiful.” He winks, and it’s all you can do to force out a snort and place your fingers beneath his chin to tilt his head up a little.

“Mm, whatever you say,” Sometimes it’s difficult not to take his words too seriously, and you have to remind yourself that Dean Winchester can and will flirt with anything that moves – you’re not special to him beyond being good friends and hunting buddies.

“Well, the closer you get, the more I’m thinking it.” He mumbles, remaining still as stone as you skin the razor over his skin smoothly – you’re painstakingly careful, starting on the opposite side to the cut on his lower cheek. He chuckles when you lean back to dunk the razor in the sink, then move back over to him.

“I’ll stay well back, then.” You wink in response, but contradict your own statement by leaning close enough to him that his breath ghosts over your face. His eyes remain trained on your face, watching every movement as you press your lips together, squinting in concentration. You try your best to ignore it, being as careful and steady as your humanly can manage while you get to work.

His eyes don’t leave you until you’re finished, patting down his face with a towel and then handing it to him – only then does he force himself to look away, watching as you clear up and set everything back in its place.

When he finally manages to open his mouth, he’s expecting the words that come out to be ‘thanks, Y/N’ – instead, they’re, “When you’re concentrating, your nose does this funny little thing.”

You turn slowly, quirking an eyebrow in a manner he can only describe as adorable, “Excuse me?”

“It kinda… wrinkles. But just at the tip. Right here.” He taps his own nose, a small smile playing on his lips, “And you blink a lot. I just… never noticed before.” Dean confesses, giving a nonchalant shrug and trying to ask as if he isn’t mortified by the words.

Rather than make a comment, you give a smile, wiping your hands off and stepping back, “I suppose I’m not the kind of person people pay a whole lot of attention to.” It’s not meant to be self-deprecating, but Dean takes it that way nonetheless.

“You have got to be kidding me.” He rolls his eyes, standing up and poking at the cast as if his hand would be magically healed, “Y/N, you turn heads everywhere you go.”

“Yeah, right, of course.”

“Hey, look at me,” He takes your wrist in his hand, turning you to face him properly, “You’re beautiful. Really, truly beautiful. And smart, and kind, and funny. And people notice that. I notice that.”

That’s when your heart really does skip a beat – his eyes are on yours, emeralds glinting in the harsh white light of the bunker’s main bathroom.

“Dean, I-“

“You don’t need to reply to that. Didn’t mean to back you into a corner. Sorry.” Dean smiles sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck with his good hand – but you shake your head, stepping forward with all of the boldness you can muster.

“I want to.” You assure him, taking his good hand and squeezing it gently, “I don’t care about anyone else noticing. Just you.”

He hesitates, then glances sideways, at the door, “Can I kiss you?” He blurts, flushing red like an embarrassed teenager.

“I’d be offended if you didn’t.”  

“You don’t know me, Nurse!” Dex yells, turning and slamming the door on his way out.

Nursey sinks down into his chair, hands shaking with the adrenaline rush that always comes after a blowout with Dex. He grabs his headphones, tugs his sweatshirt on, and laces up his running shoes. He’s feeling like he could run six or seven today, after a fight like that, but he doesn’t want to overdo it, so he’ll stick to his usual three.

He refuses to allow himself to think for the first mile, focusing on his breath and the sound of his feet against the pavement. It’s warmer than it should be, this time of year, but the air is still cold enough to feel that bit of chill in his lungs.

By the second mile he’s working through the argument in his head, parsing through everything leading up to it and trying to figure out what started it. He can’t figure it out, or maybe he just doesn’t remember. Whatever started it, Dex had surely ended it. You don’t know me, Nurse. A lie if Nursey’s ever heard one. He knows Dex.

I know Dex, he’s repeating through the third mile. He doesn’t know why he’s so hung up on it, except that it’s total fucking bullshit. I know Dex. I know him. I do. Fuck him for thinking I don’t. Fuck him.

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Hyper Projection Engeki Haikyuu - Winners and Losers

All 36 shows complete!  The spectators!!!  Shimada Mart and the two Aoba Johsai fangirls had a lot of fun gags together!  

Of tender & imprudent touches

[Read on ao3 if you like]

Sherlock always hated having his hair ruffled or having someone play with his curls, having someone run his fingers through the soft strands he’s spent hours taming in front of the mirror. 

