Limericks and dares

Originally posted by sam-and-dean-winchesters

You stared at him with an unflinching confidence. Sitting in a chair at one side of the table with your palms pressed down on top, your hair swept over your shoulder and face as stern as a pissed off headteacher.
Sam stared back, mirroring your position. 

“You only have three lives and then you lose.” you stated. 

“I know, I won’t need them. This is my area of expertise, darling.” he smirked.

Smug bastard you thought. 

Castiel and Dean sat side-by-side on the end of the table between the both of you, their gazes bouncing back and forth as you took turns to speak. They had placed bets on who would win and who would lose. Dean had put $50 on you winning, but Cas had said he ‘had faith’ that Sam would prevail. 

You scoffed. “Well, sweetling,” you leaned forward and brought your hand up to cup your mouth and whispered loudly, “you might want to find something else to excel at, else you might just be left with your deflated ego and a red face.” he narrowed his eyes at you. You grinned and sat back in your chair, lowering your hand to the table once again. 

“Fine, no lives. You crack, you’re over.” You dramatically drug a finger across your neck to illustrate and he gave you a bitchy smile. 

You started to list off the rules whilst directing your gaze at the persons most likely to break them. “No audience participation, no touching, no commenting on persons involved. We take turns, no interrupting, no criticising, and absolutely NO laughing. First person to laugh loses. Winner gets the beer.” 

See, this whole debacle was about the last beer in the bunker that now sat in the middle of the table, awaiting to be drained by the victor. It had been chilled and poured into a straight pint glass, the shining golden colour full of tiny rising bubbles and a clean white head looked like the most tempting thing in the world. 
Dean had refused to go out and get some more from the shops as it was pouring down with rain and had been for the past week. Another reason being was that he had managed to snatch the second to last one, leaving you and Sam standing there empty handed and staring at the lone bottle in the fridge. Dean sat there with his beer bottle clutched in his hand as he leant over the back of his chair which he had flipped around to sit more comfortably. Cas sat properly next to him in his own chair, hands folded in his lap. 

It was Cas that had suggested the competition to everyone’s shock. Apparently him and Gabriel had previously used this tactic to solve their own personal arguments, and although you were sure Cas didn’t appreciate the concept as much as Gabriel, it definitely would have been a sight to see. 

Sam’s hair swished against his jaw as nodded in agreement to your terms, and then he cleared his throat. 

“There was a young man from Brighton
Who thought he’d at last found a tight ‘un.
He said, “Oh my love,
It fits like a glove.”
Said she, “But you’re not in the right ‘un.”” 

The two meerkats next to you swivelled their heads around to see your reaction. You stayed utterly still. Your face never betraying any of the emotions that you had to mentally beat down with a bat to keep at bay. You were a pro, but the look on Sam’s face in contrast to the dirty words spilling from his lips was almost enough to make your crack.
Your turn. 

“There once was a man from madras
Whose balls were made of brass
In stormy weather
They clang together
And sparks fly out of his ass!” 

Poker face. He didn’t even blink, and it looked like he wasn’t even breathing. He took a few seconds before he opened his mouth. 

“There once was a man from Bel Air
Who was doing his wife on the stair
But the banister broke
So he doubled his stroke
And finished her off in mid-air.” 

You pressed your lips together tightly and narrowed your eyes a little.

You little fucker.

You would not break. Your will was an impenetrable wall and your face was steel. If you were going to have anything with your life, you would have this. You just had to play dirtier. After relaxing your face, you began again. 

“There once was a girl named McGill
Who used dynamite sticks for a thrill
They found her vagina
In South Carolina
And bits of her tits in Brazil.” 

Dean covered an abrupt laugh with a cough and covered his mouth with a closed fist whereas Castiel only seemed to recognise the limerick and nodded along.
Sam’s eyes had widened, almost imperceptibly, but you saw it. His adam’s apple bobbed and your heart leapt to your throat. He was going to lose. You were so close, you just had to keep hacking at his defences. He must have seen the light in your eyes, because his fingers started to grip the table slightly. He breathed out of his nose harshly, his shoulders moving with the action and his eyes bored into you. 

