their hands are dead center of this thing

I need to compare these face shots

This is what I see:

The top gif is full of duty. Dean’s face is set strong, he’s not going to fall apart because he knows Sam couldn’t handle it. He’s being the parent, putting on a show. His arm stretches across Sam’s shoulders protectively and he kind of vice grips him.

But, in the second gif, Dean’s face is soft and full of regret. He’s easier with Cas. More open and vulnerable in this shot. There are things unsaid there, a million thoughts and nothing he can do about it, because he’s all out of time. He doesn’t vice grip Cas. His hand is dead center on his back, pushing their chests together. It’s a warm, intimate hand placement, and he just kind of holds him.

Really, his face has love in both gifs, but I think it’s two different examples of love. Familial versus romantic.

This idea is followed through later when Dean asks Cas to look out for Sam when he’s gone. Dean views himself as Sam’s parent, and asking Cas to fill in for him in his absence is like asking a significant other to step up. It’s very, very much a “look out for our son” kind of moment (without Sam actually being their son).

Of course, this is just my musings on it. If anyone has anything they’d like to add, I’m all ears!

all the small things

kyohei rikudoh x mc (misaki kasagi)

The crowd flickers in almost-unison—a sea of lights in five familiar colors, small spots waving back and forth in no particular rhythm. A storm on the ocean; and Revance, Kyohei thinks with a hint of pride, is the eye of it.

He casts his gaze out, searching, to the dead center of the front row, to a woman holding a red light in her hand. A little extra smile in his direction, a wink that sends her dissolving into giggles at her own behavior. Her cheeks flush red like the light she holds; Kyohei feels the back of his neck prick.

He winks back like the pop star he is, but his smile is deeper, less artificial than it used to be, and then goes back to helping Nagi and Iori hype up the crowd.

It’s the last song of the night, he thinks, half anticipation and half disappointment. But he remembers that the end of the show means seeing her—the disappointment is drowned.

The last song is their most recent one, and he sees the excitement in the slight raise of her shoulders and the broadness of her smile. Nobody has heard it outside the studio yet, and she never seems to get tired of her songs being unveiled on stage. (Although, if she looks like that every time, he can’t say he’ll ever get tired of it, either.)

The thought of being in her arms propels him forward—

“Are you ready, Revance fans?”

A roar from the crowd. He catches her voice and leans closer.

“I can’t hear you!”

Jumbled screams of ‘yeah,’ his own name (and four more), and declarations of love reach his ears. This is the life, he thinks.

“This one’s for all of you! I hope you’re ready!” He winks, steps back, the click of his boots on the stage drowned out by their screams, by Taka’s music flooding the stadium.

This is the dream.

Backstage, he’s met by the sight of Misaki, holding out the last of the towels and water bottles to him. He can’t help his smile as he takes them, and steals a quick kiss before she can protest.

“Kyohei! We’re working!” She whispers, anyways, turning red as his stage uniform. Warmth pools in his chest, flutters in his stomach, leaves him almost desperate as she hurriedly fans her cheeks to hide her blush.

It’s adorable. She’s adorable. And he’s so, so lucky.

And that was just from kissing her cheek, he thinks, smirking.

“We’re backstage,” he counters, and she shoots him a sharp look. But in the curve of her mouth he finds affection, and he hooks his arm around her waist just to have her close.

And, finding that that isn’t nearly good enough, sweeps her into a hug. She squeaks, not in an unsatisfying way, and pushes at his shoulders.

“Kyo, off! You’re covered in sweat!” She laughs, but he holds firm, pressing his forehead to hers.

“Then why don’t you help me out of this stage uniform?” He suggests, one eyebrow raised and every facial feature set to smolder. The blush that rises to her face is perfect, exactly what he wanted—but even as he teases her, he can feel his own blush pricking at the back of his neck when faced with her smile.

She bites her lip, holding his gaze for a moment as if she’s actually considering it. His heart thunders—he hadn’t really thought this far out, actually, because usually—

"Hey, where’s Kyo?” He hears Nagi from somewhere down the hall, loud as ever.

“With Misaki,” comes Kota’s reply, dry and bored as ever.

Feeling Nagito’s excitement like an oncoming storm, Kyo meets Misaki’s gaze once more. She’s still red-faced, but now she only rolls her eyes in amusement.

“It’s like having kids,” she jokes. Kyohei freezes, just for a moment, blood pounding in his ears. Kids, he thinks. Has she thought about that, too? A house with a yard and kids and Little Yamada, a place of their own with a wedding photo hanging on their wall—

He finds himself just as excited by her simple statement as he was on stage only moments ago, except now it leaves him breathless.

