those lapels

anonymous asked:

Do the European suits 1 to 10! I know you want to 😎😘

oh i want to !! thanks for asking. it’s going to be 10 to 1 because it’s more dramatic that way. also most of these are really almost equal. in general i liked this leg of the tour way more, it was more consistent: pretty good outfits all over. enjoy the ride. xx

also featuring iconic pictures. 

10. paris: i know this is a controversial opinion but everyone who knows me, has spoken to me or read my blog knows that i find this print tacky. 🙊

9. stockholm: it’s not that it’s bad, there has just been much better. as i said, i think the overall level is quite amazing so this is a very nice look. just not his best. 

8. berlin: i actually love this suit, but i liked the nashville styling way more, with the white bow shirt. like this it feels a bit lazy, but tbh i still think it looks quite good.

7. london (1): this is another unpopular opinion. something about it was great – baby blue and pink, the glitter – but somehow i didn’t like it very much. (those horrid huge black lapels… hah this is another thing people have heard me complain about for ages, because i honestly think this could have been my absolute fave but as it is… nope). 

6. glasgow: this was suuuuuuch a treat !! loved it, didn’t see it coming, looked great.

5. manchester: this and glasgow are basically on the same level to me, but i feel like there’s just so much in this ensemble that can’t be overlooked, like the iconic sheer shirt with the roses which could be a look on its own. i adore all of it.

4. cologne: idk why some people hate this, i find the colour so different and gorgeous and i adore that for once the shirt isn’t black nor white and it makes him look so glowy? i just like it a lot. 

3. amsterdam: i hope i’m not biased because i was there, but honestly i think i’m not. in fact, i was quite disappointed in not seeing a new suit or a repeat of the one i wanted (green and pink glitter), but rationally i do believe this is one of the most beautiful suits harry has worn this year. it also looks insane on him.

2. milan: everything about this. just EVERY. THING. the print which looks like a van gogh painting and features peaches as well as flowers? that colour that’s like… sicilian sea at its finest? the see-through sweaty white shirt??? this was a lot. i thrived.

1. london (2): i mean… this is just gold. glitter. with embroided pink flowers. like. i cried. i don’t know what else to say.

again, thanks for asking. lots of love !! xx


So I’ve decided to cosplay Yusuke “Mom Jeans” Urameshi’s most infamous fashion disaster. Gotta add those orange lapels and cuffs (+wig) and I’ll be all set.


Everybody's Got a Dark Side [a Sebastian Smythe imagine]

a/n: just watched the episode with ‘Dark Side’ and thought of this, enjoy…….i dare you to tell me what character’s would think of me (aka im bored on my day off)


“Just leave it, Y/N.” Sebastian fumes, running one of his pale hands through his slicked back milk chocolate locks. The sound of his black dress shoes on the polished floor echoes off the pristine hallway walls and his striped tie swings back and forth against his crisp white button down. “You said you wanted me to be a better person. I am.” he huffs.

With a deep frown, you follow after him, just barely catching up with his pace. “Sebastian, I said that out of rage and you know it!” you argue, reaching for his hand. He quickly pulls away, glaring at you. “They can’t do that to you! They can’t - It’s not fair! And you aren’t even doing anything about it!” you spit, crossing your arms over your red tank top.

Spinning on his heel, he leans back, arms spread wide. “What do you want me to do, hmm?” he mocks, sucking his pale pink lower lip in. “Beg for my Captain spot back? Hate to break it to you, babe, but I already tried that. I bet you would’ve loved to see that, right? Me, practically on my knees, begging?!” he sneers, rainforest green eyes filled with rage.

When he starts walking towards you, you step back, inhaling. Your eyes rake down his body, lips formed in a pout. Sure, Sebastian is an ass to most people, but he never is to you. “Why are you being like this?! Bas, I’m just trying to help! I love you…” you cry, voice breaking; you swallow harshly as you wrestle back tears.

Sebastian shakes his head, fists at his sides, gripping onto his gray dress slacks; the ones every Dalton boy wears. “Do you?” he whispers, catching you off guard. “Do you love me? Even with my dark side?” he bites, subconsciously quoting lyrics. “‘Cause, babe, like it or not, this is who I am.” he gestures to himself, navy blazer scrunching at his elbows. “I’m an ass, I’m manipulative, I’m -”

“Sebastian, I love you.” you say sternly, fingers wrapping around the bright red piping on his lapels. Those mint green eyes stare down at you, eyelashes covering them. “I’ve seen your dark side.” you muse, cupping his freckled cheek, “I want to help you. Please, don’t run away.” Your thumb brushes underneath his shut eyes, collecting stray tears that fall.

