the quotes made sense in my head

  • Letho: So, this profession as witcher has been going on for...?
  • Lambert: 20 years.
  • Letho: And your first name again is...?
  • Lambert: Lambert.
  • Letho: And your boyfriend's name is...?
  • Lambert: Aiden.
  • Lambert: FUCK! I misunderstood! You said boyfriend? I thought you said best friend
The Contest-Part 24

To celebrate Supernatural’s 15th season, the producers have decided to hold a contest to cast an unknown in a recurring role as Sam’s rumored love interest.  They are doing open casting calls all over the country.  Your best friend Nikki wants to go and she drags you along.

A/N: My inspiration for Nikki is the one and only Red, AKA@oriona75.  So I am actually telling two stories here, Jared and Readers, and Sam and Gemini’s.  It flips back and forth, so try and keep up! :)

Characters: Jared Padalecki, Reader, Best friend Nikki(OC) Jensen Ackles, Misha Collins, Mark Sheppard, Mark Pellegrino, Rory Montgomery (OC), PA Emily (OC) Cliff, Other Supernatural cast and crew

Master List

Part 1 (all parts are linked)

Gemini

The trip to Detroit was quiet and tense.  It was a 14-hour drive, so we decided to stop halfway and break up the trip.  Sam and I got our own room, and Cas bunked with Dean.  It wasn’t clear to me if the angel actually needed to sleep, but I know I sure did.

“If only we could get angel blades and demon knives through airport security.” I joked to Sam as we got ready for bed.

He shook his head. “Dean doesn’t fly.” He said shortly.

“Why not?” I asked curiously.

“He’s terrified of flying. I’ve flown with him twice because we had no choice, and I will NEVER do it again.”

“You mean to tell me Dean Winchester, who has killed countless demons, monsters, angels, and even Death himself is afraid of getting on an airplane?” I began to laugh at the absurdity of it, and I laughed so hard I cried.

That night I dreamed of Missouri again, but this time she wasn’t alone.  There was another person with her, but she was hidden in the shadows, and I wasn’t able to make out her features.

 She whispered to me softly. “Through you, I will have my revenge on Lucifer,”

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A duet sung  by himself

Hi! I hope you like this one, it’s a little shorter than what I usually post. :)

Summary: Harry takes his time for many people, however, not for his girlfriend.

This very, very lovely picture is not mine, sadly.

I bit my lip and squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself not to let the tears gathered in my eyes spill over. He’d promised me.  A hiss left my mouth at the memory of him even rolling his eyes when I’d made him give me his word a second time, as if I were being completely ridiculous for doubting him. But of course I’d been right to do so, even though it was for nothing. Because he wasn’t here. And he hadn’t been here when I would’ve needed him to be either.
The dress I’d put on had long been traded for a shirt and my face washed and cleaned from any make up. After, I’d climbed into bed and nestled down, for the first time loathing how much the bed and pillows smelled of Harry.
I hadn’t asked for much, either. Only to be home by seven pm and to accompany me to a dinner my friend had organized, like any other couple occasionally did.
I kept wondering if he even cared for how much he disappointed me. He most likely didn’t, or else my phone wouldn’t be as empty of messages or calls from him as it was.
My fingers angrily brushed at my cheeks and I gave in to the tears, allowing sobs to wreck through my body. Ugly sniffles and cries filled the room and I would’ve been embarrassed by it, if my pain and anger wouldn’t have taken up all the space for any other emotions.

All those perfect moments with Harry, where he swore his love for me and that he wished for us to never be apart, seemed to mean so little every time he let me wait up for him, with no word of where he was. How could he truly mean it when he said he wanted me always, when I was so easily pushed to the side once someone else offered their time to him.

I was too caught up in letting myself drown in my feelings so I didn’t hear him enter the house or walking up the stairs. A heavy knock on the door made me flinch and bit down on my pillow, trying and failing to quieten my sobs. Oh, please go away.

“Y/N, my love, I am so sorry.”

