i’m a little bit too into harry styles. like i’m at the level in which if he were to step out in a pair of crocs, i would support that shit to the fullest. like damn??? my mans is rockin that sensible, comfortable, and affordable footwear??? legends only!!!

Hey guys! 1996 here. I don’t know what you were doing at the exact moment this picture was being taken, but I know I was probably skipping out of Calculus, on my way to 7-11, listening to Weezer in my friend’s older brother’s Volvo. 

What I was not doing was chilling in a grey velour-upholstered limousine in a flirty plaid casual blazer and sensible business pumps looking like a cheerful, redheaded, oval-glasses-wearing BOSS.

The irony is that this looks suspiciously like Vancouver out the window there so who knows, maybe that’s us in the car.

Up, up and away 1/1

Written in response to the ‘Hot air balloon’ requirement for this weeks challenge from @txf-prompt-box and also tagging @today-in-fic

Included in this is also a prompt from a while ago from @shalomksenia ‘I don’t care what they think and you shouldn’t either’

It’s sort of semi-AU.  Post revival, the world didn’t end but it was a little ropey for a while.  I will completely gloss over how they saved the world, how Mulder was cured, what happened on that damn bridge or how they found William.  Just take it as read that it all happened and we have time-jumped a couple of years to this pointless piece of nonsense.  @baronessblixen here’s that fluff I promised you :D

Up, up and away.

When Mulder told me he had something special planned for my birthday, I have to admit that, even given that my partner’s taste in entertainment can be described as quirky when I am feeling generous - and downright unfathomable when I’m not, the sight that greeted me when it became clear we had reached our destination and his ‘surprise’ hove into view was the last thing I had imagined over the past week or so when I had grilled him on a daily basis as to what he had planned.

The only information he would divulge through those glorious lips of his was that I would need to wrap up warm and wear sensible footwear, which frankly, knowing Mulder the way I do could have literally meant anything.

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Summer Love - a Tom Holland imagine

So this is my first imagine that I’m posting on tumblr; and who better to write it about than Tom Holland!

This is based off of the song Summer Love by One Direction. I’m not really a One Direction fan (though I used to be), and when I couldn’t sleep at 01:40 am last night, I found myself listening to some of their songs, this one being one of my favourites. Whenever I listened to this song, I always imagined this little story to go along with it, and last night I decided to write that story and make it into an imagine!

Synopsis: Tom and Y/N have spent the whole summer together falling in love, but now summer is over and they must part.

I know it’s a bit strange to write about this kind of thing at the beginning of the summer, but oh well.

Y/N = your name       Y/E/C = your eye colour

Word count: 2704 (jeez, I didn’t realise that it was this long!)

Hope that everyone enjoys this! Let me know what you think: should I write more imgines? Have a great day!

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Choose Your Mistakes #11C

Part eleven, round C, of the interactive fanfiction, Choose Your Mistakes. Please check the FAQ and the Setting Info if you haven’t already, and be sure to make your choice below.

You chose the special bandages

Originally posted by flyngdream

“You know what?” you decided, “Give me the special ones. Anything’s worth a try in this place, right?” Malady turned to search through a cupboard behind her.

“Not quite anything,” she warned. “But some things.”

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Are you having a bad day?

Well, just take a gander at this look.
Take your time.

Rest your gaze upon this playful, yet determined half-updo. Contemplate the nonchalance of a partially buttoned flannel shirt dress worn under a cropped leather biker jacket. Please observe the raw jauntiness exhibited by these broken-in Victorian-esque combat boots, providing both sass and ease of mind. Finally, just allow yourself a moment to bask in the all-encompassing optimism of this totally bitchin’ stance.

So, are you SURE you’re having a bad day?

No, you’re not, and you have this look to thank for it.


Words: 1,439
Warnings: None
Author’s Note: Courtesy of traffic near London, this is out today! I actually have 2 requests relating to sammy and the impala and I was going to combine them BUT if I keep them separate we get double the fluff on different days! Good plan? I thought so too.

Request: Could you write a Sam x reader where the reader is on a stake-out with the brothers and she and Sam cuddle in the back seat of the impala while Dean hums along to the radio? And maybe the reader hums some too before falling asleep on Sam?


It had been a long day. When you actually worked it out, you’d been on your feet for nearly 9 hours solid and the more you thought about it, the more you wished you hadn’t worked it out in the first place. It was about 9:30pm by now and yet still your day wasn’t over.

The demons you were tracking hadn’t been in town for long, but they’d caused enough trouble to pop up on your radar straight away. The day had been spent gathering information around town but now came the fun part: waiting. Staring at the door of an empty suburban house was mind numbing at the best of times, but after a few sleepless nights, it was a struggle to keep both eyes open at once.

Your head ached, your calves were tight from wearing “sensible” FBI footwear and in general, your limbs felt like lead. But you had a job to do, and so it would be done.