“Come on,” she says, wriggling out of his grasp.

In a gesture that feels reminiscent of himself, she holds out her hand for him to take. Kyohei can hear Nagi chattering away (about them, no less, and probably joking about joining in on their ’steamy romance’ — as if) as he takes her hand, entwining his fingers with hers.

She starts to walk, but he pulls her back. Confusion flits across her face, but he kisses her before she can speak, cupping her cheek in his free hand. Her shock is quick to fade, her body responding positively to his kiss. It still weakens his knees to have her this way, to have her as his, her free hand clutching at his vest, but he forces himself back just enough to breathe.

“Our kids will be cuter than any of them,” he says, half joking, before pulling away. He turns before she can see the blush flaring up on his cheeks, barely catching the look of surprise on her face, and begins pulling her down the hallway.

Misaki laughs as she follows him, matching pace, hands held, and it’s better than any cheering he’s ever heard onstage.

This, he thinks, this is the life. This is the dream.

And he’s never been happier.


I open and close a lot of things with my butt, with or without full hands.

My triceps have been sore since Sunday afternoon, but considering my exercise this past weekend was confined to walking and the elliptical, I was puzzled by what could have caused the soreness. Then I thought back over all the weekend’s activities… . It was sex.

I am now in the dead center of my average adult weight, with one end of the spectrum being a 22-year-old grad student who spent her time walking an hour uphill daily to the grocery store, doing Tae Bo and yoga videos, and dancing like a maniac in gay clubs at least 3 nights a week and the other being nine months pregnant and retaining crazy amounts of hypertension water weight. I’d like to be way more left, but I suppose the middle isn’t too bad.

Kelly angled away from the drone, toward a tree just to its right.
She jumped, hit the trunk three meters up—pushed off, flipped, propelling herself through the air straight at the hovering machine.
No shields to stop her.
She grabbed the port and starboard booms and swung both legs onto the bottom spar.
Its central metal eye fixed her and heated to white-hot intensity.
She let go and braced as best as she could on the slippery bottom boom, balled her hands into fists, and then hit the thing as hard as she could—impacting the eye dead center. Her shields flared as it repelled the intense heat.
The sphere dented and spun backward.
The drone spun as well from the momentum, and Kelly scrambled to regain purchase.
She drew back once more, and before the thing could recover and blast her—she again struck a hammer blow.

I posted a rough sketch of this one on @117–087‘s blog a while back. While I always intended to finish the piece later, I went a bit further with it than I originally planned.

AN: I really just used this gif for the smirk, please ignore the soot and burning New York City behind him! Thank you anon who sent this in, I hope you like it! *I do not own the gif, found on google. Please ignore all spelling errors! Xoxoxoxoxo :3

Pairing: Steve X Reader

Prompt: could you write an imagine where The Reader works with Tony and Bruce in the lab as their intern and Steve meets her and starts visiting the lab everyday saying that he is just wanting to learn but he really has a crush on the reader? you can add or subtract things or whatever. please and thank you :)

Warning: Swearing


“Lab Experiment”

Keep reading

New Jersey Gothic

(I saw one of these and I wasn’t feeling it so having lived my whole life in NJ I’ll give it a shot)

  • The new shopping center is already covered in dead seagulls. You enter one of the three Targets because you need a new notebook. The last one became dust in your hands. The checkout clerk communicates with you in only grunts. At least it’s not Walmart.

  • You order pancakes at the diner. It is 6pm but the only thing on the menu is pancakes. The waitress is so nice but she never looks at you. When you look away you feel like you are being watched but when you glance over she is gone. Your pancakes taste like salt and ash. You pay at the front desk.

  • It’s the weekend and you need to get to New York City. You knock three times at the door to the train station to gain entrance but all of the trains are gone. The man at the ticket window opens his mouth and flies spill out. The flies don’t know when the train will come either.

  • At the beach the water is as black as the void. The surviving seagulls from the new shopping center build nests of human bones and french fries in the sand. The governor has promised to clean it up but they are too strong now. 

  • Your boyfriend visits but he doesn’t speak the language. You translate the moans of the clerk at CVS but he cannot understand. “Everyone is so rude here!” he says when he leaves. He never finds his way home.

  • Yesterday you heard your neighbor practicing witchcraft. It is so loud and you can’t sleep. The next day, his house has grown three stories and is right against your fence. The siding is sticky like black tar. Your father hates these new McMansions. 