The mere sound of his lovely, raspy voice had another wave of tears running down my face and I shook my head. One dinner. For the first time in months, I’d asked him to do something for me, and he’d let me down.
I whimpered when the door handle rattled and Harry sighed, realizing that it wouldn’t open to him.

“You locked me out of our room?”

My heart ached at the evident pain in his voice. We’d fought before and often quite loudly, but never had either of us refused to let the other sleep in the bed. No matter how angry or upset we were, the night would be spend by each other’s side, even if the touching was kept to a minimal. This made having arguments with Harry less frightening and gave them a silver lining to look forward to. But this time, I couldn’t bear to have him in bed with me.

“Yes.”

A thumb came from the door and I could imagine him resting his forehead against the wood in exhaustion. His eyes squeezed closed and his hair a mess from pulling at the soft strands in distress. It was, after all, two am and he’d left the house at eight in the morning.

“Y/N,” Harry whined, “Don’t wanna sleep on the couch, baby. Please, don’t make me, c'mon.”

My hands fisted the bedsheets and I pulled them up to my chin.

“Go away, Harry.”

The door handle rattled again, even though he knew that it was for nothing. I wasn’t going to unlock the door no matter how big of a scene he’d start to make. Still, I hoped that he would leave me be, that he’d somehow sense how I couldn’t take an argument right now.

“You’re crying. M'not gonna go anywhere ‘til I got to make it better,” Harry’s soft voice hummed.

My arms ached to be holding my boyfriend’s body and to feel his warmth. I sighed at how much it hurt to have pain inflicted by a person you love and ironically, said person being the only one who could lessen it.

“You can’t make anything better anymore, Harry. You already missed dinner!” I called, the words strained and my voice broken from all the crying.

My vocal cords were sore and I heard Harry’s sigh through the door. A soft knock followed, so soft actually, I’d almost missed it. He knew he was in trouble.

“Y/N,” he spoke, “I’m begging you. You’re hurt and I understand, baby, but we cannot move past this if you don’t let me into this room tonight. It’ll all build up and get worse, you know I’m right.”

Yeah it would build up and get worse, I wasn’t an idiot. But seeing his face while hearing his excuses just wasn’t what could’ve changed anything to the better at the moment. I already was embarrassed and nothing he’d say would make it better. They seemed so meaningless to me now anyway and I couldn’t deal with them, not when his clear green eyes got teary, his brown hair framing his lovely face and his pink lips bitten and swollen. A sight that would always break my heart and make me open my arms to welcome him.
He’d messed up and I wasn’t going to just forget about it, for the sake of saving him from feeling guilty.

Another knock.

“Baby.”

I didn’t reply. Silence settled between us and I already believed he’d left when he spoke up again, or rather: he sang.

“You know the world can see us. In a way that’s different than who we are.”

My teeth pulled at my bottom lip and I rolled my eyes. Leave it to Harry for taking me not seriously. What’s new?

“S'your turn,” Harry encouraged and I shook my head. He continued: “Creating space between us 'til we’re separate hearts. But your faith it gives me strength. Strength to believe… Oh Y/N, We’re breaking free. We’re soaring, flying. My love, there’s not a star in heaven, That we can’t reach…”

My feet landed on the cold tile wooden floor as I pushed myself out of bed. I angrily unlocked the door and pulled it open, meeting Harry with tears in my eyes and surprise in his.

“If we’re trying, yeah we’re breaking free.Can you feel it building, like a wave the ocean just can’t control-”

“Shut up,” I spat.

“Wrong line, babe,” Harry commented with a grin on his lips, but it faded once he noticed the tears on my flushed cheeks.

His expression fell and lips parted. I raised my eyebrows and tilted my head.

“Not so funny anymore now, is it?”

Harry’s Adam-apple moved visibly when he swallowed hard. “Y/N, I’m sorry. Let me expla-”

“No.”