Inhaling a shaky breath, his palm connects with the back of your hand. You two stay in that position until he sniffles, getting ready to talk. “The-they made me give up my…” he licks his upper lip, tasting salty tears. “I wasn’t ‘fit’ to run the Warblers.” he balls, rolling his eyes, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling your body to his. “Promise you’ll stay. I can’t lose you too.” he pleads, nose dipped under your ear.

Running your hands through his hair, you try to sooth him, kissing his neck. “Sebby, never. I will never leave you.” you hum, squeezing him tightly. “I love you, so, so much. Dark side and all.” you promise, leaning back. Sebastian frowns at you, gulping; you dry his cheeks gently. “What do you need, pretty boy?” you murmur softly, sliding your hand up to his hair.

He blushes, blinking while he shakes his head. “Just… come to m-my dorm and baby me.” he sniffles, “I need to be babied right now.”

SQ ficlet

It was perfect, Regina thought as she eyed the silhouette standing in front of her at the other side of the tall mirror she had put in the middle of her vault. Both hands on her hips, shoulders thrown back and a cockish smile the blonde that looked at her with slightly  glazed green eyes was perfect. However, the idea made the brunette sigh and take a step back, realizing as she did so how close she was from the mirror and how her right hand had moved on its own volition, fingers almost caressing where the real blonde’s arm should have been. Where warm flesh should have touched hers.

Turning her fingers into a tight fist she gulped down, feeling her magic twitching against her palm; small sparks that bit down on her flesh as her eyes never left the silhouette of the younger woman whose red leather jacket glowed dimly under the candles the former queen had light up after entering on the vault. And even though Regina knew that there was nothing beyond the mirror she felt herself wanting to touch that leather jacket, grab those lapels as she closed the distance. Just once.

It was the wine, a voice whispered inside her mind, the aftertaste of the beverage still on her tongue as she swallowed a second time, the tall glass she had been using twinkling guilty at the edge of the table at her back, eyes burning as she kept looking, as the magic she had infused in the spell kept bringing back the thousand or so details she had memorized from the blonde woman; the way her tresses fell on her shoulders, the way she had had it slightly curled up those first months on Storybrooke, the way her hands moved, twitched, as she talked, the stance, the lines of defined muscles below her clothes. Sighing and closing her eyes for a second the brunette nodded to herself, knowing very well that she needed to stop, that she needed to let the magic go.

She, however, didn’t and so the sparks kept burning her skin, leaving behind scorching marks that healed as quickly as they were made, the wine lingering on her mouth as she kept on looking, kept on imagining. Because the Emma that kept looking at her, as a crisp and still not faded image from a photo, didn’t have that ring on her hand, that dullness on her eyes and that tiredness weighing her down. That something that had appeared so slowly Regina had almost missed it. Almost.

She let her hand fall at her side, lax, the sparks rushing to the mirror in where they danced over its surface before dissipating, keeping the image, keeping it there. “Why?” She thought. “I miss you” was heard though and for a moment she stood there, letting her words float towards the mirror in where the image of the blonde seemed too real, too warm, too close.

Unmoving, unwavering, mute.

Her feet rustled the dead leaves that always managed to get their way inside the room, the echo of them crackling against her feet raising from the floor as she took a step towards the mirror, knowing that she needed to let the spell go and with it that image, the one that kept appearing on her sleep, beckoning her to a time simpler, a time in where everything could have been different.

She, however, didn’t.

“I miss you.”

“I miss us.”


anonymous asked:

I love your scenes analysis!Can I ask one?The couch scene in 6x01?

I wasn’t gonna do this one originally because i figured it was a pretty self explanatory scene, but y’all really wanted it (unless it’s the same anon, in which case, bad form.)

So this one is pretty much all banter and self indulgence. If you’re looking for genuine thought out insight…. this one has none.

Emma loves those jacket lapels, doesn’t she?

Oh wait - before i’m too far gone… what about Henry?

Emma wants to make sure he’s alright…. and she doesn’t want to traumatise the poor lad.

He’s fine, he’s looked after, ‘operation: couch christen’ is a go!

