somewhat successful

what i want in got s8 vs what i need

given last years post was somewhat a success, we need an updated version

what i want:


gendry and arya reunion

arya and sandor clegane reunion

sansa and sandor clegane reunion

sansa and tyrion reunion

basically all the reunions involving the start sisters we’ve waited 3+ seasons for

lyanna mormont to LIVE


jaime x brienne

gendrya that doesn’t end with one or both of them dying

jaime to choke the life out of cersei

a baby for daenerys

no baby for cersei

brandon stark to trek down to greywater watch and APOLOGISE to meera reed


an epic drogon and rhaegal vs viserion dragon battle sequence


edmure to get his family back

jon riding rhaegal

more than 2 seconds of nymeria

the theon greyjoy redemption arc alfie allen deserves

a flashback to the battle of the trident just so i can watch rhaegar targaryen die

absolutely nobody calling jon aegon

what i need:

for the “i’m like you arry, i’m a survivor” line to be nothing more than comedy and hot pie actually surving and not being murdered by wights in some sadistic irony than d&d are completely capable of

25 Fun Facts You Probably Didn’t Know About The Beatles

1. 14 seconds into “Eleanor Rigby” you can hear Paul McCartney singing the title of the song.

2. Please Please Me is the title of an album (a collection of recordings issued as a single item on CD, record, or another medium) by The Beatles.

3. Ringo Starr was well aware that living in an octopus’s garden would cause him to drown, but he wrote a song about it anyway.

4. The George Harrison penned tune “I Me Mine” contains a word with one letter, a word with two letters, and a word with four letters.

5. A Gold-Dust Day Gecko named Thimple Jimtop found it’s way into my shirt pocket after falling from a hole in the ceiling of a shopping mall.

6. If you look very closely at the cover of Abbey Road you can see all four members of The Beatles using a crosswalk.

7. The song “Back In The U.S.S.R.” contains guitar, drums, electric bass and singing.

8. Thimple Jimtop came home with me and spent his first night sleeping next to me on my pillow.

9. John Lennon wore glasses a lot of times.

10. The Beatles used song titles in order to label and identify the songs they created.

11. The Beatles are not from America despite the fact that they are people and there are many, many people from America.

12. Steven Seagal was not a member of The Beatles.

13. Thimple Jimtop snuck into my refrigerator late at night and ate all of my lettuce.

14. Paul McCartney was 100% opaque.

15. When The Beatles famously played on a rooftop not a single one of them jumped off.

16. Thimple Jimtop was punished using a scaled down version of waterboarding.

17. All The Beatles had somewhat successful solo careers, except for Steven Seagal who was not a Beatle to begin with.

18. Each one of The Beatles had both a mother and a father.

19. The Beatles were real and existed in the same universe this Tumblr post exists in.

20. Thimple Jimtop became despondent and ate his way through a loaf of wheat bread. When I found him he was very upset and begged me to leave him in his “bread cave” until I learned how to be a more forgiving friend. He stayed in for too long and was forgotten about and his new home was wrapped in a bread bag. He suffocated to death. 

21. George Harrison was into some weird shit.

22. Ringo Starr held drum sticks but usually only when he was practicing, performing, or recording songs.

23. “Hey Jude” is the title of a song AND a lyric in that song,

24. A funeral will be held for Thimple Jimtop at the Gus Fogt Picnic Site in Tower Grove Park, St. Louis, MO on Sunday July 2, 2017 at 10 AM.

25. The Beatles is the name of the band The Beatles.

How to make sigils a sigil is a symbol that you make that acts as like a spell and helps you achieve a goal.

  1. You have to make a sentence of your desire in capital letters.
  2. You get rid of every repeating letter.
  3. Then you simplify the letters into basic shapes.
  4. Then you design the sigil into a pattern that you like. (You should encase your sigil into a shape to keep its energies on track)
  5. The sigil is internalized/ activated.

Some quick ways to activate your sigils -sleep with it -masturbate and during climax concentrate on the sigil image. -visualize the sigil working

  1. The sigil is banished so you forget what it means. Or you can destroy the sigil.

Quick way to banish the sigil -roaring laughter (then think of something completely different) -you can also burn it and scatter the ashes

<<<<((The faster you forget the sigil, the more effective the operation)) After activation and internalization of a sigil you should not think of the symbol itself nor if it’s meaning. If the sigils image or meaning pop back into your head you must recharge and banish it again.

Some ways to use sigils

-carved into rings -amulet -sewn into cloths or on pouches -written on cigarettes -draw it on a piece of paper and carry it with you - draw it on cement with chalk -draw it on a flower pot -draw it into dough (cookie, bread, crust) -draw it in your soup or cake dough or coffee/tea

<<<<<The time it takes for a sigil to work is somewhat unpredictable. Sometimes success will be instant ; sometimes it may take months.

<<<<there are many different types of sigil making methods (the pictorial method, the mantrical spell method, the alphabet of desire ,constructing sigils with planetary cameas (magical squares), working with atavistic nostalgia ), this is just my favorite type.

I learned this information from the book Practical sigil Magic by Frater U:.D:.


Yes, I’m still trying to re-imagine me some drow fashion. Something that actually makes sense in their matriarchal and merciless society., while still keeping it somewhat classy. Idk how successful I was, but it was fun to draw.

Game of Thrones Season 6 Recap

Game of Thrones comes back tonight!

I’ve been sleeping with the book under my pillow (yes, I’ve got more neck problems than if I was dating Frank Ocean), and figured I’d give everyone a recap of how last season ended!

The official trailer gave us a nice format, so let’s use it.

Obviously, SPOILERS.

(Most of the information is based on the show, but a few details are filled in from the books and may be changed in the new season.)

We start off with Cersei and Jaime Lannister in King’s Landing. (Circled above.)

Season 6 ended with Cersei blowing up the Sept of Baelor

And with it the High Sparrow (fictional pope), Kevan Lannister (her uncle), Maergery Tyrell, Loras Tyrell, and Lord Tyrell.

These were the last people in King’s Landing putting a check on her power.

Her plan was to have full control of her son (the King), but he killed himself after realizing he’s the spawn of a Maleficent-wannabe.

Sooooo she proclaimed herself Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

While Cersei was auditioning for the next shitty Huntsman movie, Jaime was crushing the rebels (insert Darth Vader breathing sounds).

Except he’s trying to be a better person, so he looks understandably pissed when he shows up in King’s Landing and sees all the shit Cersei did.

Now, they’re together in King’s Landing and Cersei starts rattling off about all the enemies they (read: she) has.


Daenerys has landed in Westeros, Storm’s End to be specific.


In S6 she killed off the Khal’s (the leaders of the Dothraki), and basically became Jesus to the savage brown people when they saw her survive the fire.

Then she set sail with her 12- er 6- Apostles.

She has the Dothraki (brown savages), her Unsullied (black slave soldiers), and her mercenaries.

On her way she also meets up with the Greyjoy and Tyrell fleets, so basically everyone supports/worships this blonde chick showing up to ruthlessly murder and conquer.


South of King’s Landing are The Reach and Dorne.

The Reach is the land of the Tyrell’s, and only Olenna’s immortal ass is still alive. 