“There once was a barmaid named Gale
On whose breasts was the menu for ale
But since she was kind
For the sake of the blind
On her ass it was printed in Braille.” 

Dean had to bite the fist still at his mouth to try and keep quiet, but you all heard as he let out a distorted squeak, his eyes alight with childish glee. Your chest constricted and you couldn’t quite tame your lips enough to stop the corners of them from turning up a smidge. Sam’s eyes locked onto the movement and when he brought them back up to yours, it was obvious he thought he was going to win. You breathed in deeply and let a wave of calmness wash over your face.

Time to pull out the big guns.

“A young escape artist by the name of Sweeny.
His girl was a bit of a meany.
At the hatch of her snatch.
She had a catch that would latch.
And she could only be fucked by Houdini.” 

Dean couldn’t hold in his laughter anymore as it burst from his lips and flung him backwards, almost tipping him off the back of his chair and spilling his drink. Castiel simply looked over at him in confusion, obviously contemplating how it was physically possible to have a ‘latch’ on your ‘catch’.
First of all he had to figure out what a ‘catch’ was.
He would ask Dean later. 

The combination of your words, Dean’s outburst and Castiel’s lost face had Sam lightly snorting.
His eyes widened and his large hand slapped over his mouth. 

Your smile was positively glowing.
His eyes closed in defeat and his shoulders slumped. 

 “HAHA! LOSER!” 

You picked up the glass and proceeded to take a big gulp of the coveted beer. Sam pathetically watched your throat bob as you swallowed down half a pint then smacked the glass back on the table with a loud and satisfied groan. He slapped his hand on the table in outrage making the glass clatter against the wood.
Your other hand shot to the the pint to stop it from moving.
“Hey!” you snapped.
“Damn it!” he slapped his hand down again.
“Awh, c’mon Sammy! Don’t be a sore loser. She beat you fair and square, man. Hell, she’s got a dirtier mouth than me, you did well to last as long as you did.” Dean patted Sam on the shoulder, snickering at his innuendo.
Sam whacked his hand away and pointed at Dean accusingly. “I would have won if you hadn’t been giggling like a 13 year old over there with Mr. Clueless.” Sam flung a hand at Cas who sat looking innocent as ever. 

“I wasn't giggling.” Cas said snidely. “You laughed, therefore you lost. And now I owe Dean $50.”
Dean grinned over at Cas and held his hand out to receive his prize.
“I don’t carry cash.” Cas stated.
Dean’s hand dropped against his knee. He looked away and shook his head with an unsurprised face. “Figures.” 

“I’m willing to make a trade, Samuel.” You suddenly said, the pint glass still half full in your hands.
His eyes snapped to you. “What do you want?” 

You tapped your fingers against the glass in a quick rhythm and you tilted your head to the side, looking to the corner of the room as you contemplated how far Sam was willing to be pushed. 

“In fact, let’s make it a dare.” 

Dean practically jumped up and down in his seat all giddy. Sam lifted his chin and showed no fear. “Name it.” 

“Dean, can I borrow your phone for a second please?” you held out your hand to the side without looking over. Dean dug into his back pocket and deposited his phone into your hand. You scrolled through the contacts until you got to a certain name. Putting the phone on loudspeaker you set it on the table in front of Sam as it started to ring. 

“Tell him you have a big crush on him. And that you think about him in the shower.”
Deans head was about to spin off if he swung it any faster, his mouth had dropped open and he waited for Sam’s response.
Sam’s face had scrunched up in confusion. “Tell who?” 

“Hello squirrel, bit busy at the moment. Can this wait?” Crowleys voice echoed into the room, along with a painful scream in the background that was cut off with a loud slam of a heavy metal door. 