Even when he was a still child, he always dreaded people’s hands on his head because they never knew how sensitive he was, how badly it hurt when their fingertips grazed over his scalp too firmly, when the pressure was too much to bear with the engine of a brain inside his skull that simply never shut off, rattling and steaming, roaring and raging. 

Before he and John are truly a thing, and yet having moved past the stage of ‘we’re just best friends’, his touches are frequent; on his shoulder when Sherlock’s head is buried in the newspaper during breakfast and John walks around the table to get a refill of his coffee, on his wrist during a cab ride in which none of them says anything and they only exchange silent but all-knowing glances as their lips curl upwards, on his ankle when Sherlock’s feet rest in John’s lap when they watch the evening news or a film that Sherlock half-watches, half-predicts. Sherlock is content with how things are progressing, evolving between them, slowly but steadily.

One night, he’s on the verge of falling asleep on the sofa, but still awake enough to feel a blanket being laid over him, wrapped around him, so he doesn’t get cold. A pair of warm lips brushes over his forehead before he hears the receding sound of two feet clad in woollen socks. 

It’s a few nights later that Sherlock dares to rest his head instead of his feet in John’s lap. John looks surprised at first, but then he smiles as one of his hands finds its place on Sherlock’s shoulder. They’re watching the latest bond movie that John has on DVD, and Sherlock is unexpectedly quiet. John’s body is warm, and his fingers draw soothing circles on Sherlock’s shoulder blade. As the movie continues, John’s fingers begin their journey. They swirl around a few curls on the back of Sherlock’s neck, and although Sherlock freezes a little and goes rigid involuntarily, in fear it might be too much, but he starts to enjoy it after a while. John notices, of course he does, and quietly asks, “this all right?” He’s the first to ever ask him this question before touching him.

Sherlock wants to nod, but his head feels heavy and comfortable, so he hums “mhm,” instead. It’s only his nape he focuses on, but it’s enough for now. It’s just right.

And so John keeps going, and he grows to love it. He enjoys it so much it becomes a regular occurrence. At least when they’re in private; when nobody sees. During movie nights, or crap-telly nights or quiet nights in front of the fire. He progresses slowly, always starting in the back of his neck, sometimes that’s all he touches, but as time passes, he ventures further, running his hand through the curly, messy mop on Sherlock’s head. And God, the first time he does it, Sherlock’s entire body is covered in goosebumps. He shivers and can’t help but let out a muffled gasp. John’s hand retreats then, pulling back enough as to not overwhelm him, but never completely, never all at once. 

One night, they come back home from an exhausting case that has lasted for over a week. And this time, it’s not adrenaline they feel from having solved it, no, there’s none of that, as rare as it may be, but this time, they’re both drained, fatigued, and knackered. Sherlock hasn’t slept in days, and when he did, his brain wouldn’t shut off properly; John’s only taken power-naps, which have lost its power-giving function on day three. Sherlock is so worked up, adrenaline and weariness fighting for the upper hand inside him, he lets his coat and jacket fall over the backrest of his armchair and sits down, groaning in frustration. His fingers dig hard into his curls, pulling, pressing against his scalp, almost tearing, to make it stop, to just make it quiet. But it won’t, the engine simply rattles on, puffing and blowing and–

releasing steam when …

two hands reach for his own, unclench his fists and remove his hands from the raging machine inside him. “Come on,” John whispers almost inaudibly, pulling him to his feet. “Into bed with you.”

“I––”

“I know,” is all John says as he guides him down the corridor, into Sherlock’s bedroom. The room is dark except for the light shining through the window from the street lamps. 

Sherlock stands there, frozen on the spot. He can hear John exhale quietly and see the tired smile on his lips, and then there are fingers on the buttons of his shirt, pushing each one through its hole. John makes quick work of it; there is nothing suggestive about it as it should be, considering he is undressing him for the first time since … well, this started. But they’re both too tired to think too hard about it or to care, and then Sherlock’s shirt is gone, and he steps out of his trousers and leaves his socks on the floor, and is led to his bed. He doesn’t know how he managed to tell John “Stay,” but somehow he does, and John’s smile widens despite the weight that pulls his lids down and makes his eyes seem so small. 

