they might find me

Me: we might find the required activity annoying or unpleasant but it is vastly less unpleasant than the ramifications of failing to perform said activity
my brain: we’re not gonna do it
me: literally you are not understanding, failure to do this very small although annoying task will ruin us and - 
my brain, slamming pots and pans together: WE ARE NOT GONNA DO IT

8

David Tennant Appreciation Week: Day Four

David’s Quirks: A Comprehensive Study

2

He’s, doing his best , 

10

Mean Girls, Seventeen edition: Who are the plastics? They’re teen royalty. If Pledis was Ceci Magazine, they would always be on the cover. Plan V + My Angel

I don’t like who I am when I’m in love.

I’m waiting for it. I know you’re saying it…

In your head.

‘You mean you don’t like getting rejected, when you’re in love.’

No.

I meant what I said.

The thing about me is that…

My personality… it borderlines on the obsessive. I become a specter to myself. I haunt myself, with my obsessions. The most minute thing, if it peaks my interest, can captivate me to the point of gross consumption.

And I’ve accepted that about myself, even if I haven’t learned to love it.

I obsess over a book, then the world that book is set in. I’ll seek out everything. I’ll uncover, everything. Nothing is safe…

If it peaks my interest.

The C.I.A might find me formidable.

This extends to the most obscure and most exiguous article in a film… in a song– to a living,

breathing,

animate,

human being.

It’s not safe. I’m not safe.

I don’t like who I am, when I’m in love.

—  Blvquebird// Fastidium Pro Amore
Roasting me is ineffective because you can’t tell me worse things than I already think of myself.
—  707
Dean’s Plaid

Summary: You and Dean do NOT get along. Until the night that you do.

Warning: smut, anger sex

Word Count: 3200

A/N: Hope y’all enjoy some Dean smut! XOXO

There are two things in the world you really hate: plaid and Dean Winchester.

There are plenty of things that you don’t like, that irritate and annoy you, that you’d rather not deal with. But those are the only two things you actively hate. A store with a window display of plaid clothing is enough to get your blood boiling these days. And Dean? Well, you make sure you never think of Dean. That just tailspins your world into a mess of violent anger for days before it wears off.

So the fact that you are currently wearing one of Dean Winchester’s plaid shirts, listening to him hum along with the radio as he drives you to his motel?

Yeah. You’re gonna need something to kill.

Or you could just kill Dean.

Keep reading

Part 1 | Part 3?

The weeks bleed by, but the hole in Hajime’s heart only grows in size.

Everywhere he looks, every step he takes, everywhere he turns-

He’s reminded of Tooru.

The café with the adorable drinks that Tooru loves, where he always orders one far too big to finish by himself. The restaurant they like to frequent when they go out together, where Tooru would always order pizza because he knows how much Hajime likes it. His favourite bookstore. The gym they’d go to together, the Domo fridge magnets that Tooru gave him that Hajime knows he should get rid of, throw out, but he can’t-

It hurts.

They try to talk, once, but it doesn’t end well. It only ends in tears and rips open the wound again, leaving it fresh and throbbing, the focus of all of Hajime’s attention. Every breath he takes, his heart aches.

It fucking sucks, but there’s not much he can do about it.

Moving on sounds appealing, but every time he thinks about a future with no Tooru in it he just ends up lying in bed and crying, so he’s pretty sure he’s not ready for that yet.

With all of these thoughts banging around in his head, making a home where they’re not wanted, he’s really not sure why he turns on the television late that evening when he knows that Tooru’s team is playing.

He just wants to… check.

Just see, and make sure that he’s there. That he’s alright.

Maybe that’ll make it all hurt less, if Tooru is doing okay.

He can only hope, anyway.

The television flicks on, and the sight of Tooru has his breath catching in his throat. He clutches the remote a little bit tighter, eyes watching Tooru as he moves around the court.

He’s in top form, tonight, like always.

His eyes serious, his form perfect; he serves and plays exactly as Hajime would always expect him to. It almost seems like he’s not even affected.

Almost.

Hajime catches the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

They win, but-

Tooru doesn’t celebrate like he usually does. He’s not swept away in the joy, in the happiness, like he usually is. He doesn’t smile into the camera, there are no frills, no nothing.

Rather, he gives a sort of… sad smile, to one of his teammates, who slaps him on the back as they leave the court.

The whole exchange leaves Hajime with a weight in the pit of his stomach. He feels like he’s swallowed lead, the taste still stinging his tongue. He tips back the rest of his glass of water, but that only seems to make the feeling worse, his stomach churning uncomfortably.

Of course, the reporters are all over Tooru. They meet him and his teammates right as they’re coming out of the gymnasium, still looking tired but fresh enough, having changed from their uniforms. Tooru’s not at the front of the pack, like usual, but as soon as the reporters come out, Tooru steps out to the front to talk.

Hajime’s finger hovers over the power button on his remote. Seeing him is one thing, but hearing his voice-

Then Tooru opens his mouth and Hajime’s swept back up in all those feelings he’s been trying to ignore ever since he walked away - ever since he made the choice to walk away.

God, he misses him so much, but he can’t. He can’t, can’t go back to how they were, it won’t happen-

“I have something I need to talk about,” Tooru says into the microphone, his expression shifting into something a little more serious, and Hajime’s grip on the remote loosens.

His mouth feels dry as Tooru continues, and focusing on his words gets a little bit more difficult, until, until-

No.

Hajime clicks the volume on the television up ten times, rapt attention on the screen.

He did not just say that, did he?