She’ll probably become irrelevant after giving her family’s army to Daenerys, but god damn it I want her snarky ass to burn Cersei worse than the wildfire did her own grandchildren.

Dorne is the home of the Martell’s, and are currently led by Ellaria Sand (The Viper’s widow). She wants revenge for the death of her lover.

The Martell’s have also historically been close to the Targaryen’s, but I really think this is a war waged entirely for Pedro Pascal’s sexy ass.


To the West of King’s Landing are the the Iron Islands, currently led by the personification of fragile male egos.

Seriously, Euron Greyjoy (Uncle of Theon and Yara) is what happens when an awkward weeb grows up to be somewhat successful.


Melodramatic - Check.

God complex - Check.

No real life plan - Check.

Wants to marry the out of his league white girl - Check.

The only thing we know for sure is that he is rebuilding the Iron Islands’ fleet and raiding all of the western coast of Westeros, including Old Town where Samwell Tarly is currently studying to become a maester.


Jon Snow and Sansa Stark killed (read: fed him to his dogs) Ramsay Bolton.

The Northern Lords proclaimed Jon the King in the North, and Sansa was all for it.

He was also revealed to be the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, which means he’s the heir to the Iron Throne, Daennery’s nephew, and Sansa’s cousin.

The only hiccup there is that Littlefinger is still whispering in Sansa’s ear. He wants her to take ownership of The North for herself so that he can marry her and gain power through her.

Not creepy at all.

Oh and Arya is an edgy teenager on a murder spree.

Now for anyone that wants to tell me this show isn’t interesting cause it’s not realistic or some dumb shit I don’t care about: the main bad guys are literally blue eyed white demons (no relation to the Yu-Gi-Oh dragons) that want to kill everythin

One and Only pt. 5 (final)

Prompt: You need a little bit of T.L.C. after being shot on a mission and that includes a new roommate. You have a massive crush on him and he’s clueless.

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 1,111

Warnings: just super fluffy, per usual

A/N: and we have come to the end! i know it was short but that’s okay. it was fluffly and cute and nice (:

Tagged: @defendors @marvelfandom-stuff @cchrriissuuu @katexbishopx @all-around-geek@thorne93@brittanymcsharry @rileyloves5 @scaly-manfish @vaultingphilosophy @kaitlynthehuman@marvelous-fvcks @jordanbella @sweet-honey15 @lostinspace33 @tatortot2701

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4


Originally posted by imultifandomstuff

The few days without Steve were hard, harder than you expected. But because of your pride, you tried to do things as you normally would, as if you weren’t still injured. But you struggled. And because of that, you made the couch your bed and ordered takeout for every meal. Netflix was your best friend. You’d watched too many movies to count. You’d downloaded way too many apps on your phone to pass the time without him, without any interaction.

Keep reading

Black Honey: Pt. 1

Summary: Starfire and Robin are officially an item, but what does that mean when the resident empath is stuck living between their respective bedrooms? Finding a new bunk buddy in Beast Boy was certainly not her first choice, and when she engages in a strange, night time activity, how long before the changeling notices what she’s up to? 

The Titans were happy for Robin and Starfire.

Genuinely happy.

It had been a long, long time coming, after all. The couple had been dancing around one another for as long as anyone could remember, neither ever bold enough to act on their genuine feelings for each other. Robin had been too thick headed, and Starfire apparently too subtle and unsure. So, when they had finally established their new, romantic relationship, every other Titan had been thrilled with the news.

That is, until their incessant romping sessions.

No one could blame them; something vague about teenagers, hormones, and pent up sexual frustration while living in close quarters. Not to mention, the bubbling sexual tension that had finally culminated into one hot, passionate affair after all those years. It was well earned, well deserved, and perfectly understandable that both the Titans leader and the alien beauty couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Once they’d tasted that forbidden fruit, it was near impossible to go back to anything else.

When the ‘sleepovers’ grew in frequency, and often throughout the wee hours of the early morning, the other Titans put up with it. They dealt with the lust filled cries, the sound of the creaking bedframe, of the steady banging against the thin walls while the mattress springs squeaked beneath their weight. It was all sweet in the beginning, and it was always nice to see the usually tense boy wonder unwind and relax after spending a relaxing evening with his girlfriend.

However, eventually, it became grating.

Most especially for Raven.

Keep reading

Liam doesn’t particularly like Reyes, but he likes what the man gives to Ryder. Their Pathfinder a title that comes with more responsibility any one person should have to deal with.

No matter where they go, Ryder is always known as The Pathfinder. He’s expected to fix all these problems people bring him. They all try to help in their own ways. He considers movie night somewhat a success. The only thing is, even among just them, Ryder is still the Pathfinder. Even while just watching a movie, he is still their leader, still held responsible for them. He needs a place to de-stress. A place he can be Scott Ryder, some kid from the Citadel that just wants to explore the stars.

That’s where Reyes comes in. Once they touch down on Kadara, once they walk among the exiles, he’s no longer the Pathfinder. He’s the Charlatan’s. No title. No name. They don’t revere him as their only hope. And while Ryder can take care of himself, people here aren’t wary of him because of what he’s capable of. Rather what the Charlatan is capable of. The body of the last guy that tried to give Ryder a hard time still hasn’t been found.

He probably should be more worried about that than he is…but there’s a new soccer ball and drive full of bad movies in the drop box…so he can’t bring himself to worry too much.

Saving Grace

​​​​​​pairing: lafayette x reader
words: 3000 (i know guys i’m so extra lmao)
warnings: blood, war, things of that nature, ending is literal crap because it’s 5 in the morning
summary: reader is a battlefield nurse who must take care of a wounded Laf, who becomes smitten with his savior.

You had always been different. It was just a fact.

When you were a young girl, only seven, you acquired a reputation with your classmates of being a tomboy. You weren’t interested in such things as clothes and looking pretty—in fact, you hated such ideals. Instead, you preferred to play with the boys in your school, searching for bugs and rocks in the scratched ground, hiking up your skirts in such an undignified manner that your highly proper mother would surely have fainted at the sight.

She was certainly upset when you enlisted to be a battlefield nurse. You had always been interested in medical topics and signed up nearly right after you heard. As soon as she found out, she came flying into the room, managing to look dignified even as her numerous skirts and petticoats flew out behind her in a bustling mass that reminded one of a ship at full sail.

“(Y/N), you have done many unwise things before, but this—” here she waved her hands about helplessly, hopelessly “—this tops them all. How could you, young lady? You could be killed! You could be traumatized or catch an illness and die! What were you thinking?” You rose, incensed.

“Mother,” you said, in a low, angry voice, “this is the only way I can help the Revolution. I can’t fight, I can’t run for office, and I cannot vote. I am hopeful that this will change one day, but I am not about to sit around at home and do nothing! At least this way I am able to help men who can make a difference by saving their lives and putting them back on the battlefield!” Your father had come in by now, drawn into the living room by the loud voices of you and your mother.

“What is going on?” he shouted over the two of you.

“Your daughter—” your mother spat at the same time you said, “Mother doesn't—”

“One at a time,” your father said, spreading his hands in a gesture that clearly meant slow down.