He nodded and held up both hands. “Right. You’re hurt and I-”

“Do you have any idea how much you embarrassed me today?,” I asked, interrupting him once more, “How disappointed I am with you? No, of course you don’t. Because Harry Styles thinks of many people and pleases all of them, but putting his girlfriend first for once? God no.”

My voice hurt and so did my head. Both of my eyes ached with how tired I was. All in all, I had quite obviously, no nerves for his jokes.

“Y/N,” Harry began and stepped closer so he could lean in a bit. His smell took over my senses and made me feel dizzy. “You’ll understand once you let me-”

“Will I? 'Cause I doubt it, as you can’t even comprehend how serious I am with this! You come home at 2 am and start quoting some Disney song, thinking I’d easily sing along and fall into bed with you later! Forget it!”

The anger cursing through my veins kept me from getting weak knees at how soft his pink lips looked as he bit it and how his green eyes sparkled with worry and regret. I could ignore how much my body ached to have him near.
Finally, Harry didn’t say anything anymore, not even when I slammed the door in his face.
I’d forgive him eventually, of course I would. Harry and I loved each other more than anything.
However, maybe sleeping on the couch for the first time in our one year relationship, would make him realize that he couldn’t take me for granted. And I was sure he knew it too, as he didn’t try to reopen the door again that night, even though I’d left it unlocked.

Hope you liked this! I decided that I want to start posting short One shots like this one during the week, maybe without proofreading them. Like that, I can post more and leave the long stories for the weekend. 

Part two: http://harryimaginedstories.tumblr.com/post/152952006393/a-duet-sung-by-himself-part-2

Rest of what I wrote can be found here:

 http://harryimaginedstories.tumblr.com/post/144920695218/masterlist

“I know your type,” he says, all white-suit and his father’s smile, all sprawled out on your mother’s couch, “You’re the doe-eyed, soft-palmed little girl who thinks streetlights look like stars and the ocean is somehow talking back to her. You think forests want you to get lost in them, that the trees are calling your name. Your feet itch at the mention of lost, at the mention of disappearing. 

You’re the type who will kiss me by the end of the night and cry about it later. The type to love something that hurt her. You spend most of the party getting lost in a clear red cup before getting lost in someone else’s body. You hate dancing because it makes you look weird. You hate dancing because you hide yourself too well. You hate dancing because your feet feel heavy and you’re plastered to the ground and everyone around you looks so ethereal.

The type who watches beautiful things but never becomes them. You hang other people’s self portraits in your room and wish you’d wake up to find that they’d moved. You stand half-naked in clear daylight and stare at yourself in the mirror, try to find the places of you that you love, the places of you that you could turn into roadmaps for boys to get lost in.

I know your type.” he says, “You want to turn yourself into a story, into a record, into a painting, something you will find hanging in a museum years from now marveled at by strangers.”

—  Reena B.| The type to turn into art but never to an artist.
Unofficially Official

Request: Pls do one where Shawn takes you to a hockey game

a/n: still not over those pictures of him at the Leafs game rip me…I hope you all have a Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays!!!

Your name: submit What is this?

Being Canadian, there were a lot of stereotypes that came with the nationality; Apparently, they all lived in igloos, Tim Horton’s was God’s blessing to this earth, you were always nice and polite no matter the circumstance, and everyone lived and breathed hockey.  Now, most of those were true, but the one thing that, according to your friends, made you “un-Canadian” was that you could care less about hockey.

You were never so vocal about your indifference to the game.  So whenever you traveled down to visit your mom’s side of the family in America, they would always ask you about hockey.  You would just nod and smile, acting like you enjoyed the game more than anyone in the world.