Sam had been the saviour for this stake out, for starters, he banned Dean from chilli burritos - no one needed that in a confined space - but secondly, he had hacked the wifi of a nearby house. Stupid though it may sound, having Sam as your own personal Wifi hotspot hacker was a miracle in times like these. Obviously, you were all making sure to watch the front door, but it be able to do that whilst also doing more research for other things was multitasking at its finest.

For this reason, you had told Sam to sit in the back with you, maximum internet help… that’s what you convinced him anyway. Dean saw through it instantly and gave you a knowing eyebrow raise but you poked your tongue out and carried on. It was no secret you liked the youngest Winchester, not to the rest of the world anyway, it was just Sam who was seemingly oblivious.

“So they could be anything from 10 minutes to 10 hours,” Dean muttered, settling down in the front seat, “What music d'ya want?”

“What? We get a choice?” Sam scoffed.

“No, Y/N gets a choice,” Dean smirked as he watched his brother’s face change to annoyance in the mirror. “One time offer, sweetheart, going once… going twice-”

“Van Halen,” you said quickly, “not fussed which album, please and thanks.”

“A wise choice,” Dean smiled, reaching for the box of tapes, “see Sammy, this is why I let Y/N choose, she has good taste.”

Sam grumbled something about not turning it up too loudly and shuffled to get comfy in the seat beside you. The back seat wasn’t really designed for someone with legs of his length and he was struggling to fold them into the confined space. It was easy for you, it may as well have been a sofa, but the hulk of a man next to you was clearly flustered.

“Sam, quit fidgeting,” Dean snapped as he pressed play on the first track.

“I was just-” Sam started but stopped when you motioned for him to spread out. “You sure?” he said, eyeing the small space you’d left yourself with.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, just sit sideways, it’ll be fine,” you said with a shrug. “Get comfy, we could be here a while.”

Sam gave you a gracious smile and shuffled around until he was sat across the seats, his knees bent across the middle seat so that his boots weren’t in your space.

The three of you sat quietly for a little while and you began to flick through the Internet. You probably should have been doing research but you just couldn’t keep a thought straight in your head. After flicking backwards and forwards between the same few pages, rereading sections repeatedly and half dozing off into them, you decided to let yourself rest for a few minutes. Dean, who was still on first door watch, was just lightly tapping out the rythym guitar with his fingers on the wheel, he seemed utterly oblivious to anything other than the house and the music. It about figured, he was in his own little world at night when the music was on. You risked a look over at Sam who appeared to just be reading an ebook and decided that no one was really going to miss you dozing off for a quick few minutes.

Tucking your legs up, careful not to jog Sam, you nestled into the car door and closed your eyes. You took a deep breath and tried to make yourself drift off. The car door dug uncomfortably into your side but you were too tired to care.

“Y/N?” Sam said in a soft voice.

“Yeah?” You said, cautiously opening an eye.

“That seriously looks uncomfortable, do you want me to move?” He muttered, nodding to your tucked up legs.

“I’m alright,” you hummed, letting your eyes drift shut again.

He said nothing for a few seconds before you felt the seat shift at the side of you.

“Honestly, I’m fine Sam,” you mumbled, earning a small huff from him. Truthfully, your left foot had gone numb but the idea of moving just seemed like too big a problem to bother caring about for now.

“Look, you could, er, lean on me?” He said in a low voice, before quickly adding, “I mean, we could both lay our legs out a bit more then.”

You opened your eyes up and looked over at the look he was giving you. He almost looked sorry to be waking you, but there was also a pleading there, like he just wanted to help… Damn those big brown puppy eyes.

“Okay then,” you sighed, “how’s this going to work?”

You uncurled from how you had been and put your feet on the floor to stand up a little bit, as you did, Sam stretched his legs out over the seat under you and you looked up, confused.

“Alright, nice idea giant, now where do I sit?” You grumbled, trying not to bang your head on the exceedingly low roof.

Sam didn’t say anything, but just sort of shuffled to make a small bit of space, flopping one leg off the seat and one across the back.

“So where am I meant to sit?” You asked awkwardly.

“Oh, I, um-” Sam blushed and reached over for his coat still slung in the front seat. He folded it into a makeshift pillow and rested it on his front. You took a breath and clambered onto the seat, crashing down unceremoniously with your back against Sam’s chest. He coughed a little as you winded him, but he just chuckled and let out an, “oof-”

“Smoothly done,” Dean muttered from the front seat, not even bothering to turn around.

The pair of you shuffled around until your head was snuggly into his side and you laid down resting against his leg. If you weren’t so tired, you’d be having a mild heart attack at how close you’d entwined with him, but all you felt now was completely relaxed.

“You alright there?” Sam asked quietly.