“Your daughter has enlisted to become a battlefield nurse,” your mother said angrily. “I have tried to warn her of the dangers of such a profession, but she refuses to listen. Dear, please tell her not to go.” You uncrossed your arms, gazing intently at your father’s face. You knew his abolitionist beliefs ran deep, causing him to support the ongoing rebellion. Doubt played over his face; he was clearly torn between his beliefs and love for you and the desire to please his wife. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

“As disappointing as it will surely be to you, my dear,” he said, motioning to your mother, “I have to agree with (Y/N). She is able to help our country in this position and I believe it will be better for her than just sitting at home and revolving through the social circles.” Your mother’s face grew stormier still.

“We have no country! We belong to England! It is simply a passing phase, a small period of rebellion that will be subdued! And (Y/N) needs to become acquainted with the ins and outs of social life! It’s the only way to find her a suitable match and you know it!” she cried.

You sighed. This again. “Mother, I want to choose the man I marry. Love shouldn’t be forced. It should be mutual and founded on deep trust and respect. I’m not interested in flirting and gossip. When the right man comes along, I’ll just—well, I’ll know it.” You and your father both knew what came next—the long spiel about how your parents’ marriage had been arranged and how they were just as happy as any natural couple.

He dragged your mother out of the room with a soft “Let’s go, dear,” and a pitying look that you knew meant he would try to talk some sense into her. He must have been somewhat successful, for you were off to training in a matter of days.

There were twenty other young women in the class with you, which was considered a high number, and you were put under the charge of the local doctor, who was known to be surly at the best of times. However, your talent became clear and you soon left everyone behind in terms of progress. He couldn’t help but admire your skill, and he gave you many kind, if rather gruff and grudging, compliments.

After three weeks of training, it was clear that you needed to be sent out to the lines as soon as possible. Someone with your level of skill couldn’t be left behind; you were needed. You were told that you would be sent out to a battlefield to serve Continental troops under General George Washington. He was famous everywhere, and you were always swamped with questions at social events.

The ride to the camp was somewhat lacking in comfort; you rode in a carriage drawn by a horse who seemed bent on running the vehicle across every single rut and stone lying in the street. However, you emerged from the two-hour ride all in one piece, if a battered and bruised one. You were greeted by a young soldier who looked to be about twenty years of age. He snapped a crisp salute.

“Miss (Y/N), ma'am?”

“Yes, that’s me. The new nurse.”

“I am Sergeant Locke. I have been ordered to show you to your quarters. Doctor Scott will show you everything you will need to know tomorrow.” There was something odd about the man—he wasn’t even in a proper uniform, but he exuded all the cocky confidence of a British officer. It wasn’t exactly a negative thing, it just seemed odd and out-of-place in such a situation.

“Thank you, Sergeant.” He held out a hand for your luggage and marched smartly to a small tent towards the center of the camp.

“This one’s yours, ma'am,” he said, placing your suitcase on a small table made of dark wood in one corner of the tent. “Try to sleep. It may be the only rest you get for who knows how long.” He left on this cheery note.

You dropped into the single straight-backed chair, exhausted, and looked around the bleak interior of the tent that was now yours. You didn’t know what the next day, week, month, however long, held for you. Death and suffering beyond imagining would be manifested to you, and you knew that it would shape you for the rest of your life. Of course, you didn’t realize just how important your service would end up being. You were just concerned with sleep; you needed it after that horrendous ride. Despite your new surroundings and forebodings of the following day, it came quickly.


Fortunately, Doctor Scott was the nicest man you could ever hope to work for. He was also unexpectedly old. You had imagined a man in his mid-thirties, maybe, but he was around sixty. His hair stood up around his face in a round, white shock, and his clear blue eyes were framed by small rimmed glasses. However, despite his age, his spotted hands were gentle and skilled. You liked him at once, and he couldn’t help but feel the same. You were a young, pretty woman who was clearly passionate about what you were doing. No matter how bad an injury was, you always kept your wits about you and worked calmly in life-or-death situations. Hundreds of lives were saved because of your work. You did so well that General Washington himself commended you on your successful treatments. Everything was going perfectly—that is, until one day, a certain patient came to the medical tent and shattered life as you knew it into shards.

The Marquis de Lafayette.


“Critical patient coming! Miss (Y/N), you’re needed!” a minor doctor yelled. Two soldiers came rushing in, stepping quickly but carefully, bearing a stretcher between them. They hoisted it up onto the table and released their grip. You wiped your hands on a towel and hurried over to check the wounded man.

Needless to say, you were blown away.

He he was badly battered and bloodied, but you could see that underneath the caked dirt and dried blood, he was undeniably attractive. His skin was a rich brown color, a nearly perfect match of the coffee you made for your father every morning at home. His hair spiraled from his head in thick corkscrew curls, and his defined jawline was dotted with stubble. His large mouth opened slightly to reveal very white teeth, and his eyes were closed and drawn tight with pain, despite his unconscious state.

You took this all in, then shook your head. “What has happened to this man?” you asked hurriedly.

“Shot in the leg, he was, marm,” answered one soldier. “Blood everywhere, there was. Passed out about a minute after bein’ wounded, I’d say. Shot mighta severed somethin’ important.”

“Thank you,” you said, your mind working quickly. “Please step outside for the time being. I need all the room I can get.” They did as you said, and you got to work, lifting up the cloth covering his lower body.

The wound was much worse than you expected. His entire leg was stained with the blood from the gaping hole in his lower thigh. You quickly tore off part of his pants, trying to subdue the rising color in your cheeks. He made a small, soft groan of pain, and you saw his eyes slowly, and with no small effort, blink open.

Chocolate. His eyes were rich, dark chocolate.


Blurred shapes. A light-colored streak directly in front of him. After the shades came the pain. Then the darkness, the nothingness. But then, too soon, the light was back. No, no, let me go back, he thought. The darkness is better. No pain there. But the light refused to go, would not stop coming at him, growing until he was able to move and was hit with waves of pain. He groaned, the quiet sound too small to express the hurt. Then his eyes opened, two slits of the world revealed.

And what saw made his eyes widen immediately. He didn’t even feel the pain for a moment. He saw what could only be described as an angel.

Her hair was what he saw first. Shiny and soft-looking, it was tied back. Strands of it escaped from its confinement, reaching down to frame her face like a crown. He smiled internally. Your halo is tattered.

The face her hair framed was the most beautiful thing he’d ever witnessed. The soft curves of her cheek, her eyelashes, the more angular lines of her nose, her upper lip. I have never known beauty before now, he thought. Now I have found it.

He sank into the darkness again, but this time, it had to pull at him more insistentently.


He had stared straight into your eyes for what seemed forever, then wandered around your face, his mouth parting slightly as if to say something. Then he went under again, and you shook yourself. Get to work, you thought. This man could be dying.


He made it through the night. That was the first sign toward a good recovery. A few of his veins had been severed, but you were able to tie up the loose ends. However, his lower leg remained pasty and colorless. You had your doubts about whether or not he would ever regain the use of his leg. The word amputation even crossed your mind a few times. Although you were most worried about the fact that he was still unconscious. He hadn’t felt a thing as you were touching his wound, and that concerned you. However, you decided to clean off some of the dirt and dried blood that caked his face.