  • Your music teacher wants you to call him Vinnie T. The notes of your sheet of music keep moving but you know how to play the same funeral march as the other band members. Vinnie T conducts you with a dead sparrow impaled on a stick. The sparrow is also named Vinnie T.

  • The Giants are playing at The Stadium. Its name is unspeakable and the surrounding swamps are buzzing. The only being watching the game is the New Jersey Devil. He chants with the music over the loudspeakers and the players drop dead on the field. But he’s really more of a Jets fan anyway.

  • Everyone works in New York City. They live here but they are never here. You ask your father about work and he stares through you. Your mother cooks seagull for dinner. They shriek in unison through the night until the City calls them back.

  • Your GPS leads you to the turnpike. You get off at your exit. Your GPS leads you to the turnpike. You get off at your exit. Your GPS leads you to the turnpike. You get off at your exit. You can still hear the screeching cars from your house.

  • You know where Jimmy Hoffa is but you cannot say. People keep asking but your mouth fills with sawdust when you answer. He visits you each night and whispers dark secrets into your ears. Blood is still leaking from his eyes and in the morning you cannot remember what he said.

  • No one ever leaves your town. The PTA has been the same people for the last 300 years. Your mother says you can never move away. There are tears in her eyes. No one ever leaves your town.

  • To cross the dividers on the main street you must learn to use the jughandles. Every jughandle is guarded by a different demon and you must learn their rules to enter. If you break the rules you will be taken. Crosses and flowers litter the side of the road. We lose one every day.

  • You go to Hoboken when you die. It’s not as bad as you thought.

The library stands in the dead center of town. You can see that it is slightly bigger than the average county library. You’re not quite sure how you know that, but of one thing you are certain: It is easily the largest building in Barden.

Stepping inside through the double doors, you walk into a room full of shelves. To the left in the corner, a clerk’s desk stands unattended. Further into the room, there are many shelves full of books. You move to the nearest shelf, reaching out to pluck one from it. The book in hand, you open it and begin to flip through the pages. You frown.

The pages are blank.

You close the book and clutch it tightly in your grip. You shouldn’t be angry or surprised. After all, what did you expect?

The sound of a thump shakes you from your thoughts. You’re not sure what the noise is or where exactly it’s coming from, but you find yourself drawn toward the back of the library. You notice a single door there. Opening it, you peer inside and find a stairwell leading down. It must lead to the basement, you think. The thump sounds again from below. Still holding the book, you make your way down.

Now that you’re on this level, you find yourself not in a basement but in a lighted passageway. In one direction the path winds out of sight. In the other you can see another set of double doors. You walk toward it.

You can feel it in your bones that this isn’t just any doorway. It leads to other places, you’re sure of it. You lift a hand to turn the knob. It’s locked. You’re not even sure how. There aren’t any deadbolts, padlocks or even a keyhole.

Sighing, you step back. You want to get through. The trouble is finding out how. But then a thought nudges the back of your mind. You glance back down at the book you’re holding. An idea begins to form. That door won’t stay locked forever.

With a plan in mind and a grin on your face, you make your way back up the stairs, back into the library, back into the town beyond.

The first rays of the morning sun are spreading over Barden. You’re still holding the book in your hand.

Sweater Weather

Its short, but I honestly really adored writing this.  It was so cute and based on personal experience.  Here is cutie number 23!!

Last time: Night of Terror

It was one of the ugliest sweaters that Jack has ever seen in his life.  

It was an awful shade of orange that clashed with his hair and was obviously hand made with pumpkins and black cats and bats all over it.  Not to mention the fact that it was about two sizes too big for him.

Mark had agreed that they were atrocious, but when their elderly neighbor had given them the sweaters for Halloween, it wasn’t like they could refuse.

“I can make a tent out of this thing.”

“Just shut up and wear it.”

“It itches!  I think it has cat hair all over it.  What did she even use for size?”


Jack looked over at Mark who was changing clothes in the dead center of the kitchen.  Maybe he had no clue that the windows were open and the group of women walking down the street were watching.

Deciding to just give in and expose his own torso to the ogling group, he rips off his shirt and reaches for the sweater that Mark was holding out to him.

Mark was already pulling his identical sweater into place and Jack could see that it fit him well. If it wasn’t a terrible color and didn’t have ridiculous shit all over it, it would look damn good on him.

When Jack slipped into the scratchy material, it bagged on him.  

The Neck was far too wide, it was just a tad too long, and the sleeves were almost wings.

He flapped his arms, “Mark!! I can FLY.”

Mark rolled his eyes and plucked him in the nose, “You’re just….batty.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“I think that one physically hurt.”