“I’ll be right there,” he tells Sherlock whose fingers cling to the sleeve of John’s jumper that now slips through them like sand. Then he disappears in the dark hall. Sherlock hears the door of their cupboard closing and the tap running,  then there are steps growing louder, and then John is back, handing him a glass of water. “Drink,” he says quietly, and Sherlock does without hesitation. Before he finishes, John has already stripped down to his vest and pants and is now sliding into bed behind him. It feels exciting and new, making his chest tingle and his heart beat faster. John takes the glass from him once he emptied it and sets it down on the bedside table. Sherlock turns towards him, resting his head on John’s shoulder, feeling how an arm winds around him protectively and pulls him closer. One hand lies on his waist, but the other disappears in his hair and stays there, motionless at first, and when John feels it’s all right to move, he does so slowly and gently and tenderly. 

Sherlock already expects the worst, waiting for the explosion to set off, but nothing of the sort happens. Instead, the buzzing quietens down, the rattling slowly comes to a halt. He dares to take a deep breath. The machine stays silent and still. John has found the off-switch. 

“‘nk you,” he mumbles wearily against John’s chest. 

“No need,” John whispers, and then, “Sleep well, love.” 

If Sherlock weren’t so tired, he’d properly process what John has just said, but instead, he succumbs and is dragged into the peaceful darkness his body has been craving for days, ineffably grateful that the touch of the person who matters the most doesn’t feel excruciating and agonising but soothing, comforting and breathtakingly pleasant. 

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whileyou-can  asked:

Also how do you charge things and what exactly does that do?

We’re going to use crystals for examples just to keep things clear but you can charge literally anything. Charging is essentially temporarily filling your crystal with temporary intent and energy. For example you can charge your rose quartz one night to help you found self love and appreciation, and then later cleanse it and charge it for a passion/sex inducing crystal if you want. Another example would be amethyst, you could charge it one night to aid you in astral projection and then the next day use it to aid in sleep or meditation. There’s a couple ways you can go about charging your crystals/items.🌿

Charging Shit

  • Leave it in the sun for a little! Charging my crystals and herbs under the sunlight is one of my favorite things to do, the sun is such a warm constant energy to pull from. 
    • Charging the following crystals in the sun will damage them or cause them to fade: Aventurine, Amethyst, Aquamarine, Beryl, Citrine, Kunzite, Sapphires, Fluorite, Rose Quartz, Smokey Quartz. Although Amber & Opal may not fade in the Sun, they can become brittle from the sun causing them to crack so I have added them to this list as well.
  • Moonlight, a lot of witches I know specifically charge under the full moon. Don’t fret if you miss the peak full moon, the full moon usually lasts around three days. Leaving crystals out in moonlight not only cleanses them but can also charge them!
    • Different moon phases have different meanings and you can charge your crystals based on the phase and your intent. @orriculum made a fun little moon phase chart you can find here!
  • Sound is another fun option! Everything has a vibration, especially sound. Since we are helping to set a crystal’s vibrations back to its original state or help alter it to a new one, it makes sense that sound can help us with that.
    • I tend to use my voice in song if I want to use sound because I’m practitioner of galdr, throat signing, bowls, chanting, music you love, all work too!
  • Visualization or Reiki. You can cleanse and give your crystals an extra little energy boost with Reiki energy or your own. Simply hold the crystals in between your hands as you and infuse them with the energy. It always helps me if I visualize the energy flowing through my body as a shimmering gold light and I pull it from different parts of my body into my hands. When my hands start to feel warm i focus on transferring the energy and intent!
  • Smoke cleansing - not smudging. Lavender, palo santo, and sage are other wonderful energy cleansers. You simply run your crystals through the smoke or waft the smoke over your crystals. This method also cleanses any of the areas around your house. You can honestly just use incense, that’s what I do and plenty of scents work for cleansing.
    • Chamomile, jasmine, lavender, safe, palo santo, frankincense, myrrh, pine, sage, patchouli, and rain incense all work well for me!
      • Alternatively, you could just throw whatever you’re trying to work into a handful of cleansing herbs. I tend to leave my crystals in lavender a lot.
  • Water! When I run my crystals under running tap water in the sink I visualize the water cleaning out any negative energy. This will get them clean physically as well as cleanse their energies. Keep in mind that there are some crystals that you need to avoid putting in water. A good general rule of thumb is to not submerge crystals with a MOH hardness level of 5 or less. 
    • Also if you are going to keep the crystal in the water for a long period of time, make sure it does not contain iron – like Hematite, Magnetite, and Lodestone – because it can cause them to oxidize. Other crystals will dissolve in water like selenite, halite, rock salt, calcite, opal and more! Do research before putting your rocks in water to make sure it’s not toxic or such.