You made your way over to his bedside with a bowl of cool water and a cloth and began softly wiping off the grime.

This time, his eyes fluttered open to meet yours, and you were shocked again by the concentration of the color, the intensity of the pure pools of brown. He croaked out something unintelligible, and you leaned closer, furrowing your brow. He tried again, but couldn’t speak. However, you could tell that his mouth was forming the word “water.” Working quickly, you filled a cup with fresh water from a pitcher and held it up to his mouth. He drank with some difficulty, then sank back onto the pillows, exhausted. You looked concernedly at him. His eyes found their way to your face again, and you couldn’t stop the blush staining your cheeks no matter how hard you tried.

“Your name…What’s your name?” he asked, hoarsely.

“(Y/N),” you told him. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been shot,” he responded, the corners of his mouth twitching up.

You listened to his voice. There was a heavy lilt to his voice; his words were laced with a rich, lovely accent. “Are you—French?” you asked him.

“Oui, mademoiselle. I am Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette, Marquis de Lafayette. But those who know me call me Lafayette. It is a sort of a—how you say—nickname.” Your eyes widened. This man was one of the most important men in the Continental Army. You felt even more of a duty to get him back up and fighting.

“And, mademoiselle, I must say that I have seen wonders great and small, but none so stunning as you.” Your eyes widened at the unexpected compliment.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. I am considered quite…plain at home. Ordinary,” you told him.

“In all of my native France, there has never been a fleur so magnifique.”

You understood enough French to know what he was saying. Feeling suddenly flustered and awkward, you excused yourself. “I…I must be going. Please tell me if you need anything.” He nodded and lay back down.

“Thank you,” he said.


However hard you tried, you couldn’t get the Frenchman out of your head. His words swirled through your mind, bringing a smile to your face every time. You were required to administer to him every day, and you savored the time you spent with him. He told you stories about France and you told him about your family, how your mother wanted to arrange every aspect of your life and how you wanted to be free, independent, able to make your own choices. And each time you looked into those chocolate eyes and softly wiped down his forehead and heard his lovely accent, you couldn’t help but fall more in love. Despite his words the first time you spoke, you couldn’t help but feel that he didn’t feel the same. He was an important figure in the newborn American cause, a famous soldier and diplomat. You were just you. The everyday battlefield nurse; nothing special. However, you didn’t see his eyes following you when you were busy around the tent, humming to yourself and straightening up anything that needed it. He saw your instinctive ability to please without trying, to brighten the day of every soldier you cared for. The look in his eyes as he gazed at you would have made you melt, but you were busy and never once thought that he could love you back.

Even General Washington noted how highly he spoke of you when he came to check on your patient.

“Keep treating him well, (Y/N),” he would tell you.

“Yes, sir,” would be your reply.

It wasn’t until he was leaving the medical tent that you realized how much he really meant to you.

You walked into the tent, then stopped short. His bed was empty, unoccupied. You ran out to the door of the tent, and saw his form walking away, steadying himself with a large stick when needed.

“Mister Lafayette!” you called after him.

“Ah, Miss (Y/N),” he responded.

“Where—where are you going?” you asked, anxiously.

“Why, haven’t you heard? I’ve been cleared. You have done your job well,” he told you, grinning his wide smile that never failed to make you go weak.

“Oh,” was all you could say.

“What, does the lovely nurse miss me already?” he asked, teasing in his voice.

“I—I didn’t think you’d leave so soon,” you told him. You had never felt weaker, more powerless in your entire life. “I won’t see you again.”

“My dear lady,” he said, stepping closer to you. “I practically have free range of this camp. I will always find you. Besides, you mean too much to me. I could never leave you behind.” And with that, almost before you knew it, his mouth was on yours and the rest of the world vanished. His lips were finally, finally yours.

You made a small sound and he pulled you impossibly closer to him, his arm snaking around the small of your back, its strength evident. Your hand tentatively reached up to do what you had wanted to do forever, to run your fingers through his mass of ebony corkscrew curls. And it felt so right that you didn’t even think of letting go, of stopping, even when a voice screamed out,

“Good God!”

Sergeant Locke was scandalized.

4 childhood wounds and how they leave lasting scars as adults


Abandonment: The feeling that a parent or caretaker did not supply with proper affection and security.

Leads to being over-attached and dependent on others, assuming others should fulfill their emotional needs. Chronic difficulties with autonomy and self-reliance and prone to mood swings when others don’t reciprocate affection.

Very common with FJ types. Sacrificing their needs to make others happy, hoping they will get affection in return. Eventually, possibly losing themselves and completely living for someone else. 

Somewhat common in FP types.

Rejection: The feeling that a parent or caretaker did not understand, ignore or dismissed a child’s core personality with proper validation.

Leads to pathological shyness and fear of intimacy. Self-imposed loneliness because of feelings of worthlessness and inadequacy. Longs to be accepted for their inner self.

Very common with IJ types. On one hand isolation, on the other hand, desperate control over their circumstances “I’ll be fine by myself, no one can hurt me…”

Somewhat common with IP types. 

Injustice: The feeling that as a child, you were put in unfair situations out of your control, often matched up against standards from other siblings.

Leads to a pathological sense of control and proving one’s worth through competency and success. Very stubborn and controlling, judging anything and anyone that is perceived as lazy and unworthy. “My way or the high way” being the only philosophy that makes sense. Emotionally cold.

Very common in TJ types, who look down on free-spiritedness and want to prove their worth through shaping their world. Won’t let emotions get in the way of self worth and success.

Somewhat common in TP types. 

Betrayal: The feeling that a parent or caretaker did not set proper boundaries and discipline, often because they were only looking out for their own needs. 

Leads to one seeing the world as “Dog eat dog” doing everything possible to get ahead and show off their success to fill a inner void. Chronic irresponsibility, through lying, deceit, charm and manipulation but wanting to be seen as strong and powerful. Defiance of rules and authority to achieve this. Constantly lives in self-gratification and has a sense of invincibility in facing the world that ultimately leads to trouble. 

Very common in SP types, living in extreme hedonism, getting drunk on power and damning the consequences.

Somewhat common in NP types. 

The cure? Stepping outside your comfort zone a.k.a “facing your fears”.

Fear of abandonment? Live by yourself for a while, discover the strong independent person you are through self-love. 

Fear of rejection? Step into the spotlight, get yourself out there, stop caring so much what people think. They’re not any better than you. You may get hurt, so what? Bounce back and keep trying.

Fear of injustice? Let go! Relax and have fun. Let people be who they are and stop trying to control them. You can’t be perfect all the time. People will like you better if you’re more open and easy-going. 

Fear of betrayal? Focus and your long term dreams and turn them into reality. You have the charisma and street smarts to make them happen. Embrace self-discipline and be kind to people who support you instead of taking advantage of them. Authority and rules have great virtues. 

See You Be Brave;

 Summary: James Buchanan Barnes has been scared his entire life. He was scared when he crossed the pond to fight in the War to End All Wars. He was scared when he followed Steve and fell off of a train. He was scared all those times Hydra strapped him down to a chair and brainwashed him. But this time, it was someone else’s turn to be afraid.

A/N: I hope everyone had a good weekend! Let me know if there’s anything else you’d like to see xx

“Did you pick up the new recruit?” Steve asked Clint, gesturing to the white van that was currently parked behind him and Wanda. 