You just hummed in response and nodded your head into his balled up jacket. He tentatively rested the arm not holding his phone against your waist, he hovered there for a moment but when you didn’t flinch away, he let it relax and you could feel him let out a small sigh. With a small smirk, you let your eyes drift closed and you slowly felt your breathing begin to deepen and match Sam’s.

The only sound you could really hear was the music quietly in the background, still on your choice, the chords of “can’t stop loving you” rang out softly over the impala’s speakers. You felt yourself starting to drift off as you heard Dean absentmindedly humming along, voice low and very slightly off-key. For all the mayhem of the hunting life, moments of complete peace like this were what made it worthwhile. As you felt the waves of sleepiness wash over you, you felt Sam’s fingers lightly tracing patterns on your hip in time to the music.

The last thing you heard before you completely dozed off, was a hushed conversation between Sam and Dean. You couldn’t pick up what was said you only vaguely noticed it at all because of the vibrating of Sam’s chest again your hand, now balled slightly in the fabric of his shirt. A soft chuckle in response to his brother and a light kiss pressed into your hair was all you needed to know that you were happy, but more importantly, you felt safe in Sam’s strong arms.

Dear Gillian:
Twenty years ago I was a weird adolescent Vancouverite who was super into marine biology, Nirvana, and awkwardly giving/not giving your co-star tiny handmade Fimo figurines of himself.
You, however, were killing it.

It’s cool now that you’re blonde and ageing backwards in your secret 90s immortality health spa with Keanu Reeves, but I know underneath it all you’re still a goddamn gangster punk in a BROWN MESH SWEATER DRESS.


Of course it’s illogical for [Claire] to be in heels in the jungle. She never intended to go in the jungle. And if she was in flats, that would…that would be a cheat, you know, that would be something where it’s like, ‘She managed to get her hands on some flats.’ No, no, no, Claire never thought she was going to end up traipsing through the jungle, let alone outrunning a T. rex…Of course, she wouldn’t have sensible footwear on. She worked in an office and that’s how she dressed.

anonymous asked:

How come no one has done Alex/Cat yet? There's Kara/Cat, Astra/Cat, Astra/Alex, but Cat/Alex? Nope! Imagine they meet on a blind date and hit it off... Imagine Kara's reaction... Imagine the badassness of these two powerful ladies!

This isn’t exactllyyyy what you asked me to imagine… but I couldn’t imagine someone actually thinking it was a good idea to set these two up on a blind date. So here’s this trash instead (it’s still Alex/Cat, I promise).

“You know, jazz really is one of the most important music genres. I’d love to take you to a show sometime.” 

Alex just nodded, not really paying attention to the man in front of her anymore, just quietly sipping wine and trying not to say anything too inflammatory. It was the fourth blind date her mother had set her up on this year; needless to say, it was not going particularly well. It was one of those dates where he wouldn’t stop talking about himself and his achievements, which could actually describe most of the dates her mother pushed her into. 

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Right now the rain is pouring down outside, and in my heart.
It’s been a rough week. 

It’s enough to make you want to pack up your troubles in your old satin handbag, bundle yourself in a big, cozy, deep eggplant velvet bathrobe and go to an awards show.

Mystery Trio

Pairing: Dippica
Word Count: 1,567
Summary: Pacifica never knew that hunting monsters and myths could be so fun.

“Goodnight, Pacifica darling.”

Her father’s words reached her just as her hand closed on the cool glass doorknob to her bedroom. She turned partway, pinching her housecoat closed at the top, and smiled at her parents, silhouetted by the light from the stairwell. She replied, “Goodnight,” before she slipped into her moonlit bedroom.

For a few seconds after the door clicked shut behind her, Pacifica remained still, her ear pressed to the wood as she waited for the tell-tale rustle of her mother’s long nightgown and the slap of her father’s silk slippers to fade down the hall. Another second, and the bar of light that seeped in under her door flicked off, plunging her room in near darkness.


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The French caption reads, “The road to the future seems to be paved with gold for the heroine of the cult series Aux frontières du réel (The X-Files, to us),” but we all know that it is actually paved with SENSIBLE HEELS, MESH SWEATERS, LACE, and SHEER BUTTON-UP TOPS.

And, apparently, trench coats stolen from the costume department of The Nanny.

When most people enjoy sports, or hang around on astroturf-covered park spaces for the benefit of an undisclosed charity, they wear some sort of ill-fitting “athletic” apparel, along with sensible footwear that encourages agility, or at the very least, an approximation of stability. 

Not Gillian Anderson.

White platform mules, a mesh (?) sleeveless dress, white ball cap and, naturally, oval rose-tinted sunglasses are a killer choice for signing autographs and drinking frappucinos on a pleasant midsummer afternoon.

I must say I really appreciate when a person stays true to form in terms of their sartorial commitments. Really demonstrates something about their character.