sorry not the least bit sorry

6

When technically you’re the chill friend but your best friend for whatever reason refuses to accept the happiness he deserves smh

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chrichardrachtle  asked:

Hi! First of all, I would really like to thank you for every single bit you have written for this fandom, you're amazing. I don't know if you take prompts right now, but there's one that has stuck with me over the years and since you're my favorite fanfic writer it would mean so much if you wrote it! Here it is; setup/countdown takes place after 47 seconds. Again thanks for everything! Love, Emma

He’s so stiff against her, his arm like a vise around her shoulders, his chest like a board beneath her cheek, and she doesn’t believe it’s all wholly from the cold.

“Castle?” she calls, her voice raspy, trembling through the ice in her lungs, up the chilled hollow of her throat. “You still there?”

“Yeah, I’m right - right here,” he answers with chattering teeth, and at least he’s still shivering, still feeling enough to shake. 

She stopped trembling quite a while ago.

Kate attempts a breath, does her best to open her eyes that continue to fall closed, and uses what little strength she has to lift her hand from his chest, touch her fingers to his chin.

There’s so much she wants to say, but it’s been so different between them lately, so devastating, and he’s made it clear that whatever they once had, whatever chance they had at becoming more, is gone. But she refuses to die with words unspoken, to sin by silence - as he’d not so subtly accused her of - even as it burns to scrape the confessions out of her mouth.

“Thank you. For being there,” she rasps, the slow beat of her heart exalting for a brief moment when his head bows ever so slightly, his lips grazing the frozen tips of her fingers.

The pressure of his arm around her increases just a little more and she hums in approval. “Always.” 

And the sound of that word - their word - one she honestly never expected to hear again, not from him, has a small chunk of the ice encasing her heart melting away, allowing it a little extra time to continue beating.

“I just want - need you to know how much I love you.”

His entire body shudders beneath her and then he’s shifting, tugging her in closer. 

“W-what?” he gets out, one of his hands rising to her face, stroking at her cheek, and she fights so hard to feel it, to stay awake for it, but she’s fading too quickly.

“Love. You,” she manages, the encrusted ice coating her lashes weighing down her eyelids, but she forces another blink, has to see the crisp blues of his eyes staring down at her, the bitter shade of grey she had become so used to softening into the cerulean she’d so greatly missed. The way he’s looking at her now the only source of warmth she has left. “Missed you. Love you.”

“Oh, Kate,” he rasps, his hand clumsy at her cheek, his lips useless at her forehead. “You def-definitely can’t pass out on me now.”

She hums, but her eyes are falling closed, sleep so near-

Castle’s mouth touches her, his chapped lips scraping against hers, the heat of his tongue sparking at her bottom lip. And it has her neck aching, cracking, but she lifts her head, parts her lips, and mm, for a moment, gentle frissons of heat and clarity thawing away some of the ice. 

But not enough.

“Come on, Kate,” he mumbles, his lips brushing hers as he speaks, his breath a fraction warmer, burning her cold lips. “Stay with me this time.”

She tries to press in closer, but - but it’s all black and heavy and she can’t see anything anymore.

“Kate, open your eyes. Please, I - I love you too. You know I love you. You have to-”

“Good silver lining,” she mumbles, drifting off against his shoulder. “Not - so bad like this.”

And it isn’t, being allowed to remain curled against him in the snow, to fade slowly into the warm darkness with his love in her ear. Better than the bullet she would have expected to kill her at its next chance.

His cheek hits the top of her head, the last thing she feels, and she sighs out a final breath of contentment.

-

He emerges from the ambulance with a matching blanket around his shoulders and she manages a smile for him, unsure of how much he remembers from the freezer, if karma has come for her and erased her love from his mind as she had done with his a near year ago. 

But despite the hypothermia she knows he’s suffering from, Castle strides up to her with purpose, the blanket slipping from his shoulders once he reaches her and lifts his hands to her face.

Kate breathes a sigh of relief into his mouth when he kisses her, no preamble or hesitation, only the certain press of his lips spreading heat through the chilled parts of her. 

He reluctantly pulls back at the whistles from Ryan and Esposito, but Beckett arches on her toes, swallows his quiet groan as she sucks on his upper lip. 

“You really love me,” he mumbles, staining the statement against her lips, question and awe in his voice, and Kate nods her head. 

“Yes,” she breathes, opening her eyes to see into the ones looking down at her. “Wasn’t just a deathbed confession.”

“Neither was mine,” he murmurs, narrowing his gaze on her as his thumbs stroke along her cheeks. “I love you too, Kate.”