“Yeah, and she’s rarin’ to go,” Clint said, sliding the door open to reveal a young, sleeping girl. Bucky’s confusion was evident on his face; what kind of damage was this exhausted teenage girl going to do against superheros like Ironman, Black Widow, or the Black Panther? She could barely stay awake. 

“We’re screwed,” Bucky mumbled under his breath to Steve, who quickly shot him a look, his eyes telling Bucky to give the girl a chance. The girl, whose eyes were finally blinking open and she stretched out her cramped muscles, smiled up at the crowd that was gathering around her. 

Noticing Captain America, she quickly jumped up, comically standing at attention. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir. I’m such a huge fan. Actually, after all of this, could you sign my Limited Edition Captain America Collector’s Cards? I got them-” 

“Please focus,” Bucky cut her off, annoyed by her rambling praise over Captain America. 

Keep reading

always - peter dawson.

pairing: peter dawson x reader

A/N: this is disgustingly cheesy. im sorry in advance. IM SOFT FOR PETER.


The air was thick. Not with tension, no. But with love, with fear, with dread, as you stood centimetres apart, the only thing dividing you both being the crack in the wooden board underneath. Peters hand was almost glued to the soft skin of your jaw with the occasional stroke of his thumb, and you stood for what felt like hours. Hours of quiet and gentle whispers of “be careful”’s and “i love you”’s as George piled the last of the equipment onto the deck.

“Peter!” Mr Dawson’s voice broke the love stricken trance the two of you shared for the few innocent seconds you could rob.

Peters eyes filled with guilt as his hand left your cheek, a small smile resting on his lips that you had never yearned for so bad until now. The look on his face was one that spoke a thousand words. But it was all you needed. Your boy would be okay.

“You best be off, love. The officers are comin’ over, ‘f they see a lady down ‘ere we won’t hear the end of it” he sighed, intently watching your fingers as they fiddled against each other. 

You only hummed in response, scared that if you opened your mouth all of the bad thoughts clouding your mind would spill, and you weren’t selfish enough to give the boy another burden to deal with.

“I love you. Come straight back to me, yeah? It’s not polite to leave your lady waitin’” you smirked at a somewhat successful attempt to raise the mood.

“Promise, love. Always" 

anonymous asked:

do you ever paint people of color?

Strangely, this question strikes a nerve for some reason, maybe it’s just because its really late at night or maybe I’m just having a bad day. So I apologize in advance if this comes off as a little rude, I don’t mean to be.

When it comes to my work, I draw from my head, completely from imagination mostly. I draw these subjects, these people that I imagine in my head and bring them to life along with the ideas, meanings and feelings that are associated with them. In this moment the last thing I am thinking about is the colour of their skin. 

The thing I want people to see and recognize at the very moment they see my work, and until that very last moment before they turn away, is emotion. I want my work to capture something as fleeting and indescribable in words like pain, love or loss. I want my work to resonate, to talk and to connect with people, and I try to achieve that by using various different art elements and techniques and merging them all together to create this overall idea and feeling (fingers crossed, I hope I am somewhat successful in achieving that). My work isn’t necessarily about who the subject matter is, their identity or the character, it’s about that emotion of the work as a whole, that introspective dialogue between work and viewer. Heck, sometimes even drawing animals can capture an expression I want to show better than with drawing people!

If anything, I draw upon my own roots of South-East Asian influences for the girls that I draw, with features that are often mixed, fantasy/surrealist anyway because it’s derived from my roots of Manga/Anime art as a kid.
If anything, I do paint people of colour, my own people, everyday really.

I would absolutely love to draw all types of people! I’m still learning how to do so in study sketches, from different parts of the world, of different skin colours – different people, full stop!

Arrow’s storytelling problems

I was originally going to tack this onto a response to an excellent piece by @eilowyn1 but it became SUPER long and I didn’t want to hijack her post. (But you should definitely read her thoughts, as my post is still in direct response to it. It’s also just a great read from the perspective of an aspiring screen writer). 

Now, I’ve never had ambitions to be a screenwriter but the process of constructing a story fascinates me, and I’ve had a lot of thoughts about Arrow’s narrative issues for a while now. I guess today was the day to let them out.

Keep reading

Mingyu (bottom) X Male Reader requested by anon! Hope you like it! There was a point where I was going to end it but decided to write a little more so. :) Hope it’s what you wanted! 


They did this because they love him. And he really needed to get laid.

It was mainly Coups’ idea, however the rest of the hiphop team quickly jumped on board with getting Mingyu wasted and helping him loosen up for his big night, basically feeding him shots. The last one had a little extra kick.

The reason behind the now drunk leaders plan was pretty straight foreword; anytime Mingyu would hang out with you he would end up coming home and gush waterfalls to him about how good of a time he had. His mood would skyrocket, and although it was cute to see his crush flourish and develop, Coups couldn’t help but think what better way to tease Mingyu is there than to get him to ‘confess’. Or something.

While everyone was too busy with FIFA to notice, Sungcheol discreetly nodded his head up at you to get into Mingyu’s room and let this whole thing unravel. You went and shut the door softly behind you and sat on the bottom bunk across from Mingyu’s to wait. Outside, Mingyu had noticed a spike in his body heat and when Cheol noticed him shrug off his hoodie, his smirk widened. “Feeling hot, Mingyu?”

He smiled widely and nodded. “I think i’m just a lil’ too drunk. I’m hot all over.” Sungcheol peeked into his lap.

“I see that.” His addition was working now. As bad as forcing Mingyu to get horny sounds, it’s completely harmless. The powder he had bought was all natural and the reviews he read about the drug told that it’s effects were impressive to say the least. Mingyu was getting hard quick and his eyes were unfocused, so Sungcheol decided to help him along. He waved off the fact that it was is turn to Vernon and once their game started, he slid his and onto Mingyu’s thigh and squeezed it firmly. He managed to hear a tiny inhale from him before looking up and observing his deepening blush. “I think you might need to go lie down for a while…don’t you feel a little weird?” He manipulates as his hands slides up slowly, Mingyu looking down at the motion with wide eyes. It’s true, he did feel weird but that wasn’t the proper word to describe it. He felt a tingling sensation in his stomach and it was bothersome, in the way where he needed to find some way to satiate the feeling. When Cheol’s hand reached the front of his pants, his fingers pressed into his crotch and rubbed over his growing shaft, shocking Mingyu pleasurably but alarming the hell out of him since Vernon and Wonwoo were sitting just a foot or so infront of them.

“Sungcheol…” He whispered quietly, his eyes pleading for answers, or, help.

“Go to your room, okay?” Mingyu just nodded, slowly getting up off the couch.

“Uhh, i’m feeling a little sick, I think i’m going to try and rest up a little bit.” He let the room know before walking down the hall and entering his room. He had already closed the door behind him when he looked up to see you sitting there, hands patiently in your lap. You offered a small smile to him to which he returned nervously. It wasn’t until you subconsciously checked him out that you noticed the bulge in his pants. It made you excited that Sungcheol’s ridiculous sounding plan was actually proving to be somewhat successful. “W-what are you doing here?” He asked, carefully stepping over to his bed. The heat overtaking his body remaining despite the rooms cool temperature.

