say-hello-to-my-little-friend

OKAY BUT I NEED LANCE TO SCREAM “SAY HELLO TO MY LITTLE FRIEND!” JUST ONCE

Reasons why:

  • He’s Cuban, as was the character who said it in Scarface
  • His weapon is essentially a gun
  • He is Team Voltron’s resident Memelord
  • It’s fucking LANCE like HOW CAN HE NOT
  • PRODUCERS MAKE THIS HAPPEN NEXT SEASON

(BONUS POINTS IF HE SAYS IT WITH A CUBAN ACCENT)

2

This is my baby, Chibi 🐰

She was born on July 12, 2013
So that makes her 3 years old
I realized that I never really post pictures of her so I feel like I should start doing that, on the account that she is a huge part of my life and I don’t know what I would do without her. After all, she is the reason I decided to cut the cruelty and go vegan 🍉🍓🍎
I have been very emotional lately, as she gets older I feel our time together is fleeting. So I want to make more memories with her, and also share those memories with you 💜💙💚💛❤️💖💘

Little Friend

Summary: Dean wakes up with a killer hangover and very little memory of the night before. The reader fills him in. 

Word Count: 1,500ish

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: crack, fluff, mentions of drunkenness and bad hangovers

Author’s Note: This was written for @death2thevirgin Cassie’s Classics Challenge. Congratulations on your followers! If you’re not following her, I definitely recommend it. My prompt was “Say "hello” to my little friend,“ and I had so much fun writing it. I hope you enjoy! 

Originally posted by aborddelimpala

X

Your name: submit What is this?

Dean knows as soon as he wakes up that he is in trouble. His mouth tastes like something crawled in and died sometime in the last ten hours and there is a pounding in his head that makes him want to die. The room is pitch-black; lights off and the door closed. He fumbles for the bedside lamp and nearly dies when he successfully turns it on. Thank Chuck that whoever put him in bed had left a puke bucket by the bed. He hasn’t used it yet, but it is looking like a strong possibility before he notices the bottle of water and two painkillers beside the lamp.

He groans and makes his way into the kitchen. Sam is blenderizing something green that was clearly never meant to be eaten for breakfast. The noise echoes insides Dean’s head, ricochets against the inside of his skull, and settles as a throbbing between his eyes.

“Dude, what happened last night?” Dean asks.

“You mean you don’t remember?” Sam eyes him, eyebrows raised. He’s clearly not surprised.

Dean groans in response, letting his head fall to the table in defeat. “No. Did I get cursed again?”

Sam grimaces as he pulls the eggs and jam from the refrigerator. “No, just the usual hangover. But when Y/n wakes up, you might wish you had been cursed.”

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