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mike ross thoughts

everyone’s like “how could Mike be so dumb” to trust frank so fast and tell him everything and use the phone etc (and i thought the same thing too, like come on, mike, this is prison, be more suspicious) but we know mike has always been pretty naive and too trusting since the start. and then i thought about how at the end of the premiere he said to frank, “why would you do that to me?” Well, in season fun (one) when he was scared of being caught mike asked harvey the same thing, “why would you do this to me?” I’m also pretty sure he said something like this to trevor, or maybe even louis at some point when he screwed him over or tricked him? when i think back through the seasons, mike has always had this really surprised reaction whenever someone hurts him. yet he also has never seemed to think much of himself (aside from knowing he’s smart but not street smart which is just fact.) so this brings me to, basically, mike is so far removed from the idea of intentionally hurting people that he almost can’t even understand why anyone would hurt him. not because he thinks he’s great, but because he just genuinely never considers any reason for it….i don’t think being aggressive or angry is even a thought to him, unless he’s super provoked, like in the promos, or with trevor which was self defense. mike has been physically hurt a lot on suits, like a lot, by pretty much everyone he cares or cared about (if u want a quick list- trevor punched/kicked him, jenny slapped him, rachel slapped him twice, tess’s husband punched and kicked him, louis tried to choke him out….and now he gets beat up in prison. i’,m also probably forgetting some) it’s almost like harvey’s the only one who hasn’t hit him, interesting And each time he either reacted in self defense or he didn’t react at all (on 2nd thought he might’ve started the fight w/trevor? but trevor was bein a dick and saying shitty things to mike and that’s even me talking as a big trevor fan because i love trevor) ANYWAY, the point is, mike’s always been totally confused whenever someone hurts him, even if the same person hurts him over and over again. it’s weird though because he’s had such a shitty hand dealt in life that you’d think he’d be super cynical and super suspicious of everyone, but he’s not. for his sake, in prison, i wish he was. but ultimately, no, i don’t want awful people to make him awful. someone made a gifset of mike a while ago w/ a quote that said something about “nothing’s quite as beautiful as someone who’s survived losing everything but still has a tender heart’ and if that ain’t mike idk what is. does this make sense? because i’ve been analyzing this all in my head for days and while there’s some things that seem to contradict why he’d be so naive but for the most part his track record shows that he just instinctively either sees the good in people or tries to, even if he shouldn’t. which is why harvey’s been trying to teach him to read people for like 1000 years. 

also, slightly unrelated but, mike being in prison brings out all the orphan feelings (imagine his parents being alive and knowing he’s in prison, imagine his parents meeting harvey/etc)….when rachel said “he has no immediate family” my heart fucking BROKE. he does have family in a sense, but no blood relatives at all. I mean, if he’d gotten caught before he stumbled into The Interview & gone to prison, he never would’ve met harvey or rachel and literally there would be no one to visit him. i just get so sad thinking about his parents being dead and i really wish the show would focus more on that sometimes. we clearly saw during the rinaldi episode that he has definitely not dealt with it much at all (nor did he seem to have dealt with it by the time he was talking to the priest either.) i feel like he completely buries the pain for the most part. i know he’s cried about it but in general he seems to not really talk about it and i don’t know why the writers haven’t done more with this…. and yeah we got the flashback ep which was good but i want more. i want to meet mike’s parents. that’s the kind of flashback i want. 

honestly i have no idea where this post was headed, i just am really tired and i really love mike and i’m concerned for his wellbeing, as always. 

oh yeah, and the “narcissistic tendencies’ thing was such bullshit, sorry, bye. 

For the lovely anonymous soul that wanted a bookstore AU. Fair warning, I like this prompt a bit too much and will probably revisit it.

-

There are worse fates than this, Jim thinks as he flips the lock on the deadbolt. A lot of people run away from their past and problems and own them like an unwanted gift they’re too guilty to part with. Jim doesn’t own his past anymore. He owns a bookstore. 

He’s about to walk away from the door, the early autumn air is exceptionally bitter this morning, but he notices the figure practically slumped in the vestibule. Scruffy, still in scrubs and with a fraying jacket that looks just as worn down as the man himself. 

Jim sighs and waves his hand to Chekov at the cafe counter. They’re going to need a lot of coffee. Possibly spiked.