Look at him being all fuelled by lust. Voice all husky and face all smirky and sexy - 


I’m surprised she didn’t throw it over the back of her head… 

….But this is a family show…

Hahahaha! Killian makes me laugh. He gives zero fucks.

Home skillet is happy and horny and alive and Emma’s with him and they’re finally gettin’ some alone time… David can walk through that door and have a nervous breakdown in the foyer for all he cares - 

“What about my parents?” - Oh, Emma… she’s just as happy and horny and excited. But she knows they’ve got a running bad luck streak with being interrupted. She wants to make sure all bases are covered before they get down to it… 

cos they’re probably going to be there a while…

Killian legit thinks it’s Christmas morning.


Keep reading

the-friendly-faith-plate  asked:

OKAY I just sent in my this but I JUST saw that Genji and McCree one. How's about Hanzo and Reinhardt with their SO being killed in front of them? (I'm sorry I'm so annoying ;-;)

You’re not annoying!! We really do appreciate the prompts and I’m so in love with writing angst that you just made my day tbh. I hope that you enjoy!!!


Hanzo watched as they slipped through his fingers, notching another arrow as they disappeared further behind enemy lines and out of his sights and seconds later, their voice rang loudly over the comms, screams until the line fell silent. Desperately pushing his way to the front, certain to make every arrow count so that there is one less person between himself and his beloved who was still silent over the comms, and turning the corner, he found them in Soldier 76’s arms, biotic field around them both, their arm reaching out for Hanzo as soon as they saw him. Softly approaching, he takes their hand in his, pressing a gentle kiss to their knuckles as 76 steps back to give them privacy on the now quiet battlefield, apologies fall from their lips, for moving too far out, for leaving them alone after everything he’s been through – they both knew that the only thing keeping them alive was the biotic field thrumming through the area. His arms wrap around them, forehead pressed to theirs as he whispers words of love and appreciation for all they’ve done for him, their hand cups his cheek as the press a final kiss to his lips as the last of the biotic field ebbs away. Leaving him alone in this world again as he mourns their loss, no one saying a word of the sobs that echo across the otherwise silent comms.

Returning to their shared apartment, Hanzo is certain that he’ll be haunted by the memory for years to come and so he embraces it; leaving their home as it was when they were alive, and at first, there are mornings he forgets, their smell still on the sheets and pillows he reaches for them, only to wake fully and remember that he’s alone again. Genji comes over, mostly unannounced and at first, Hanzo sits there, unwilling to say anything to the man who was once his brother, but he always brings tea and his presence is a comfort, a reminder that perhaps, he hasn’t lost everyone who cares for him. They had said that they always wanted to see him in a suit, but this wasn’t how he had imagined it, not with the white lily in his lapel matching those that surrounded the one he loved. Not with his brother sitting beside him in the body that he had put him in, watching his brother lose another person that he loved more dearly than he had in such a long time. By this time, however, he had finished crying – there were no more tears for the man who had now lost everything and regained so little; the words of apologies and loss rolled off of him in waves, now numb at the loss. Eventually, he expects the ninja’s presence, tea and quiet conversations about loss and coming to peace with what had happen – Hanzo isn’t certain that it’ll ever stop hurting, but his brother’s returned presence in his life is a burden lifted from his shoulders.

Even in the years that follow, there’s always this piece of him that’s hollow – always reaching out for them in the nights, haunted by the nightmares of them dying in his arms. He sees them in everyone he meets; and it’s as if the wound of losing them is new once again. Fresh white lilies were always on their grave, never browning, never wilting because he always replaced them before it could happen – and even when he was out on missions, the lilies were still replaced and even if he didn’t say anything, Hanzo knew it was Genji’s doing.


It was supposed to be a routine mission – Reinhardt could remember their lips pressed to his as they told him that they’d see him soon, and not to worry because they had Mercy and 76 watching their backs, so what could possibly go wrong? Athena’s voice rang through their shared living area; informing him that he’s needed in the MedBay and he’s rushing through the halls, watching the people part as he quickly makes his way through the MedBay only to find Angela standing over his lover, frown deepening as the sound of machines beeping is the only noise that echoed against the empty walls. Pulling a seat over to their bed his hand reaches out for theirs as Angela tells him that there were charges set in the building and that instead of evacuating they helped the civilians trapped on the higher floors, only to end up crushed by the debris as the last of the civilians escaped. Angela and Jack had stabilized them; but the internal damage was too severe for them to pull through; she tells him that she can reduce sedatives enough for the two of them to say goodbye without them being in pain. It took fifteen minutes before their eyes fluttered open, muttering his name as they came to and as soon as he heard them, he began pressing kisses everywhere available as tears began to fall and that’s when they realize there’s more wrong than they can feel and they move over on the bed so that he can hold them in his arms until they slip under once again, for the final time.