Her mouth spreads into a smile that she seals to his, one of her hands abandoning the clutch of her blanket to cup the back of his neck-

“Hey, lovebirds,” Fallon calls with a snap of his fingers and Beckett sighs, presses a final kiss to the corner of Castle’s mouth before descending back to the balls of her feet. “Hate to interrupt the celebration of survival here, but we’ve got work to do.”

“After,” Castle whispers, his hands slipping down to her shoulders, squeezing warmth into her stiff bones.

“After,” she echoes, splaying her hands at his sides and biting down on her bottom lip to conceal the smirk curling there. “Won’t ever let you feel cold again while you’re with me.”

Lovely embers of heat spark through his eyes and Castle leans in to push a hard kiss to her mouth. 

“Thank god we lived.”

She breathes a laugh against his lips before she draws back, steals his hand from her shoulder and twines their fingers, grateful for the warmth, the ability to feel the fit of his hand in hers and the flame that travels through her veins, heating her blood. 

“Hurry, Beckett,” he murmurs, dragging her along with him towards Agent Fallon. “The quicker we save the city, the quicker you get to warm me up.”

9

Richard Dean Anderson at OzComicCon 2015

You know that last post got me thinking: what is up with the these alleged fans who don’t think Star Wars is funny? Don’t get me wrong: I absolutely am here for the Skywalker Family Drama (because hello I have a pulse) and the Kenobi Sads and the Lore but like…at the end of the day? Star Wars is ridiculous! It’s so delightfully humorous. How do people not see this?! Who are these guys and why don’t they want to actually have fun with any of this nonsense?

Seriously, how awesome would it be, if the scene in Dragon Cry in which Natsu and Lucy are holding hands and stargazing takes place towards the end of the film and this is when Natsu asks Lucy what he looks like to her? It’d be the perfect foundation for a sweet and romantic scene between them, I think!

HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO @infectious10 for @sheithsecretsanta2016 event!! ;3; I MAY?? have twisted your prompts a bit I’m so sorry;;; I took your witch theme prompt and hybrid cat prompt for keith

but anyway modern witch shiro - who specializes in protections spells - with his familiar (cat) Keith who helps amplifies them with special cards. OTL;; at least that was what I had in mind T___T;; 

i hope you like it either way. while I was drawing I was like GOD KEITH looks like the loveless guy O-|-<;;; im so sorry… 

decay

  • Bickslow: If you'll excuse me, I have to go shake hands with a very dear friend of mine, who I hope to introduce you to after dinner.
  • Mirajane: Who-?
  • Lisanna: His dick. He means his dick. He's going to the bathroom. That's his way of flirting with me.
  • Lisanna: ...It's surprisingly effective...
In the future, our socks rub against each other in the morning. 
Under the blankets, you can barely see us.
It’s Sunday morning and we drift in and out
of sleeping, keeping conversations
of everything we wanted to do today.
In the future, you know I’m most lonely
around 4, and let me know
you’re headed home and ready
for me to fall back against your chest again,
you’ll hold me close
even if I have nothing to say.
In the future, I make a mess of the kitchen counter.
We take a break of making 
a birthday cake, and smear flour 
across each other’s cheeks.
It is snowing down on our eyelashes
and I am quickly reminded
of every moonlight I’ve ever watched with you.
In the future, we unload our lives
into the new house.
We unpack all my potted plants,
the salt and pepper shakers,
and fold our scarves into the dresser drawers.
We unroll the carpet first
and sprawl out around it, just to talk for a while.
We waste an hour playing find shapes in the popcorn ceiling,
but keep telling ourselves this rug will roll back up again,
let’s wait a little longer.
—  Schuyler Peck, Salt and Pepper Shakers

other people after reading and reblogging Killing Stalking content: ah gosh guys I’m so sorry about all the KS reblogs what kind of hell did I fall into with this comic man I can’t believe I like something this messed up I can’t even….

me, someone who reblogs body horror and junji ito content constantly: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Drum Major (2500 Follower Giveaway Fic #16)

For @john-watsons-potato, who requested a high school marching band AU. And while I didn’t work in the pairing you wanted (sorry!!), this idea took hold and would not let go, and since I think we could all use something fluffy today, I couldn’t stop myself.

So basically, I’m going to have to write a sequel focusing on the pairing you wanted. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anyway, while I was never in band myself, my brother was, 98% of my friends were, all of my high school boyfriends were, and I spent more time doing band-related things than I ever wanted to. I’ve taken some departures from my own knowledge, but we’ll chalk it up to the fact that I was a choir kid.