There’s probably more but dinners done and I’m hungry. I hope this helped! 💕

Shadow [Tom Holland]

A/N I’m really happy with this imagine!! This idea came to me in school when I was daydreaming and I couldn’t stop thinking about it :D Hope you like it!!

Summary: Reader is married to Tom Holland, but she doesn’t feel like she is.

Word Count: 2, 585

Pairings: Tom Holland x reader

Warnings: none? a lil angst

Materlist


She sat on the corner of the bed, clutching onto the phone for her dear life. Shaky breaths pierced the silence of the room. She prayed hard. Please. A call. A text. Anything. Her heart ached for some form of contact. She needed to know that he was fine. She needed to know that she was not forgotten. She didn’t realise the tears until the tickle on her cheeks seemed to bother her. Deep breaths. You can do this. For Rosie.

The door creaked open. The squeaking reverberating through the now silent room. She shot up, hoping that he would be at the doorway. Instead, she sees her six year old daughter poke her head through the doorway.

“Mummy…” The little girl looks at her mother. Worry was evident in her eyes. “Are you alright?” She ambled towards the adult. Her mothers lips curled up into a smiled as she wiped the tears away. She had to stay strong for her daughter.

“Mummy is fine. Don’t worry Rosie. It’s just a little itchy.” She rubbed her eyes. By then her daughter had found her way onto her lap. With her tiny hands placed firmly onto her mother’s shoulders, she gently blew air into her mothers eyes. After much inspection, she shrugged and pushed the adult backwards.

They giggled when they fell back onto the bed. Her fingers danced on little body, earning giggles and squeals from her daughter. They swung pillows about, danced to music and sang their hearts out. The laughter of the mother and daughter filled the house, something that hasn’t happened in months.

After a good thirty minutes, they were exhausted. Rosie laid down on the bed and huddled among the pillows and blankets. Rosie was ready to sleep. She tucked her daughter in, placed a kiss on her forehead, and watched.

She scrambled to her feet when your phone buzzed. Maybe it was a text from him. She turned the screen on. It was a text from her mother, asking how they were coping. She let out a soft sigh, hoping that Rosie wouldn’t hear the disappointment.

“Do you miss him?” A soft voice spoke. The phone was placed down onto the bedside table. She hopped into bed and made herself comfortable.

“Mummy misses him so much Rosie…” Don’t cry. Don’t feel. Don’t. She inhaled deeply. She wanted to ask if she missed him, but he was rarely home for her to even know much about him. He was overseas for the first three years. He was busy with projects and films. He never had time to come home, and when he did, it was for a maximum of five days. He didn’t get to spend much time with Rosie. She thought that he was a friend of her mother. Rosie didn’t remember much about him, so much so that when he turned up for Christmas three years ago, she asked “Who are you?”. It disheartened him, so he made effort to calling home whenever he could. But after a year, work start to pile up, and she knew that she couldn’t blame him for not having enough time for her and Rosie.

“But it’s okay darling…” She flashed a smiled at her daughter. She wanted this to end. She wanted to forget. She wanted to put this behind her and move on.

“What do you think of moving?”


He groaned when no one answered the door. He rang it for the umpteenth time, hoping that someone would answer. He frowned. She was home most of the time, so he’d expect her to answer the door. He fished for his keys in his bag, and found them after what seemed eternity. He fiddled with the keys. He attempted to push one key into the keyhole, but it didn’t fit. He had forgotten which key was the one for the door, which key was the one for the shed, or the one that was for the mailbox.

He opened the door, expecting to hear the pitter pattering of feet, but instead, he finds himself standing in dead silence. He scans the house. It’s devoid of any signs of life. No more flowers that she loved, no toys strewn on the floor, no blankets piling up on the couch. It seemed as if no one was living in the house anymore.