Funerals have always been hard for Reinhardt; he had lost so many friends, and stood at all of their funerals, and has experienced more loss than most do in their entire lives. This time – he refuses to hold back his tears because there’s no coming back from this, that he’ll never hear their laughter, or see their smile, or wake up next to them again. Angela holds his hand while Jack’s hand doesn’t leave his shoulder as the sobs wrack his body – the people his lover saved were all there, and they all approached them, sincere in their thanks and apologies because if they loved him; they owed him that much in the wake of losing such a kind, gentle person in his life to save them. Going home – to their home, not an Overwatch base or a safehouse but their home was hard, every reminder of them made him ache but he refused to change anything – afraid he would lose what he had left of them and so it remained; a testament to a love of his life who would remain in his heart and in his mind for the rest of his life.

In the months and years that follow, Reinhardt is adamant in protecting those that need him – in memory of the one he loved and had lost. Jack and Angela were always with him when he visited their grave; they were teammates and they loved them too, there was never a time that the three of them visited that there weren’t already at least three bouquets decorating the grave and it always brought tears to his eyes because there were other people who loved and appreciated the love of his life as much as he did.



…Please don’t let me talk myself into making anything this ridiculous within the next five years. I have had enough stretch leopard print to last a lifetime. Those lapels could both cut glass and achieve independent flight. My love/hate relationship with complicated and infuriating fabrics aside, I am SO SO SO HAPPY WITH HOW THIS TURNED OUT. Still need to finish some of the edges, but the hard part is over.

…What do you MEAN “we still need to style the wig”??

gabriel x hawkmoth = gabrimoth

directly inspired by @sinfulpapillon and her amazing livestream, please check out their art at @sorakachanart because it is good.

summary: After getting kidnapped, Gabriel insults Hawkmoth in 734 words.

His feet, though they were tied together, were definitely tapping against the metal floor. He tried not to look at his oxfords, scuffed in the process of being kidnapped by a maniac supervillain.

It was bothering him. Everything was bothering him.

Hawkmoth turned to the platinum-blonde fashion designer. The designer stared back at him through cracked eyeglasses, his expression cold. “Something wrong, Agreste?”

Despite the bloody lip, Gabriel smirked the trademark devilish smile he had gained in his teenage years and perfected through a lifetime of business meetings and social functions. “Other than your outfit? No, I’m peachy.”

Keep reading

The Thing About Safety Pins

Hello, cishet white people. I am a fellow cishet white person, and we gotta have a bit of a heart-to-heart. 

Some of you have decided to do that wear-a-safety-pin-to-show-solidarity thing. Thank you for making that decision. I shake your hand and give you a friendly clap on the back. Seriously. When the choices are “show solidarity” or “meh”? You made the right choice. You have shown that your heart is in the right place. Yay!

But here is the thing. It’s not enough for your heart to be in the right place. In the coming weeks, months, and years, it’s going to take deliberate action, not just good intentions. When your friend breaks their leg, you help them, right?  You call an ambulance, or you take them to the hospital, and you help pull them out of immediate danger so they don’t get even more hurt. And then, THEN, once they’re getting medical treatment, then you say, “Get well soon!” or decide to pray for their quick recovery.

If you watch your friend break their leg, and then stand there saying, “Oh no, this is terrible. Let me know if you need anything, okay?? I’m here for you!”… You see what I’m getting at? A good friend says, “Oh shit, oh fuck, you have health insurance, right? Does it cover ambulances or should we try to get you in my car??” 

Our country has broken its leg. 

Well, okay, let’s be honest – the country broke its leg a long time ago. Last week it also got hit by a high-speed orange train. 

And now we come back to the safety pins. You’ve put them on your lapels to designate yourself a safe space. Good start. But, fellow cishet white people, I’m hearing that some of you who have safety pins are standing by and watching while other people get bullied and harrassed. What’s that about, friendo?