Sam almost choked on his own spit. He threw his hand up and looked at you with a ‘WHY ARE YOU MAKING ME DO THIS’ face. 

“Dean?” Crowley questioned.
You pressed your fingers to your smile and pointed to the phone with your other hand. ‘He’s waiting, loverboy.’ You mouthed back to Sam.
Sam rolled his eyes, dug his fingers into his forehead which disturbed his hair, and breathed out a sigh as he started to talk. “Uh-uh, it’s not Dean. It’s Sam.” 

“Moose? Why have you got Dean’s phone? Has he gotten into trouble again?” 

“No, no listen. I uh- I have something I need to tell you.”
Sam made the mistake of looking over at Dean, who had tears streaming down his pink face as he held in laughter. Sam punched him hard in the arm. 

‘Ow!’ Dean mouthed and gestured to Sam whilst looking at you and Cas like he was out of line. Cas rubbed Dean’s arm thinking he was actually hurt, causing Dean to give him a flat look.
You hiccuped trying to stop yourself from cracking up, your shoulders shaking from the strain. 

“Well go on then, I haven’t got all bloody day! Speak!” 

If looks could kill, Sam would have pulverized you 10 times over. You kicked him in the shin to prompt him. 

“I HAVE A REALLY BIG CRUSH ON YOU AND I THINK ABOUT YOU IN THE SHOWER WHEN I TOUCH MYSELF.” 

The room was silent. If this were the place for a tumbleweed to slowly roll past, it would be careening behind Sam right now. Everyone stared at the phone with bated breath, waiting for Crowley to say something. 

“What?” Crowley’s hesitant voice rumbled out of the speaker. 

“I uh- I-I-” Sam stuttered. 

“No, don’t say it again!” and then Crowley was suddenly in the room, smacking Sam repeatedly over the head with a cloth covered in spots of dried blood.
“You can’t talk to the King of Hell like that, you bloody imbecile! My demons heard you say that! THEY HEARD YOU, SAMUEL!” 

Sam raised his arms to shelter his face from the attack, Dean had dissolved into a giggling mess leaning his arm on an amused Cas, and you were cackling like a witch with wet cheeks. 

“IT WAS A DARE CROWLEY I DIDN’T MEAN IT WILL YOU STOP HITTING ME!” Crowley paused his attack and looked at Sam with an incredulous look. 

“WHAT?!” 

“It-it” you had to try and breathe for a second before you could cut in, “it was me!” you told Crowley. 

You dared him to ring me up, and shout down the phone so all my loyal subjects could hear that he thinks about me when he’s getting cosy with himself in the shower!?” Crowley spat at you. 

You sputtered out a snort and then cracked up again, nodding as much as you could as you lost control. Crowley turned to Sam to see him sitting with his arms crossed, a sour look on his face.
“And what do you get out of this?” he questioned and jabbed a finger into Sam’s shoulder. 

Sam reached forward and placed the glass to his lips, drinking down the rest of the pint. He looked up at Crowley when he finished. “Half a beer.” 

Crowley’s eyes were murderous for a split second before he closed them. When he opened them again he smiled disarmingly. “Well I hope it was worth it, Moose. I’ll be seeing you in your dreams.” He tapped Sam on the cheek before he disappeared. 

Sam turned to look at you with his jaw on the ground. Cas spoke up. “Did he mean that he was going to visit you in your dreams? Why would he want to do that?” his eyebrows drew together and he looked at each of you for an answer. Dean slung an arm over his shoulder and held up his beer. “Sometimes Cassie, when you tell a boy you like him, he might not say it back, but might show you how he feels in different ways.” He jerked his beer in Sam’s direction and nodded jeeringly. 

 Sam smacked the beer out of his hand and it crashed to the floor, liquid spilling out on the wood. You opened your mouth and watched as Dean stared down at the mess.
He faced Sam with thinly veiled fury in his eyes.
“Bitch.”
“Jerk.” Sam shot back. 