Hajime drops the remote down onto the couch, leaning a little closer to the television, in some vain hope that it might help him understand, because he can’t have heard that, right-

“Yes, I’m in love with the most wonderful, amazing, caring man,” Tooru clarifies, with a smile on his face.

Yeah. Hajime heard him right. Tooru just-

In front of a room full of reporters, fans, his fellow athletes-

On live television-

Fuck.

He doesn’t turn the television off. He barely manages to step into his shoes, not even tying the laces up properly. He hardly remembers the run over to Tooru’s place, because he has to go, he has to-

It’s eerily reminiscent of the last time he sat outside of Tooru’s apartment and waited for him, except now, now, Hajime has a whole other set of thoughts screaming around in his head.

Tooru loves him, he loves him, he told the entire world that he loves him. They don’t have to hide anymore, they can be together-

Every second that Hajime spends sitting on those steps feels like an eternity. He taps his foot while he waits, trying to collect all of his thoughts, organize them somehow so that he can communicate them to Tooru, so that he can explain how he’s feeling, what he wants for them. How much he loves him.

He’s too far lost in his thoughts, and he doesn’t even hear Tooru’s footsteps as he walks up the walkway, slowing the closer he gets to his steps.

Tooru drops his gym bag to the ground, and Hajime looks up at the noise.

Their eyes meet, and Tooru looks so, so scared. There’s already tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Hajime needs to talk, needs to say something-

“Hajime?” Tooru’s voice is quiet and nervous. He takes a step closer, and all Hajime can do is nod, standing up and opening his arms.

Tooru throws himself against Hajime and suddenly, words don’t seem to matter quite as much. Hajime holds him close and Tooru’s just here. He’s clutching his shirt, sobbing into his neck, filling his lungs with his scent, his scent that he’s missed so much-

“You’re here,” Tooru whispers, pressing his face against Hajime’s chest. He pulls a hand up to wipe away his tears, lifting his face up so that they can look at each other. Really look.

“You told everyone,” Hajime says, pressing their foreheads together. Tooru laughs, swallowing back more tears.

“I had to,” Tooru says, opening his eyes and giving Hajime an honest smile. “I couldn’t keep lying anymore… not when it was going to cost me you.” He grins, and Hajime is struck by how much he wants to kiss him, right now.

So he does.

It’s not very coordinated - Tooru laughs into it, and Hajime cups his cheeks to wipe away some tears with his thumbs. Hajime can’t help but smile, and when he pulls away, he moves his hands down and laces their fingers together.

Tooru laughs again, bringing their joined hands up to brush away some more tears. “Do you want to come in?” He asks, smile bright and voice warm. “I have something that I’ve been meaning to give you…”

Hajime squeezes his hands, and nods. “Yeah. I’d love to.”

Captain Swan Floor

May I present

Originally posted by swanscapitan

CAPTAIN

Originally posted by emmasfairytale

SWAN

Originally posted by fuckyeahkillianemma

FLOOR.

The underappreciated Captain Floor grouping.

Originally posted by tough-lass

Emma even kneeled down with Killian so they’d both be closer to it.

A guide for the Icelandic names of the Lazytown characters because I'm bored af

Íþróttaálfurinn - Sportacus
Solla Stirða - Stephanie
Siggi Sæti - Ziggy
Bæjarstórinn - Milford Meanswell
Stína Símalína - Bessie Busybody
Nenni Níski - Stingy
Glanni Glæpur - Robbie Rotten
Goggi Mega - Pixel
Halla Hrekkjusvín - Trixie
Maggi Mjói - Jives
Eyrún Eyðslukló - Penny Pestella
Lolli Lögga - Officer Obtuse
Pósturinn - The Postman
Haninn - The Rooster

Edit: Glaumbæjargengið - The MayhemTown Gang
I TOLD YOU I WOULD

WELLLLLlll okay it’s not a shirt, but only because the original image itself was an odd dimension size and a bit too small and resizing it would have made it blurry when printing on a shirt. BUT when I get a bit of free time (pffttttcute Xedra, ‘free time’) I want to remake the image to be of a high enough resolution to print on a shirt. :D

But I do love me some mugs, so I’m more than pleased as punch right now. A mighty thirst indeed ahuhuhuh~ :D Thanks so much, @asrielisdeadandfloweyisabitch <3

I love all of the “Humans are these weird Space Orcs” and “Earth is Space Australia” posts.

Now it got me thinking about how aliens would react to the number of people who do martial arts. Like, they’d get those who are in the military or police learning hand-to-hand combat, but what about those of us who train for fun? Plus, we have so many different types and styles of martial arts, so you could give a ridiculous variety of ability levels.

Alien: So your sister does the Human Fighting Style of Boxing?

Human: Yeah, and she got my brother into it. They do some MMA training too. They’re really good at getting people to the ground. My sister can get inside opponent’s guard pretty well and my brother has a longer reach for striking.

Alien: *cautiously* Do you do that in your combat training?

Human: Oh me? No. I do something we call Aikido. It’s more self-defensive than aggressive and it’s about using your opponent’s body and momentum against them. It’s physics really.

Alien: And you do this for fun?

Human: Yep. Also, we like talking to the military people we know and comparing notes on what’s useful in different situations we might realistically find ourselves in. Gotta be practical, right?

Alien: Remind me never to pick a fight with a Human!

Human: Oh, don’t worry. Not all of us train in hand-to-hand combat and martial arts when we want to work out.

2

The Time to Sleep 🍂

We found a place to which we drive
And I offer you the time
To sleep - to dream
To wake up when we arrive…”

Poses: @simtrovart, thank you 💕