I kinda know what it’s about. Privilege blinds us to a lot of what other people go through, and now your eyes are starting to open and you want to help but… you saw something going down and you froze. You didn’t have a mental script for how to help. Your brain went “!!!!!!!!” on five different levels and threw up 404 errors and while you were standing there trying to reboot quick enough to make a decision about oh my god what do I do… the person being harassed looked over, saw your safety pin, saw you standing there doing nothing to help, and felt like you personally had betrayed them.

I think you’ll agree that that’s the exact opposite of what you meant to do.

Fellow cishet white people, I gotta be honest with you: You have to ask yourselves why you’re wearing the pin. Because it’s a responsibility, and some of you just aren’t ready to be shouldering that, just like how we don’t ask someone with zero first-aid training to be on the front lines of an emergency because they’re more likely to hurt than to help. Or they, y’know, freeze up. 

But you want the safety pin, you want to help, you want to be part of the fight! Again, good! GOOD! Yes! Welcome! We want you to want that! But you’re gonna need some training first. So I have a few small suggestions for you:

FIRST: Put the safety pin on the inside of your jacket (or the inside of your purse, or in your wallet, or a photograph of it as your cellphone background), somewhere that you’ll see it and touch it often, but where it’s not visible to anyone else. It’s not a sign for anyone else now; you have nothing to be showing off about. It’s a sign for YOU.
In the Renaissance, rich folk would carry around these things called prayer nuts: tiny wooden spheres that opened in two halves like a walnut. Inside would be carvings of Biblical scenes of particular significance to the owners, and they’d use them to remind themselves of the sins they were trying to vanquish and the virtues they aspired to.
The pin is now your prayer nut. It’s a reminder to you that you have a duty of honor, a social obligation, to be part of the fight and to stand up for people who need help. It is a reminder that you have to try every day to be better. Whenever you see it or touch it, I want you to think, “Did I do enough? Can I be doing more?” It’s for YOU and your betterment, not a sign to anyone else. Not yet.

SECOND: You’re concerned, I bet. You feel a little weird about putting it on the inside of your jacket. You wanted something to show that you’re part of the movement. Maybe something to signal that you’re not a threat, that you’re not about to launch into horrible racist, misogynistic, Islamophobic rhetoric, and you thought the pin was a pretty good symbol of that. I’m stiiiiiill gonna ask you to keep the pin as a prayer nut for now. Instead, go out and get yourself some of those lapel buttons for causes you specifically support: the LGBT rainbow buttons, BLM buttons, anti-ICE buttons… Put those on your clothes. Your message of, “I’m on the good guys’ team” is still there, but you’re also not designating yourself as a Person Who Will Instantly Leap to Someone’s Defense. 

THIRD: Seriously, sit down with pen and paper and come up with some things you as an individual can do to help when you see someone being harassed. Come up with scripts and scenarios and rehearse them in your head. I’m not kidding. Half the reason that bystanders are bystanders are because they can’t fucking decide what to do, if anything! So make a decision BEFOREHAND, in a calm, secure, sober environment, and practice it a bit so your brain will be able to cope. You know how trainee pilots do flight simulations of all kinds of different scenarios so they’ll be ready if any of them happen? Same thing. Educate yourself! Read articles, listen to people from marginalized and threatened communities, use what you learn to revisit and modify your mental scripts.
Not all of us are social justice warriors. Some of us are social justice clerics, and that’s okay. If you’re not the type to get in someone’s face and scream at them, then there are other ways you can help. Figure out what they are. Some action is better than no action. And maybe after a while when you’ve gotten some practice, you’ll find yourself shouting someone down even though you never thought you would.
I’m not requiring you to be a certified superhero by tomorrow. I’m just asking you to figure out your plan of attack so you can be a little more effective. This is going to be a growing experience for you. (Just don’t expect your marginalized friends to give you cookies and pats on the head for your growth. I’m sure they appreciate you and your friendship and solidarity, but again, they’ve got enough on their plates right now, so chill out.)

FOURTH: Execute your mental scripts when you see someone being harassed. Do this until you achieve some kind of minimum level of proficiency and you can count on yourself to be an ACTIVE helper, as in: a helper who TAKES ACTION. 