ExR, Modern AU, high school AU, developing relationship. Predominantly fluff.

Enjolras rapped on the music stand. “Everybody settle down,” he called, which was hardly necessary, since pretty much everyone had fallen silent as soon as he stood up. Everyone, that is, except Bossuet and Grantaire, who were using Grantaire’s xylophone mallets as swords. “Ahem,” Enjolras said, a hint of irritation in his voice, and Grantaire and Bossuet looked up at him, Grantaire grinning, Bossuet sheepish. “Now that everyone’s decided to pay attention…”

“Who died and made you drum major?” Grantaire asked, still grinning.

“Funny you should ask,” Enjolras said, giving him a nasty look. “I’ve convened this meeting of section leaders exactly for that purpose. I know we all have places to be after school, so I’ll make this quick. Since Mabeuf is graduating, we need to elect a new drum major before we get into summer practice. And based on the bylaws approved by the entire marching band–”

“–who was harassed into doing so by Enjolras, who also wrote said bylaws,” Grantaire said under his breath while Joly and Bossuet snickered.

Enjolras raised his voice to talk above Grantaire. “–Based on the bylaws, the section leaders must nominate candidates who will be vetted by Director Valjean before being voted on by the full band.” He glanced around the room as if daring anyone else to talk back to him. “Needless to say, I would like to announce my candidacy.”

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anonymous asked:

Love love love that lads post but I especially loved the phrase "Ramsey's brats" I was just wondering if you could elaborate on that a bit more, maybe on how each of them are "spoiled princes" in their own ways and how Geoff 'totally doesn't' pander to them and spoil them

i always consider that by the time they’re all in the FAHC and going places the Lads are, at the oldest, still in their early 20’s. Which honestly is super young in this world; considering the big bosses tend to be old blood, and of course the young crooks are around, pressing at the edges for more power, but it’s pretty unusual to be that young and actually have any. To already be in a crew with sway rather than just running about causing mayhem or trying to survive playing foot soldier for some big gang to prove your worth. Ramsey’s Lads, on the other hand, have everything. Have respect and power and the ear of the king of the city - far more influence than a pack of miscreant 20 year olds should have.

It’s not like they haven’t earned their places - for all Geoff loves his crew he isn’t charitable, hasn’t gotten where he is by taking in those who can’t give him anything in return – but the Lads have certainly gotten away with a lot more than they would have anywhere else. All that power that early on? The rampant rumours and licence to do near anything they can think of? It has to go to your head; your early 20s are turbulent enough without anyone thinking you’re a god. Thinking you’re a devil. Thinking you either a target or utterly untouchable, deadly threat or merely children playing with disaster.

For most guys their age a bit of temper means some minor scuffles or ruined relationships, a dramatic fight at work or an impressive display of road rage. When the Lads get pissed off they burn down buildings, destroy lives, smash their way through fortunes and race away in stolen super cars. They are ruinous, and Geoff, many would argue, is far too indulgent. Has been from the first Lad to the last, clear enough for all to see; enabling, encouraging, letting them go unpunished even after uncountable infractions.  

A blind man could see the way Ramsey folds for the Golden Boy; they’re always impeccably professional when they work the same meeting, the frontman and the kingpin dominating any they come up against, but on their own time there’s little Geoff wouldn’t do for Gavin. The first of his collection of streetrats, the youngest when he joined, the one Ramsey’s always been soft on, always treated like family. Generally speaking what Gavin wants Geoff inevitably gives, setting the example the rest of his crew bends to, all hopelessly endeared, all far too indulgent. They’ve let Gavin run wild, let him set his own rules, walk and talk and behave however he wants, with airs and graces that don’t belong to him, and look where that’s gotten everyone. Ramsey’s first little prince, the baby megalomaniac with sharp teeth and sharper eyes, collecting a veritable army of protectors he doesn’t even need, the one who has the whole world falling at his feet.

In any other gang Michael would be made to hold his tongue or risk losing it. He might not actually be as temperamental as they say but the boy certainly has a temper, and the kind of frank no-nonsense attitude that has him saying whatever he thinks no matter who he is talking to. It’s not that he’d incapable of tact so much as he doesn’t care for it, refuses to offer respect to anyone who hasn’t personally earned it and has no fear of causing offence. Geoff merely keeps him away from delicate negotiations and lets him loose on everyone else. More than one have called on Ramsey to discipline his dog, to which Geoff can only laugh. Laugh and invite Michael in to say his piece, leave the room as Michael cracks his knuckles, still chuckling as arrogant complaints turn terrified pleading. Michael is Ramsey’s ruthless prince, all sharp edges and brash defiance, the unbridled threat whose never learnt his place, the one who makes the whole world tremble.