-

I’m a man set in my ways. Leonard McCoy said one night when Jim kept the store open later than he should and sat on the threadbare couch around the cafe area, a little too close, sharing a bottle of something a little too sweet.

Jim laughed and said that sounded like something a character in any of the books on his shelf would say. 

-

The first time Doctor McGrump comes in, Jim’s reorganizing his Must Read table. This table is organized bi-weekly because as Chekov says, Jim inhales books like people inhale air. It gets lonely in his studio and he has shoddy bootleg cable. Books are company. Books are the opposite of loneliness. 

“‘Scuse me,” Smooth southern drawl like buttery maple syrup on a short stack startles Jim out of arranging the books into a star. He drops Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close on the floor. “I’m looking for a book.”

Jim whirls around, a witty stuck on the tip of his tongue when he gets a look at the guy. Stubble and green eyes, floppy brown hair and a screwed up expression (is he allergic to books?) and definitely the hottest guy Jim has seen all week, month, year, forever. “Uh, yeah.” Jim rubs his hands on his pants for lack of anything to do with the rebellious digits, and licks his lips. “Anything specific?”

“It’s for my daughter. She’s read most of the popular teenager fiction, young adult, I think it’s called?" 

Jim nods, focusing so much on the way the way there might be noticeable grey in the man’s stubble that he trips over daughter. Daughter means wife. White picket fence. Happy family and definitely no room for Jim Kirk, collector of books and lost causes. Fuck. "Yeah.”

“Well, she’s coming to visit me this week and I’d like to have a few books for her.”

Jim feels a million years lighter, like balloons are tugging him up and up into the ceiling. Visiting means separation? Divorce? He grins, realizing he’s a very bad man to want another person to be divorced. “I’ve got some ideas.”

-

He loads McCoy up with his usual picks. (Yes, he’s twenty-seven and still reads young adult fiction). The new Jandy Nelson, his favorite from Walter Dean Meyers, Jacqueline Woodson, a few underrated novels that usually skip the notice of the top YA lists. Well, fuck that. He makes his own lists. 

McCoy buys all ten. Jim had only intended to give him a few choices but McCoy waved him away said, “Trust you,” and handed Jim his credit card. He was impressed. 

-

“What made you open a bookstore?”

“Books are easier to deal with.”

“Than what?”

People. Responsibilities. Expectations. You name it, I’m running from it. 

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Doctor Who — Eleventh Doctor Quotes {Sentence Starters}

  • “The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things.”
  • “Didn’t anyone ever tell you? There’s one thing you never put in a trap.”
  • “Bacon. That’s bacon. Are you trying to poison me?”
  • “Good men don’t need rules. Today is not the day to find out why I have so many.”
  • “I’ve never met anybody who wasn’t important before.”
  • “Safe? No! Of course you’re not safe!”
  • “I said you were the most beautiful thing I had ever known.”
  • “We’re all stories in the end. Just make it a good one, eh?”
  • “Oh. Ok. I escaped, then. Brilliant. I love it when I do that.”
  • “Oh, don’t worry, that’s just the beginning. There’s loads more.”
  • “I’ve been running all my life. Why should I stop?”
  • “Let’s start again. Tell me your name.”
  • “No violence, do you understand me? Not while I’m around.”
  • “The good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice versa the bad things don’t always spoil the good things or make them unimportant.”
  • “'Course I came back, I always come back. Something wrong with that?”
  • “No, I have a thing. It’s like a plan, but with more greatness.”
  • “That’s disgusting. What is that?”
  • “Funny how you can say something in your head and it sounds fine.”
  • “Stop this! What are you doing here? What do you want?!”
  • “Yeah, it’s cool. Bow ties are cool.”
  • “LOOK AT ME, I’M A TARGET!”
  • “I’ve seen many things, my friend, but you’re right: nothing quite as wonderful as the things you see.”
  • “I made him say ‘comfy chairs’. “
  • “Excuse me, I’m making perfect sense. You’re just not keeping up.”
  • “Beans are evil! Bad, bad beans!”
  • “There’s one thing you never, ever put in a trap. Me.”
archiveofourown.org
Young & Beautiful