FIFTH: Then and only then, move your safety pin to the outside of your jacket. To be able to say that you’re a safe space, you have to be able to defend people and keep them safe

Go forth, fellow cishet white people. Educate thyselves, and don’t let other people down by claiming more proficiency and confidence than you currently possess. Do your flight simulations. Actively practice! And then USE THEM, cause we’re going to need all the help we can get.

And hey, thanks for reading this far. If you have any questions, feel free to send me an ask. The newly-founded @rebelrouser tumblr is also aiming to be a good resource for people who are wondering how best to help!

I Bathe Quite Frequently

this little thing is the result of a friendly writing challenge with lenfaz - during a conversation about a movie we both adore: Robin Hood Prince Of Thieves (1991). There’s a scene where a naked Kevin Costner takes a bath in a lake, secretly ogled by a flustered Lady Marian. Lena had the great idea to use that same setting, set it in season 3A and well, guess who’s taking the bath and who’s looking on. Yeah.

You can read Lena’s awesome piece here: Lake.)

(also on and ao3)

The evening before the big show down with Pan was about to take place, Emma left the camp and took a walk to the nearby lake all by herself. This goddamn jungle was too fucking crowded; she needed time to herself, time away from the others – air to breathe. This was all too much. She wanted to forget everything, to stop thinking about tactics, strategy and danger for a while.

And she felt the urging need to put some distance between herself and the rest of their rescue party – she wasn’t in the mood for either of their company. She was sick and tired of Regina’s complaining that they’d have rescued Henry already a long time ago if they’d only let her unleash all her magic; her snarky, disdainful comments about their useless efforts were all but helpful. Neal made her feel uncomfortable with his eyes constantly searching hers, always trying to get near her, always throwing some dumb, puerile lines the pirate’s way. Sometimes he even acted like he was entitled to something, and that was something Emma really couldn’t stand. Yes, he was Henry’s father, and part of her would always love him, but there was no going back from the place they were now. At the same time, she still felt a little guilty for feeling that way. Her parents – she’d just started to feel sort of like a daughter, and then her mother confessed that she wanted to try for another child, like she wasn’t enough. Again. A fucking pattern in her messed-up life. Would there ever be someone in her life content with just having her, and nothing more? Would she, and she alone, ever be sufficient for someone? Probably not.

While walking towards the lake deep in thoughts, she pulled the tank top over her head; it was almost like she could already feel the cool water on her heated skin, washing away at least part of the fear, the sorrow and the pain she’d gone through these last few days.

Only when she’d already stepped out of the jungle and onto the shoreline of the lake, she noticed that its surface wasn’t as calm and smooth as it should have been, and the quietude of the dusk was interrupted by the sounds of splashing water and an unknown, but not unpleasant tune hummed in a low, husky, all to familiar voice. Oh shit. Emma stopped dead in her tracks. Hook.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Cas decorating the bunker for Halloween and insisting they dress up and asking dean trick or treat and dean says treat so cas kisses him

Trick Or Treat

“I don’t want to wear it, Cas.” Dean complained as the angel tossed him pleading eyes, “I told you, we don’t really celebrate Halloween.”

“But Dean,” Castiel insisted, attempting to hand him the cowboy costume again, “Now that Mary and Sam are back, you can try. There is no longer a weight on either of your shoulders. Let’s take this time to relax and have a good time.”

Dean rolled his eyes and groaned into himself, knowing that he wasn’t going to be able to get out of this one. Cas seems really into spending time together since they got Sam back. Learning how to navigate Sam and Mary under the same roof without his brother being swaddled in a blanket was quite the experience. Maybe Cas is onto something here. Mary would know Halloween.

“Fine, fine, okay,” Dean conceded. That lit Cas’ face right up into a smile that made Dean think of why he would have refused this in the first place.

“Thank you, Dean.” And then Castiel handed him the cheapo costume before walking out of Dean’s room with a fucking skip in his step. Dean groaned.

The material of the costume was that fake stuff that bunches on the arms and leaves an itchy rash after a while. Oh the things he does. But Dean had to admit that once the costume was on, he felt kind of cool. Tipping the hat made him feel giddy and happy. Something about cowboys always stuck with him. Guess the season was starting to set in.

With a deep breath and feeling only a little ridiculous, Dean walked out of his room to find his brother and - it’s going to take a while for him to get used to saying this - his mother. He walks in to find Sam with a giant stuffed moose antler headband across his head, his hands drowning in the innards of a fat, bumpy pumpkin. And his mother laughed as she was cutting apples next to what looked like a pie crust. Oh good lord, Dean hoped that she was making what he thought she was making.