He furrowed his brows. Where was she? Where was Rosie? He shut the door behind him, and walked around the living room unhurriedly. His hands ran on the couch, recalling every bit of memory he had of this place. There were few, but they came flooding back into his head. He could almost hear her laughter, her cries, her giggling, and their child.

His eyes stopped at the coffee table. A ring, a bracelet and an envelope sat neatly on the table. He quirked a brow. He picked up the ring, the diamond glistened in the now setting sun. It was the same as his wedding ring. The bracelet. The one he gave to his daughter on her fifth birthday. Or the one he sent. He ripped the envelop open to see a letter written in pencil. It was from Rosie.

Hello Daddy. We’re leaving today. Mummy says that she wants to move out. She says that she wants to leave everything behind. I don’t know why. Sometimes, I hear mummy crying at night. I think it’s because she misses you. She is in a lot of pain, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to leave this house, but I want mummy to be happy. So that’s why I’m going with her. I’m going to miss this house, and I think I’ll miss you. I hope that I can see you soon.

Love,
Rosie

He was shocked. He never thought that she’d be in so much pain to leave. He always saw her as a strong and independent woman. He didn’t understand why she decided to leave. How could she miss me that much that she’s willing to leave?

He thought about the last time he came back. It was nine months ago. He thought about the last time he called home. It had been seven months. He thought about the last time he celebrated her birthday with her. It was four years ago. Reality slapped him hard on the cheek. He realised that he had been such a terrible father and husband.

He picked up his phone and dialed the once familiar number. All that was heard was ringing. He dashed out of the house. He had to find her. He called his mother, his brothers, her mother and even her friends. No one knew that she moved. No one knew where she went. He sighed and thought hard of who she’d tell. Harrison. He dialed Harrison. He was right. Harrison knew where you moved to.

He made his way to her house.


He stopped in his tracks in front of the door. He didn’t know what he was going to do. Embrace her with his warm arms? Dot her face with kisses? Pick her up and twirl her around? His was snapped out of his trance when the door opened. He didn’t recall knocking.

“Come on Rosie! Let’s g-” she stopped when she saw him. She didn’t think that he would find out where she was. She thought that he was going to be out of town for another month. She thought that she would never see him again.

She stared into his eyes, she bit her lip. Emotions stared to flood in as if the floodgates had opened. Her hand flew to her mouth, holding in the sobs that threatened to slip out of her mouth. She attempted to close the door, but he stuck his foot out, preventing it from closing.

“Y/N.” Was all he said.

She flashed a small smile before she tried to shut the door again.

“Why’d you move?” He pushed the door open, allowing him to step into the house. She called out for her daughter again, ignoring the questions that came from him.

“Just answer me. Why did you leave?” He raised his voice a little. He was mad. He wanted an answer. He wanted to know why she had left the house they once shared.

“Do you really not know why?” She asked coldly. He looked at her expectantly, awaiting the truth.

“Do you not realise what has happened? Do you not understand the situation? I don’t feel like I am your wife. I don’t feel like you want me. I don’t feel loved by you anymore. Every day, I wait. I wait for a call or a text. I wait for you to show up at the door. Every day, my hope diminishes. Every day, I tell myself that you’re just too busy for your wife and daughter. I find out what you’re doing or where you are through the media. I read articles. I see Instagram posts. I see tweets. It is as if I’m not your wife Tom. It is as if I’m living hidden in the shadows. It is as if I’m just another fan. I don’t want to live as if I am not married to you. I don’t want to live in that house, holding onto the love that may not even exist anymore.” Her voice went weak. She was now crying. Hot tears flowing out like a running tap. She was letting go of all the pent up emotions from the past year. They were finally out.

“I don’t even know if you love me anymore. Every night I lay awake for hours wondering what you’re doing, who you’re with, and maybe even which woman you might have beside you. It pains me to think that way, but it’s all I can do. I can’t be hopeful that you remember me or you love me because I never hear from you. No calls or texts. What used to be surprises became skype calls. Skype calls became phone calls. Phone calls became texts. And it’s reduced to nothing. I haven’t heard anything from you for the past seven months Tom. Don’t you know how hard it is?” She let out a shaky breath.