Mark laughed, “Let’s go show her how good these look on us.”

“I look horrible.”

Mark turned and inspected Jack for a moment.  He had both hands at the collar of the sweater and the sleeves pulled up over his fingers.  It had to be the most adorable thing that Mark had ever seen in his life.

He stepped closer to his adorably cozy boyfriend and placed the palms of his hands on Jack’s cheeks.

“You are breathtaking no matter what you wear.”

A blush covered Jack’s face and his heart turned to goop.  “That was so lame.”

“You loved it.” Mark whispered before leaning closer and nibbling softly at Jack’s bottom lip, asking for a kiss.


Jack tilted just that little bit forward and pressed a kiss against Mark’s lips.  Once.  Twice.  

Eventually, they were full on making out in the middle of their kitchen.  Jack’s back was pressed against the fridge and his hands were somehow knotted in Mark’s hair.  

Mark pulled away and pressed his face against Jack’s neck, inhaling his boyfriend’s scent.

Cringing a bit, he pulled back and made a face.

“What the fuck? I don’t stink you ass.”

Mark chuckled and pressed his face once again at the base of Jack’s throat.  He took a moment to nibble there before kissing and nuzzling his way to Jack’s ear.

Jack shuddered at the hot breath crawling up his throat.

His stomach cartwheeled when he felt breathing against his ear and he twitched in anticipation.  His boyfriend’s voice could always cause sensations to swirl around in his body.

Mark pulled ever so softy at Jack’s earlobe before grabbing on to Jack’s sweater and whispering in a deep, hot voice, “Your sweater smells like old people.”

Jack froze and Mark began to inch away from him before-

“Fucking MARK.”

New Vriska, you haven’t been through anything. You rode a meteor for three years, made yourself the center of the world and tore down your meteormates until they just cow down to you, did a bit of time traveling, and then ran off into the Dream Bubbles. in fact, you have a dedicated moirail and some great … “friendships,” for lack of a better word. You’ve really not been through anything worth penning into the “hardships I’ve been through that I can pull out and wave around to sound badass” category.

Dead Vriska, on the other hand, gathered an army of ghosts, DISCOVERED that ancient treasure you’ve confiscated after many long sweeps of searching while dancing around Lord English and mapping out the destruction of reality, faced eye-opening betrayals at the hands of the people she’d tormented telling her to suck it instead of bowing down to her, and finally realized she wasn’t the center of the universe.

In fact these two Vriskas did the exact same thing, only difference being one died of her own mad volition and the other one had to be rescued from the ether. Reeeeeeeescued.

I’m not saying Dead Vriska isn’t being a big baby, I’m just saying New Vriska hasn’t done anything to earn the “I’ve been through plenty” badge. This line was really the only thing that irked me about this update.

Lucien pushed his large frame through the ruined frame of a crumbling house deep in Old Wyley. One hand led the way while the other hung from a rope about his neck, dead and useless until he could reattach it. Dead things followed him, warped by magic until their original forms were unrecognizable - even to his adept senses. 

“A place with tall towers, leaning together. The ground is littered with bricks and blackened glass flowers. A gathering of the hollow people missing their centers forms a ring beneath the towers. In the middle is.. darkness. I cannot see it.”

He’d gone to investigate this vision, able to recognize the location from the accompanying fantastical drawing. It was a place he had been long ago. Perhaps he should have shown his master, but at the time Lucien had thought he could handle it easily. 

He cursed his foolishness as he dodged behind a broken wall and let the pursuing shadows pass in their lumbering way. He’d gotten into trouble. “And,” He thought as he glanced upwards to the great barrier that kept the city contained, “I can’t even see the stars..” 

So, I once read on tumblr that there is a generational difference between how us and the previous generation respond to “Thank you”
The millennials respond to “Thank you” With “No problem” because the task at hand is usually just that, it wasn’t a problem, and didn’t take time out of our day and we don’t make it about ourselves in that moment.

“Your Welcome” used by the previous generation had some stuff about it being like this one thing…. basically it was kinda ego stuff. and that OUR generation uses “Your Welcome” in an insincere manner so we don’t use it.

So today at work, a woman said thank you after I helped her find her Golden Grahams and my response was “Yup. No problem.”

And she stops, dead center in the aisle, and looks back at me over her shoulder. Her voice is dripping with anger and blood, she says, “You should say ‘your welcome’ when someone says thank you, not 'YUP!’!” Like she was OFFENDED by my response SOMEHOW.

And of course while I was wanting to shove her face into a woodchipper I said “My mistake, ma'am.”