“I was a little tired so just wanted to take a break from the crowd.” You explained, playing with your fingers as you watched him sit down in the middle of the soft mattress. “What about you?”

“Ahh well, I was feeling a bit hot so I thought I was coming down with a fever but…honestly, i’m just..dizzy now?” He says unsure, confused by his own bodies odd actions. You got up in mock concern and walked over to him, he just watched you with half lidded eyes.

“You should lay down, i’m worried you’ll throw up.” You said softly, putting your hands on his shoulders and pushing him down onto the bed. As soon as his head hit the pillow he smirked without realizing, the tingling feeling spreading to his limbs now making them seem slightly heavier. He blinks slowly and focuses his sight on you. “How do you feel?” You asked coyly, like you had no idea what was really going on. One of his hands creep towards his hips and slide over the front of his jeans, nonchalantly rubbing his much too obvious boner.

“I feel fucking great…I don’t, I don’t know why but, I feel…” You cut off his thoughtless stuttering by grabbing his wrist and restraining it on the blanket beside him, cutting off the contact he probably really needed. He hummed and giggled a little bit, his lips parting to allow his tongue to swipe over them. It was the most intense form of eye candy to see this boy unravel right under you. But you decided to keep up the act a little bit longer, at least until he was desperate. “What’s wrong with you?” You asked, looming yourself over him a little more. Your other hand discreetly slips over his other wrist to hold it against the bed.

He busts out in another smile, letting out the kind of moan you do when you stretch as he lifted his hips in hopes that he’d rub himself on the front of his pants and get relief, he thought it would work since they were pretty tight but all it did was make you lust for him that much more. Seeing him get there. And surprisingly your mouth starts watering in hunger to taste him. Any part of him. “I don’t knoooow, can’t you just, ugh. Just read my mind. God you’re so cute. I’m so happy you’re in this room with me..” You feel resistance in his arms, if he could use them he’d probably reach out for you, but you were handed this opportunity and you wanted to use it to it’s full extent. His hands ball into fists. “Whyyy are you holding me down? Are you afraid i’ll do something to you?” Mingyu said playfully, although his words were exciting. “I probably would. I’d love to do things to you. I always think about it you know?” He squirms under your hold and you can’t believe how vocal he’s being. You really didn’t expect it. “C'mon, let me go..I could be on my knees right now…do you know what i’d be doing?” The truthful dirty talk is making your half hard cock twitch, starting to make you impatient.

“I don’t care what you’d be doing. What do you want from me?” You said sternly, hoping to assert some kind of dominance. Another thing you couldn’t believe is how quickly he submit. He got quite quiet and bent his legs up a little bit, turning in his knees in sexual frustration. His eyes glistened.

“I want you to fuck me. Please, fuck me?” He looked up at you in mock innocence as you repositioned yourself, putting a knee between his thighs and leaning down to whisper in his ear.

“You sure?”

“I’m positive..” He tips his head back to allow you closer in. “I need you to take care of me.” At his hot admission, you start kissing at the side of his neck and you feel goose bumps form under your lips. His head digs farther back into the pillow and hums at the little contact he’s receiving, which makes you wonder what he would sound like if you gave him anything more. You couldn’t hold back, not when he was in this state, so you replaced your hand to the front of his jeans, rubbing between his legs firmly. He let out an embarrassingly loud moan, not that he had a choice anyway, blushing at his volume and slipping his heavy lids shut. You kissed his neck with more vigor since you’ve been wanting to for so long and fit your other knee between his legs, pushing them apart so they’d fall over your thighs comfortably. Out of your peripheral vision you see his hand slide down the bed and feel his hands slip up your knee and onto your thigh, rubbing and squeezing it tightly. He was continuously rocking against your palm moaning out meaningless curses all the while until he turned his face towards yours that was buried in his neck. “Please..” He trailed off in your ear and it perked you up, looking into his glassy eyes now.

“You’re being so impatient, I wanted to take my time with you…” You spill to him, his answer hugging your core.

“We can take it slow next time, it just, it just hurts, I can’t wait-AHH..” You cut him off by grabbing at his erection and his yelp was due to anything BUT pain. Next time? His hand quickly slid to your crotch and tugged at your belt. “C'mon..” You ignore him somewhat and lean in to capture his lips in a searing kiss, initiating an immediate response as his lips knead over yours eagerly. And whatever was half innocent about it was washed away when he slipped his tongue into your mouth and swiped it over yours. He hummed out consistently at the taste of you and honestly, you did too, the tones of your sensual moans dancing together fluently. It took you a few moments to center yourself in and realize that you had been grinding down against him as you two made out just as he pulled away briefly to whine. “Please ______, m-more-” You cut him off by pressing your lips against Mingyu’s again, hard, tilting your head to deepen the abrupt kiss. You pulled his bottom lip into your mouth and bit it, tugging at it and pushing the wrist you were restraining higher, just about next to his head. He moaned beautifully again and arches his back under you. “Please-” He managed to breathe out and you pulled away, smirking down at the blushing mess.

“You want it?” You spoke lowly, and Mingyu nodded, his expression needy as hell. “Take your pants off.” You demanded, letting his wrist go to place both hands beside his shoulder and watch him.

“I-I can’t..” He trailed off, embarrassed. His arms felt like brick.

“Well you’re going to have to if you want that tight ass fucked, won’t you?” You tease beside his cheek, laying a soft kiss upon it afterwards. Mingyu whines as his arms lower down to his hips slowly. He doesn’t even bother with his button and zipper, he just slips his jeans off and maneuvers out of them. You look down to eat Mingyu’s hard length up with your eyes, loving how it looks confined and bulging. “I bet you want me to touch you, huh?” Mingyu nods weakly about to tug off his briefs when you grabbed the underside of his knees and hiked his thighs up against his stomach to spread him unexpectedly. Mingyu moaned at the quick action and his cheeks burned because of how exposed he was, his hands falling beside him. You could handle him like a ragdoll and you loved it, and you were the one to pull his underwear off, but only to the the start of his thighs…it looked so hot like that. When you tried to resist slapping his bare ass you failed absolutely, letting your hand come down hard on it before squeezing. He mewled like crazy and turned his head to the side, bringing a wrist up to cover his mouth. He was panting lightly against it and those breaths were really uneven. Mingyu must have loved it. You bent down and kissed over the redness you created as an apology for being a little bit hasty and wondered…nah, you’ll just do it. You let your tongue drag up the expanse before looking up at his face, full of bliss, and licking close to his hole. He back arched up and his hands turned to fists again. For some reason the lack of lube didn’t pop up into his head as a problem so he didn’t expect what happened when he really should have. His clouded mind didn’t let him do a lot of thinking, he was past the point of giving a fuck about anything, clearly. His begging told so.

“_____ , s-stop teasing, p-” You let some of your spit drop over his entrance before cutting Mingyu off.

“Keep quiet babe, your pleading is cute and all but I want you to save your voice for later. I haven’t even started with you yet.” You said as you pushed a finger into him and watched his jaw drop open in a silent gasp. You started thrusting it in and out immediately and almost moaned instead of thinking of how good his hole looked taking it. Mingyu pushed his head back into the pillow, a thin sheen of sweat starting to grace his neck. “Think you can take another one…? Since you’ve been so damn eager?” Your question ending with a bite.