“Ookaayyy! Now we’re officially out of beer, I say we start on the whiskey.” You suggested, rising to go towards the trolley of glassware.
“I’m gonna get you back for this, Y/N. I want a rematch.” Sam turned around in his seat and pointed at you as you poured 4 glasses of whiskey out. Gripping two glasses between your pinched fingers in each hand you slid the glasses to each of them and sat back down. 

“Try it, Sammy. Just think about what you’re willing to give up next time. I might not be so nice.” You gave him a feline smirk as you sipped the whiskey. The promise in Sam’s eyes was enough to make you long for the next rainy day. 


A/N: The Sherlock fic is on its way, I just couldn’t get this out of my head! 

Tag list:@chrisevansthedoritobastard
@i-want-to-believe-x
@anxuanpham
@wantingtobekorra
@calciumcow

anonymous asked:

Hc for if someone wrote Johnny a letter like Sodapop wrote Ponyboy?

✍️ I feel that Dallas would write him one

✍️ And he’d sneak into his pocket while Pony’s reading his letter

✍️ Johnny doesn’t notice it until he gets into the car

✍️ But he doesn’t have time to read it

✍️ Too busy saving little kids from a fire

✍️ Later, in the hospital, a nurse finds it and places it on the side table

✍️ “C-can ya read it to me?”

✍️ Her voice is kind and sweet as she reads through the letter

✍️ By the end, Johnny’s fallen asleep and the nurse is crying

✍️ The letter was just so heartfelt and gentle

✍️ Dallas has chicken scratch penmanship

✍️ So she had struggled on a few words here and there

✍️ Who am I kidding, she stumbled on most of the words

Anyways, I figured it’d be fun to write the letter:

Johnny Cade,

I know this whole on-the-run thing ain’t for you. If I’m being completely honest, it’s not for me either. I miss you. I know that makes me sound like a little bitch, and I’m not gonna say it again. You’re like my little brother. Definitely my favorite outta the gang. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Probably be dead in a ditch somewhere, huh? I know you won’t get this anytime soon, but when you read it, I hope it makes you happy. I hope it makes you want to stay here with me. I know you’ve been talking about not wanting to be here anymore and wanting to kill yourself, but you are my sunshine. God damn, I sound all poetic like Ponyboy. But in all seriousness, I have no purpose without you.

        ~Dallas T. Winston

Liar 3/? (Tom Riddle Jr/Voldemort Imagine)

A distant clattering pulled you from your unwanted sleep and you turned your head weakly, listening to the soft footsteps of whoever was at your side.

“Oh!” Came a feminine voice, and you cracked an eye open to take a peak at whoever it was, meeting the warm eyes of a middle-aged woman in a white blouse and matching skirt.

“Don’t move, dear,” the woman ordered before turning her back to you and approaching a bed-side table with a metal tray on it, muttering to herself as she read the labels on several vials.

Propping yourself up on your elbows and blinking away sleep, you looked around the room and opened your parched lips to speak. “What happened?” You rasped, noting the several beds lining either side of the room.

“A hex, dear,” she matron tutted, “a nasty one, might I add. Whoever did it definitely wanted to hurt you.” You raised as she turned to face you, a concerned frown on her lips.

“Drink this, it’ll make your throat feel better.” Arching your neck, the woman held the back of your head in her hand, guiding the vial to your lips. Once you were done consuming the tasteless liquid, you felt that tender sensation almost instantly dissipate.

You smiled up at the nurse and she smiled back, “How are you feeling?” You groaned as you sat up and rubbed your temples, “I feel alright, thank you.” The salt-and-pepper haired woman rubbed your back softly as she sat at your bedside, “I’ll call for the Headmaster and your friend.”

Brows raising, you blinked at her, “My friend?” She nodded, wrinkles forming at the corner of her eyes as she did, “The Riddle boy, dear - brought you here himself.”