Ray has perhaps the strangest expression of Geoff’s unusual tolerance for the Lad’s antics. Ray is, of course, a full member of the FAHC, of the inner crew, as integral and absolute as any of the rest of them, but he isn’t always actually with them. A crew member who is not always around and under Geoff’s command. He comes and goes whenever he needs to, never when he’s needed at home, when he’s got a role to play in some upcoming plan, but often with little if any notice. It’s a particularly bizarre thing for a crime lord to tolerate, to accept and allow and make no effort to punish or stamp out. Which says nothing of Ray’s other eccentricities; the strange vehicles and peculiar paint jobs, the irreverent drawl and inappropriate humour. Ray is Ramsey’s errant prince, distant and aloof and just out of sight, somehow always around when he’s really needed, the one who has the whole world in his sightlines.

Jeremy is a clear-cut example of sensible practicality dying at the hands of the FAHC. When he came to them he was inherently pragmatic; all the Lads were to some degree of course, had to be to survive the way they had, but even in their tensest moments Michael would still lose his temper, Ray would refuse aid to his own detriment, Gavin would take unjustified risk to go after something obscenely shiny. Jeremy was reasonable, down to earth, Jeremy made whatever sacrifices, mitigated whatever risk, planned and prepared and adjusted on the fly for the best chance of survival. He had flare, sure, but at the end of the day he would put aside personal preference for common sense. The FAHC ruined that. Dragged out all the loudest parts of him, the show-off, the pot stirrer, the wearer of utterly ridiculous clothing. One might think the Lads did it, and they certainly helped – latched on and pulled Jeremy into a hurricane of wicked grins and bad ideas, all arrogant confidence and military grade weaponry – but Geoff is hardly as innocent as he claims to be. Not when he kept pushing Jeremy to think bigger, dream higher, to come up with the most ridiculous plans then watch in astonishment as the FAHC made them happen. Ramsey’s newest prince, the one with kind eyes and dark ideas, who pushes all kinds of limits just to see if he can, the one who caught the whole world by surprise.

There are few who know of the FAHC who don’t also curse the existence of the Lads. Who aren’t full of complaints, call them too loud, too proud, too arrogant. Enraged by Ramsey’s glaring favouritism, by the flagrant absence of respect. It’s the crux of the whole matter really, respect. The way it’s expected, demanded. The way the Lads are more willing to die than give it on command. It’s the reason people say Ramsey’s ruined them, let their leashes grow too long, spoiled and self-important, raging egos and unbound impudence.

They’re not wrong, really. The Lads are wild things now, indomitable, untameable. They’d never settle for a harsher ruler, for normal crew hierarchy or forced deference, never let themselves be muzzled or brought to heel, but then isn’t that exactly what Geoff wanted? Isn’t that just what he planned? Vicious and untouchable and entirely his. Too headstrong, too reckless and often blinded by their insatiable destructive drive to chase entertainment, the bane of his life sometimes, but still incomparably loyal. The Lad’s who by all means should be incredibly selfish. Who by all accounts still are, so long as you understand that their sense of self now encompasses the closest members of their crew. The violent little princes who’d do anything for their king, do the utterly unthinkable without batting an eye, who tear into their own kingdom for amusement but will protect it from outsiders with unprecedented fury.

The Lads have been called many things, spoiled brats, violent delinquents, overconfident upstarts. Called ruined, called rotten, thought tolerated irritants, feral complications and dozens of other uninformed underestimations. Some accusations are more accurate; those who call them wicked, call them immoral, reckless, bloodthirsty and disturbingly possessive. The Lads are devious, are unapologetically ruthless and unexpectedly intelligent, they are in may ways older than their years while still immature in all the worst places. The Lads would tear the whole world apart for their crew, but the FAHC would do no less for them, utterly enamoured by the vicious little monsters. Ramsey’s brats, who have the biggest bads in the country wrapped around their little fingers and know it all to well, who’ve come from variations of absolutely nothing and have somehow stolen themselves a kingdom. Who have no intention of letting anyone or anything take it from them.

anonymous asked:

i can't believe that anyone has made a Phan!parents comic based on the viral video of the dad being interrupted by his kids during his live interview. Because that's something that would totally happen on one of their younow liveshows, and we all know that ( (ノ◕ヮ◕)ノ*:・゚✧ *leaves headcanon to a talented artist and HOPES REALLY HARD*)

I can’t believe how many art ideas there are and how little free time I have to draw them!