“Yeah.” He whines out as you’re already dropping more saliva to spread around. You pull out your finger and rub two against his hole bluntly to get the dry one coated before slowly pushing them back in. You’re careful, but Mingyu is trying to push his hips back and fuck himself onto your digits, the stretch obviously not paining him in a negative way. So you give in, because he wanted it after all, and shove them in fully. “Ahhh ffffuck, fuck yeah..” He bites his lip and smiles to himself, in his own little 18+ world with you in it.

I was going through some old boxes in my storage and I found this book that my dad had before he moved and i think it’s a wonderful book and I just wanted to share to someone who would like to read it or is somewhat interested it’s called, “Success strategies for African Americans” By Beatryce Nivens.
It’s a wonderful book, it’s basically about uplifting yourself and dreaming big and reaching for what you love doing and keeping a positive mindset about your future and yourself. I found that it ranges from 2 -5 dollars at local bookstores in my area. Hopefully it’s found useful to anyone who is interested 😊

Sam’s been watching the same infomercial for the last hour and a half, eyes red and burning from the tears that are starting to gather there but he uses the corner of his sleeve to angrily wipe them away before they have the chance to fall and clicks the tv off, bathing the cheap motel room in darkness.

There’s an aching worry in his chest and a knot in his throat. The alarm clock reads one in the morning, they should have been back by now and Sam’s quickly losing his wits. He hears the familiar rumble of the impala seconds before he sees the headlights flash bright, breaking through the blinds and he jumps to his feet and throws open the motel door.

The panic that he’d been somewhat successful at supressing now bubbles forth at the sight of Dean, slumped forward against john, his pants completely covered in blood and he rushes to his brother’s side

“Heya Sammy.” Dean says as he tries to smile at his brother but then sucks in a sharp breath at the stabbing pain that shoots through his body.

“Help me get your brother inside.” His father commands but Sam can’t seem to tear his eyes away.

“What happened?” He asks but doesnt give John time to answer. “You were supposed to protect him!” He yells out, not caring if anyone can hear them.

“Not now boy.” John commands . “Help me get your brother inside so I can tend to his wounds. He’s already lost quite a bit of blood.”

The words hit Sam like a freight train and he pushes past the anger and shoulders most of Dean’s weight as he helps his dad carry his brother inside and lay him on the bed.

He hurries himself getting hot water and fresh towels before coming back to Dean’s side. Watches as his dad uses the scissors to cut up the entire length of Dean’s jeans and pulls back the material to reveal an angry set of gashes that are still bleeding profusely. His hands are shaking as he rings a washcloth out and tries to wipe up the blood that’s running down his brother’s thigh as their father gets to work suturing up his wounds.

He’s not sure how much time goes by but every second feels like an eternity. Dean’s out cold, either from the pain or the medicine, and Sam hopes it’s the latter.

Dad’s no comfort, drinks himself stupid with a bottle of Johnny walker black and passes out in the other bed leaving Sam alone with his grief. He gently crawls into bed with his brother, easy not to jostle him, and tries to focus on anything but how completely useless he feels.

His pillow is wet with tears and he tries to quiet the sobs that are escaping from his chest but they’re violent and they threaten to break Sam apart from the inside out.

“Sammy,” He hears his brother whisper weakly against his back. A warm hand cards through his hair and he squeezes his eyes closed and takes a deep breath.

“Sammy, it’s okay.. I’m okay little brother.” He tries to soothe but it just makes the tears come harder.

“Look at me,” Dean says. “I’m fine Sam. Look at me.” And he turns around and buries his face into the crook of Dean’s neck.

He holds Sam close as he cries, hand gently rubbing his back, both calming and stirring the desperation he feels.

“Figures,” Sam says as he wipes at his tired eyes. “That you’re the one who’s hurt and you’re trying to comfort me… I’m a horrible brother.”

“No you’re not Sam.” Dean whispers against sams cheek. “Don’t say that. Besides, I’m fine. Just a scratch.”

He raises his head up, finally looking into those moss-green eyes and sighs.

“I was so scared.” He admits. “It’s just- I don’t know what I’d do if I ever lost you.”

“Hey,” Dean smiles. “You’re never gonna loose me. You’re stuck with me for life.” He adds and Sam smiles back… I love you, he thinks. “I hope so.” he says instead.


Morning brings with it a false sense of calm that’s shattered the moment he opens his eyes and looks at Dean. His face is littered with at least a dozen cratches, some more prominent than others, and his lip is busted open. There’s a quarter size bruise under his right eye and it takes him a minute to push down the urge to cry again. He grabs some chapstick from the night stand and gently applies some to his brother’s lips, careful not to hurt him. Dean opens his eyes and smiles.

“Is it time for my sponge bath Samantha?” Dean teases, eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

“Shut up jerk.” Sam says back without any real heat but can’t help the blush that colors his cheeks.

“Make me bitch.” His brother quips.

“Alright you two,” comes a familiar bark as the motel door opens.

“I’ve made arrangments for you both to stay at Bobby’s while he and I wrap this hunt up. I don’t like leaving it un-finished.”

“But dad,” Sam interrupts. “Dean’s hurt, he’s in no shape to travel.”

John runs a calloused hand down his face and sighs. He doesn’t want another fight with his youngest. “You think I don’t know that Sam? I do, but cash is low and I can’t leave you two here. I’ve no other option but to take you to Bobby’s. So, get your gear together, we leave in twenty.”

A million things he’d like say come pouring into his head but every. dies on his lips when Dean squeezes his hand softly; a silent plea to just let it go. He drops his head and grabs his bag, a quiet “ yes sir” leaving his burning tongue.


The ride to Souix falls is just as bad as he thought it would be. Dean’s in the back so he can stretch out his injured leg so that puts Sam up front with his dad. Great.

Two and a half hours later they finally arrive. Sam hops out and rushes to dean’s side, carefully helping him out of the impala, ignoring all of John’s efforts to help, and slowly makes their way inside the house where he deposits Dean comfortably on Bobby’s couch.

Bobby claps John on the back and asks if he wants a drink and as a suprise to everyone, himself included, he turns it down.

“Just wanna go ahead and get on the road.” He says, back turned to the boys and lowers his voice. “Besides, I got a feeling that boy is probably thinking up ways to murder me in my sleep.” He says and motions his eyes to where Sam is sitting at the foot of the couch, Dean’s injured leg propped up on his lap. Bobby laughs, but John’s half serious. John runs his hand across the back of his neck.

“I wish I was kidding Bobby. You should’ve seen the looks that boy gave me everytime I hit a bump or took a turn.”

“Don’t be ridiculous John” Bobby says, turning around ignoring him completely.

“Boys, there’s fresh sheets on the spare bed upstairs or you can just let the couch out if you’d rather. Also, the fridge is full, help yourself… Oh, and Sam.” He says at he stops in the door way. “I just got a new book on Celtic tree magic. If you find time, you should check it out. It’s an interesting read.”

“Thanks uncle Bobby.” They both say in unison as the door shuts leaving them in the only house that’s ever been close to being theirs.