“I want to call you everyday but every time I pick up the phone, I remember how you haven’t called in ages. I remember how I haven’t seen you in months. I remember the rumours I hear of you dating other people. It makes me think twice. It makes me think that you’ve moved on, and maybe forgot the woman you married.” Her voice was laced with bitterness and sadness. She was broken. She lacked so much love and care that she had fallen into pieces.

Tom stood in front of her, shocked at what he had heard. He never realised his actions would have had such a great impact on her. He thought that by working and earning money, he would supply you with everything you needed. He never realised that what you needed was him. Only now, after hearing her heart, he realises. He realised how their love was built on more than just the cash and gifts.

She turned away from him. She couldn’t bear to reveal any more of her brokenness. She wiped her tears, even though they seemed like a never ending stream. She felt something wrap around her legs. Her daughter embraced her legs into a hug. She laughed a little.

“Mummy is fine… don’t worry dear.” She said, squatting down so that she was at her daughter’s eye level. Her little hands caressed the crying woman’s cheeks, whispering ‘it’s okay’ over and over into her ear, and rubbed her back.

“Rosie…” He said. He watched in amazement as his daughter cared for her. He watched how she whispered ear, how she wiped away the tears, how she reassuring she was towards her mother. All theses things, he did for Y/N before. But now, he finds his daughter doing what he should be doing for his wife.

He bents down and takes his wife’s hand. She mutters something to her daughter before turning to him, standing up again. The little girl ran into another room, maybe to to give them some space.

“I am so sorry.” He starts. “There is no excuse for what I’ve done. I’ve been a terrible husband. A terrible father. And I know that I should’ve done so much more. I should’ve called. I should’ve made more time for you. I am so sorry. Forgive me love. Forgive me. Give me another chance. I love you. I love you so so much, and I will be here for you from now on. Please Y/N.” He slips the ring into her hand. “Please love. Let me show you how much I love you again.”

She looked at the ring in her palm. She admired the details on the ring. She saw the diamond. It was worth thousands, but their love was worth so much more. So much more than this little ring. She used her finger to outline the ring, touching the cold hard metal. She sighed. How could she let go of the love he gave her? But how could she forgive him for abandoning her? She looked up at him. His brown eyes pleaded with her. They begged for forgiveness. They begged for another chance to prove how much he can love. He took her other hand, his warmth now seemed familiar. She looked at the ring, then at their interlocked hands.

“I… can’t.”

His eyes showed it all. It showed the pain he felt. He could feel what you felt.

“I can’t let go of the love you gave me. I can’t let go of the only man I’ve ever loved. I can’t let go of you Tom. I love you too much that it hurts sometimes. I love you so so much.” She smiled at him. He could see the sparkle in her eyes, the ones he fell in love with every time he looked at her.

He was overjoyed. Excitement coursed through his veins. He picked her up, causing a squeal to escape her lips. She pressed her lips on his, savouring the sweet taste of them. He smiled into the kiss and silently thanking God for blessing him with another chance.

A giggled from behind them made them pull apart. There stood their daughter by the stairway, her smile is as a thankful hymn. She was ecstatic. Her mother was finally happy again. She was no longer in pain because of her dad. And she was elated to have her father back, to finally be with him after so long.

“Let’s go for dinner.” Tom gestured towards the door. He knew that they were heading out for dinner when he arrived. Rosie ran up to him, embracing him with her short arms. He picked his daughter up, and peppered kisses on her face. She giggled.

Y/N had opened the door and was ready to leave. She took his hand and smiled. The warmth she felt in her heart now was indescribable. She felt as if her heart was going to burst.

As she walked on the sidewalk, she thought about her situation. It was dumb for her to run away. It was dumb for her to not try even harder. But it was all alright. It always turns out alright in the end.

“Darling?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”


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THE TAPS… SHES SO LITTLE

It’s My Birthday After All (M) // Im Jaebum

Originally posted by jaesbum

Pairing: Jaebum x Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff

Summary: It’s Jaebum’s birthday, so you decide to make him his favourite food - with the promise of more ‘birthday presents’ after. Jaebum comes home; and you’re the only thing on his mind.

Please note that this scenario is rated M for MATURE as it contains scenes of a sexual nature.

Authors note: This was originally a request but I decided to incorporate it to suit today - which is Jaebum’s birthday! So in light of that, I hope you all enjoy this scenario with our sexy best leader - Im Jaebum~ ^^

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