You gaped at her, probably looking like a fish out of water, “Tom Riddle? You’re positive it was him?” The motherly woman nodded enthusiastically, her cheeks turning a light pink shade. “It was very poetic, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

A smile forced itself onto your face as the matron stood to fetch the Headmaster and as soon as the doors to the Hospital Wing closed, it dropped. You rolled over and grimaced at the stiffness of your muscles and pulled the covers over your head - maybe if they thought you were sleeping, they’d leave you alone.

“They’re quite well, Headmaster. They’ve had what potions they can take and should be in tip-top shape within the hour.” The matron chirped pridefully as she re-entered the Hospital Wing, accompanied by two other pairs of footsteps. “It’s a shame this sort of thing happens at all,” Riddle added, clicking his tongue disapprovingly which only made you grind your teeth. He didn’t care and you knew that.

You clenched your eyes shut as the footsteps approached the foot of your bed and a soft humming began circling you. The bed sheets suddenly flew off of you and up into the air, and your eyes snapped open to gawk at the levitating material.

“I believe you’ve slept enough for one night, Y/N.” Dumbledore mused, chuckling at your clearly surprised face. “I’ve been informed of your situation, we believe you were hexed by someone. Do you have any idea who might want to bring you harm?”

You bit your lip as you sat up, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed and cringing as your bare feet touched the cold stone floor, refusing to meet that brown-haired prick’s clearly amused gaze.

“No disrespect, Professor, but we both know I’m not the most popular student here. There are plenty of people who would want to mess with me.” You confessed, meeting the old wizard’s gaze. He hummed in response, light eyes watching you carefully as you stood.

“It wasn’t just some harmless prank, Y/N. Whoever did this wanted to seriously injure you.” Tom spoke up and your eyes narrowed at him. You were sure neither the Headmaster or matron would notice the underlying tone in his voice, but you definitely did. He was mocking you.

“I can think of someone,” you shot back, curling and uncurling your stiff toes. “Do tell.”

Standing up and stretching your sore legs, you ran your fingers through your hair to straighten out any kinks, opening your mouth to respond when the sudden sway of the room had you on your back - luckily on the soft mattress.

The friendly nurse was at your side in the blink of an eye, checking your temperature and snapping her fingers in front of your face. “Y/N, you’re clearly not ready to be out of bed. You should rest.” Riddle said from by Dumbledore’s side.

You shook your head, “I’m fine, thank you for your concern.” You responded sarcastically, blinking as your eyes followed the matron’s wandering finger. Professor Dumbledore let out a soft chuckle at your attitude but it, along with his entertained smile, was hidden by his thick beard. “As resilient as you are, Tom is right. You do need your strength back.”

Frowning and crossing your legs on the bed, you said nothing in compliance. “For how long?” The greying matron tapped her chin in thought before looking you over one more time. “Stay overnight, dearest.” Gawking, you shook your head furiously, “Ma'am, I couldn’t possibly. Really, I’m feeling much better. Surely there must be some way you can let me go sooner.”

“Studies to get to, Y/N?” Tom drawled, clearly uninterested in where the conversation was headed. You shot him a harsh glare and through gritted teeth responded, “Absolutely.”

“I’d also like for you to be escorted to and from classes until we find the culprit.” Tom’s eyes seemed to spark at this, and he turned to Dumbledore with that straightened posture.

“Professor, if I may, I think it’d be best if I was to escort Y/N.” Both you and the Headmaster were surprised by this and Riddle noticed your mouth opening in protest - quickly interrupting, “Professor Slughorn has already assigned me to their week-long punishment for skipping dinner. Wouldn’t it be best if I was to take care of escorts as well? That way I can be sure they won’t skip detention.”

You stared at the silver-haired sorcerer with pleading eyes but he seemed convinced by Riddle’s conviction, though somehow he was still weary.