Dean naps on and off most of the day which leaves Sam with way too much time on his hands. He aimlessly walks the halls, skims through the book Bobby recommended and scours his library for anything else that might peak his interest. He finds it hard to concentrate though, constantly listening for any signs that his brother might require his assistance. He’s hovering, he knows, but he can’t help it. He wishes there was more he could do for Dean. Wishes that it would have been him instead. But mostly he just wishes his dad would stop putting the job before them and that their life didn’t have to be so fucked up.

At four thirty Sam sighs and makes his way to the kitchen to prepare some food for them while Dean flips through the channels on the tv. A small oven fire and three episodes of Mash later and the spaghetti and garlic bread is done.

They eat in silence, enjoying a home-cooked meal for once and afterwards Sam cleans Dean up and changes his bandages.

“Well?” Dean asks. “How bad does it look?”

It’s not nearly as awful as Sam thought it was gonna be and it’s definitely not as panic induing as it was watching their father sew him up but looking at it still makes his chest ache.

“It’s healing nicely.” Sam says trying to keep all emotion out of his voice but Dean can always tell when Sam’s holding something back.

“Then why do you like you’re about to cry Sam? ” Dean asks suddenly sounding as hysterical as Sam feels. “Am I gonna lose my freaking leg?”

“No.” He half laughs, shaking his head. “It’s just been an incredibly emotional couple of days and these,” he says looking down at the angry red gashes, “are a painfully vivid reminder of how close I came to losing you.”

Dean looks at him with something unreadable in his eyes and squeezes his hand.

“I meant what I said Sammy. You’re not gonna lose me.”

“You can’t promise that Dean.” He says suddenly sounding so much older than just fourteen.

“You and me against the world little brother.” He promises.

“Always.” Sam says on cue and re-bandages his leg in silence.

Later, when he’s done washing up the dishes and the small disaster he left from eariler, he makes his way back into the living room to check on Dean.

He’s all stretched out, his right leg propped up on a stack of pillows, face scrunched up in sleep, head lax and layed back against the arm of the couch and Sam is overwhelmed with how damn beautiful he is in this unguarded moment. He walks back through the hallway to the bathroom and gets two white pain pills out of the medicine cabinet and brings them to Dean. Tips the cup gently towards his brother’s face, encouraging him to swallow them down.

“You take such good care of me Sammy.” Dean says, eyes shinning bright as he stares up at his brother, still half asleep. Sam smiles back and wipes a drop of juice off Dean’s chin.

“You ready for bed?” He asks suddenly nervous about the prospect of trying to get Dean upstairs.

“Yeah, but let’s just stay here.” He says patting the couch underneath him.

“Well, let me pull the bed out Sam insist but Dean’s having none of it. He reaches forward, hands wrapping around Sam and tries to pull him down on top of him.

He’s got the annoyed little brother routine down pat but if he’s being honest, with himself at least, he wants nothing more than to fall down into the embrace and live in that warm cocoon of Dean’s arms wrapped around him.

“I think you’ve had too many pills.” He laughs and gently moves Dean to the chair while he unfolds the bed and gets it ready.

They lay there listening to the storm that blew through about an hour ago. The October wind, howling past the window, but Sam can’t seem to care from his current position curled up against Deans chest.

It’s a peacful moment as they both drift off to sleep to the sound of each other’s steady breaths.


At some point in the early hours of morning Sam’s eyes flutter open on a sigh, toes brushing Dean’s foot as he rocks his hips slightly foward before he comes to enough to realize what he’s doing.

“I’m sorry,” he quickly says and goes to pull away from his brother but Dean gently grabs his arm and pulls him back close.

“ It’s okay,” Dean says and for a minute Sam’s brain, still hazy with sleep, doesn’t know how to react.

Dean’s warm hand comes to rest at his lower back. Fingers trailing goosebumps across the tiny strip of skin that’s peeking out from over his boxers.

“Dean?” He whispers, voice heavy with uncertainty but he can’t deny that he wants this. Even if he doesn’t entirely understand what this is.

His cheeks are burning hot as he hesitantly rocks forward, his hips grazing Dean’s un-injured thigh and he squeezes his eyes closed and does it again. And again. And again.

It doesn’t take long before his dick is dripping, soaking through the threadbare pair of boxers he’s wearing and he can’t stop the little half broken sobs from escaping his trembling lips.

Dean’s hand fists in Sam’s grey t-shirt urging him closer, simultaneously rucking his shirt up in the process. Sam shifts, trying to get better situated, and sucks in a suprised gasp as his hard prick drags against his brother’s.

“Yeah, Sammy. That’s it.” Dean says encouraging him, pulling him even closer. “Feels good baby brother. Keep going.”

“Brother.” That word sounds dirty givin the context of what they’re doing and it should feel wrong as hell but it doesn’t. Dean’s words only seem to fuel Sam on, his small hips picking up speed and the friction is great but it’s not enough.

“Dean.” He calls out but he’s not sure what he’s asking for just that he needs something more.“ Dean seems to understand completely and pushes Sam’s boxers down, quickly following suit with his own and brings their hard lengths together.

The skin to skin contact is a shock to Sam’s system, and his toes curl and the grip he has against his brother’s bicep tightens.

Dean has his hand wrapped around both of their lengths, slow drag up circling the head and then back down again, their shared precome slicking the way.

"Kiss me Sammy .” He urges and his brother complies crashing their lips together with awkard grace. It’s messy and uncoordinated but it’s perfect because it’s Sam and Dean thinks that he could die right now with the taste of Sam’s lips on his tongue and not have a single regret.

Sam’s balls pull up tight, spine tingling with the sudden rush of his orgasm. He tucks his head into the hollow of Dean’s throat and shutters as he paints his brother’s belly in white.

At the First hot splash of Sam’s come against his throbbing dick, he’s joining his brother over the edge. Both sweating and panting, each other’s name on their swollen, spit-slicked lips.


It’s quiet in the shared space between them, and neither of them speak for several minutes unsure how to start a conversation after what they just did.

“I didn’t hurt your leg did I? Sam asks a little cautious. Waiting for Dean to freak out any minute now

"No Sam, you didn’t hurt me.” He says as he slowly adjusts himself into a sitting up position.

“Not gonna freak out Sammy.” Dean says, somehow reading his brother’s mind. “But I do need to ask if… I mean, you didn’t feel forced into that did you? Cause if you did,” he begins but Sam stops him before he can finish that train of though and scoots up close so he can look into his brother’s tear-filled eyes.

“No Dean. I didn’t feel forced. I wanted to do it. If I’m being honest, I wanna do it again.” He says and hides his eyes feeling suddenly embarrassed.

“You mean that?” Dean asks. “You really want this Sam…. You want me?”

“Yeah” He says on a whisper and tentatively lowers his lips to Dean’s. It’s just a peck really, whisper-soft against Deans mouth but it’s the emotion behind it, the love that pours out from Sam with the small, simple gesture and it’s ridiculous but Dean already knows he’s never gonna get enough of this.

“No take backs Sammy.” Dean breathes into his brother’s mouth and swallows up a moan that crawls it’s way up Sam’s throat.

“No take backs.” His brother promises.