Louis, to his horror, attends an elitist university in which the name Zayn Malik means something, Niall Horan doesn’t stop talking, there are pianos everywhere, and Harry Styles, only son of a drug-addled, clinically insane ex-rocker, has a perfect smile and empty eyes. (227k, english, long-fic.) by velvetoscar

emma’s corner: this is surely and without doubts my favourite fan fiction ever. everything, every word, every comma, every quote from oscar wilde in there is perfect. the first time i read it, it took me from eight pm to three am. non-stop. i didn’t even get up to pee or to get a glass of water. i breathed every word, i pictured every character in my head and everything made sense. i’ve never read something like this before. plus, this gained 604994 point the moment i discovered every goddamn wilde reference in there. my love for ow combined with my love for h&l. this is gold. gold. i’m telling you: it’s a must-read kind of fic. you’ll be a different person after this. i speak for myself when i say that i quote this fan fiction, like, everyday, and i think about it a lot. a lot. i don’t think i can express my love for this fic, because there are no words, english or italian, latin or ancient greek. i literally have no words to describe how perfect this is. but if i had to, i’d say that with this fic you’re really close to reaching the infamous “eudaimonia” plato was always blabbing about. you’re literally thrown into the story and you relate to the character’s feelings along the plot. it’s so beautiful. i wish everyone could experience how beautiful this is.

3

Just few minutes before the LANVIN Show Spring Summer 2016 in Paris , I captured a very rear moment when you could see Anna Wintour editor-in-chief of American Vogue without her Chanel sunglasses. She was still on her phone, probably posting on Instagram or sending What’s up massages to the army of her assistants. Apparently the most famous fashion cult film: “The Devil Wears Prada” (starring Meryl Streep as Miranda Priestly a fashion editor), is believed to be based on Wintour’s career. In 2006. she made a head lines when she arrived at the film’s premiere dressed up in Prada. Probably it was her sense of humour to acknowledge the truthfulness of the movie. Mrs. Wintour was named by Forbes in 2011, 69th world’s most powerful women and she is definitely one of the most powerful lady of the fashion industry.

When asked why she is always wearing sunglasses on the fashion shows her most famous quote is: “I can sit in a show and if I am bored out of my mind, nobody will notice … At this point, my sunglasses become, really, armour.”

Photo above right; Anna Wintour ; portrait i took last year at the Givenchy show.

  • Random woman Howard had sex with: You don't remember. Why am I not surprised?
  • Howard Stark: Don't take it personally. I don't remember what I had for breakfast.
  • Edwin Jarvis: /clearing his throat in the background/ Gluten-free waffles, sir.
  • Howard Stark: That's right.
It’s been awhile since I wrote you a poem.
But like the others.
This is just the same.
This is about love.
You are a walking sound of music.
Everytime you talk (even if it’s shitty) you always make me listen
I don’t want to miss any detail of the words you’ll say.
You are an echo of my heartbeat.
When I say “hey this is my fave song I got in here”
You will automatically look for it and listen to it until it becomes your favorite song too.
You are my missing twin.
You are the stories I made up inside my head.
You make me daydream and wish that you were here.
And make me grab a pen and start flipping pages til I write something that makes sense.
I was supposed to describe love.
But I do not know love.
I only know you.
You are what love means to me.
She had spent the night with open eyes, trying to will her mind to be just as open. There had to be something she has missed, some connection to be made in the events and individuals moving about in the memory of her day. But if there was, she couldn’t see it. Maybe she wasn’t smart enough. Or maybe the world wasn’t. Maybe the world wasn’t smart enough to put together a story that made sense. Maybe it could only stick together random elements randomly, forming, as Shakespeare had famously written, “a show of senseless movement and circumstance that ultimately doesn’t amount to much at all.”
—  Welcome to Night Vale: A Novel by Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Cranor