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!

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.

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.

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

stimmyabby  asked:

All Hail West Texas, We Shall All Be Healed

ahwt: so this one is probably gonna be a three way tie between liza forever minnelli, absolute lithops effect, and midland. minnelli for more abstract, harder to define reasons, lithops because of growth (few lines hit me like “tender mercy, tender, mercy”), midland because i’ve got some good buddies who i feel that way for, and who i know would do the same for me. much love to my friends

wsabh: i saw them once in saint augustine during the regional heat tour, which was still one of the best nights of my life. jd came out and did steely dan’s dirty work with the opening band. i was dead center front row, right in front of him the whole time. we made eye contact a few times, i did a devil hand sign thing during cry for judas and he went “hehe, YEAH!” later on he did no children, grabbed my best friend by the neck for the blinking line and got all in my face for the sober line before walking down the steps into the crowd where people reached out to touch his clothes like the scene in the bible where christ heals the sick with his robes. it was bitchin.
i don’t have a specific venue i’d wanna see them at but i would do absolutely anything to see them play we shall all be healed (the song) (with matty kicking sax of course, it’s not a show any more if matty isn’t kicking sax)
anyway this is really long and i hope you have a great day, sending love

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?”

“Me.”

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.

“Mm-hm.”

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.”

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.”