He responded with a sigh and the stroke of his beard, “That is very wise thinking as always, Tom.” You clenched your teeth and looked away, eyes glassy with tears. You’d had more than enough of Tom Riddle to last years.

“Then it’s settled. Y/N, I’ll meet you tomorrow morning for classes, assuming you have them all memorized.” He teased and you sniffed, defeated. “Fine.”

With a polite nod, the prefect turned and left the Hospital Wing silently, leaving you and your elders alone. Head hung sorrowfully, you let out a sigh and tugged at the sleeve of your striped hospital pajamas and spoke up, “How can I be sure Tom will be able to detect anyone who might try to hex me again?” Professor Dumbledore tangled his fingers together behind his back and turned away.

“Tom is a very capable wizard, Y/N. I’m confident he’ll be able to protect you if need be.” You clicked your tongue preparing your counter when you were rudely interrupted by the long forgotten blanket that levitated just above your head, now dropping onto you and muffling your voice.

“No negotiations, Y/N. I’ll be keeping a close eye on you - you’re absolutely safe.” The sound of Dumbledore’s voice was distant now and you yanked the blanket off off of your head in time to see the crimson silk of his robe disappearing into the hallway.

You sulked more than you slept the following night.

3

“Did you see how she tripped up my feet before she swung? I didn’t see it coming. He rubbed his hands giddily on his thighs, his feet kicking at the side of the exam table. “I think we might finally be getting somewhere.”

requested by anon

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2

Okay, last set of pics of the do-over for the bathroom.  I went out this morning and found the perfect shower curtain and small bamboo finish side table to add storage and countertop space.  These are two panorama shots (so they are a bit distorted) taken from opposite corners of the room  

And since the window curtains that go with the shower curtain are very similar to what’s already hanging there - cream colored background with just a smattering of paisley shapes in a band across the bottom - I think I’ll save the money and cut and hem these curtains to just brush the window sill as @canadianjudy suggested!!  

Monday Seven

“You need me to take a look at that hand. I don’t care if you’re not talking to me at the moment. Just let me fucking look at it.”

John’s voice is strained, holding back all the things he thinks will make Sherlock retreat.

Sherlock retreats anyway, heading into his room to assemble a few things for the trip.

There’s a loud bang as John’s own fist hits the side table. The beige, khaki and bright, pale green becomes almost nauseating even as Sherlock has his back to John.

It’s a relief to note that John’s colours are too diluted to stick with him through the veil of Alprazolam as Sherlock closes the door behind himself.

*

(From chapter 18 of Patterns of Silver Birds - http://archiveofourown.org/works/4108126)

7

The Basket furniture collection by Alain Gilles Studio

For the British Vincent Sheppard furniture company the Alain Gilles Studio created a modern interpretation of rattan furnitures. The Basket collection is an armchair and a side table. The side table is set together of a basket and a removable tablet. The rattan parts are supported by lacquered steel.

5

Birdhouse Cabinet by Siebring & Zoetmulder Design Products

This Birdhouse Cabinet named side table that is obviously inspired by birdhouse, is a multi-functional piece of furniture designed with the reading people in mind. The top part is made of Birch Plywood, offering the gable of the roof as a book rest. This modern creation by Siebring & Zoetmulder Design Products fits well into a bedroom as well as a living room.

Harry M. Woods - "Side by Side" (Bendy and Boris Cover)
My voice
Harry M. Woods -  "Side by Side" (Bendy and Boris Cover)

@sugar-apocalypse requested that I have Bendy and Boris sing “Side by Side”, a really neat old song from 1927. I thought it would be fun to record, and while it took a lot of takes, I’m actually pretty proud of the result! Hope you guys enjoy it!

Instrumental taken from here.

(Feel free to leave a request if you want to hear more VA stuff from me!)

mar. 8, 2017 // 4.47pm

im highkey procrastinating for an exam right now so here have this photo i took last night or two nights ago when i was just showing someone the remote for my camera. also idk why my lamp is so high up