“Is that..?” Dean started, and his mother turned to him, looking over her shoulder.

“Of course.” She said with a smile. Oh dear god, yes.

Sam, wiping his hands over his three-day-old jeans, said, “So, Cas got you, too?” He says it with a smile that reaches his eyes.

Chuckles rumbled through Dean’s chest. “Yeah. He insisted.”

Mary smirked. “He did make a convincing case.”

“That he did.” Dean grinned.

Speak of the devil. Cas was finally joining the party.



Cas looked good. Like really good. His hair was messy and he was wearing a doctor’s coat. Just like the one that Dr Sexy wears. And Dear lord did he work it.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas greeted with a blinding smile.

“Hey…” Dean swallowed, his eyes raking him up and down, “Cas.”

Cas walked around him towards the everyone else, like he didn’t even know how good he looked, like he didn’t know that Dean just had one of the biggest brain malfunctions ever. And the view was not too bad from behind either. Cas swayed his hips and the coat caught them just right. How can a person be this attractive covered in so many layers. Oh, but there was the trench coat. Not the one he has now, but the old one. Sometimes Dean misses that coat.

He sighed wantonly and looked up with see Sam giving him a strange look. He just shrugged in response.

Sam shook his head at him and before he turned to Cas. “Did you get any candy, Cas?”

“Oh, yes.” Cas nodded, “I got one of the biggest packages that I could find. It’s in the bag in my room.”

“I’ll get it,” Dean volunteers. Cas frowns at him.

“That’s not really necessary.”

“Nah, but you decorated this place and got us all costumes. I can get the candy.” Dean waves him off and begins walking towards Cas’ room. What the fuck is he doing? Sam and mom must be totally bugged by him now. He’s being ridiculous. There is no reason so him to have volunteered to do this. God, Cas wears one Doctor Sexy outfit and he becomes a bumbling idiot. He can already feel his cheeks heating as he rushes down the hall.

“Dean!” He hears just as he turns the corner into Cas’ room. This keeps getting worse. He should have thought before he opened his stupid big mouth.

He dashes in, sees the candy bag on the bed, grabs it and just as he turns around to rush back out the door he runs straight into the white of Cas’ fake doctor’s coat.

“Sorry, sorry,” Dean fumbled, his cheeks firing up even more.

“Are you okay, Dean?” He heard Cas’ words but didn’t really register them.

Looking for some way to get out of this situation, Dean let his mouth open again. “…Trick or Treat?”

Cas furrowed his brow. “What?”

“Trick or Treat.” Dean coughed, “It’s…It’s a game kids play with the candy. You, uh, they dress up and, uh, go to houses and uh, say ‘Trick or Treat’, and they get” He lifts the bag, “…candy.”

“Oh, I see.” Cas said nodding. “Treat.”

This time it was Dean’s turn to blank. “Huh?”

“You asked me,” Cas said, “Trick or Treat. I think that I would like a treat.”

“Oh.” Suddenly, Dean was aware of how close they were standing. They were nearly chest to chest. Dean could feel Cas’ breath on his face, the heat coming off of his body even through that damn coat. He couldn’t think, or maybe he chose not to, either way, it ends up with Dean leaning in and pressing his lips to Castiel’s.

There came an undignified squeak that he felt underneath his mouth, and he almost pulled back but then it formed into a small moan of approval. Then suddenly there was hands fisting in his hair and lips smashing against his like a hurricane. Dean smiled and pulled Cas closer by those damn white lapels, candy falling to the ground, and pressing their bodies flush together.

When they separated, heavy breaths mingled with each other.

Cas cleared his throat. “I’m certain that is not an appropriate treat for children.”

“Nah.” Another peck to Cas’ lips and a grin from Dean. “Just you.”

Want One? Send me an OTP+Prompt and I will write a small drabble

Ship in a Bottle - 6.12

Not only is this a holodeck episode, you guys, but it’s a META HOLODECK EPISODE. I heard you liked holodecks so I put a holodeck in your holodeck so you can holodeck while you holodeck. We’re still doing that, right? 

Before you dive into this ep, you may want to revisit the second-season Sherlock Holmes-themed adventure, “Elementary, Dear Data”, because this episode is basically its sequel. It too, opens with Data and Geordi enjoying some leisure time in a Holmes program:

This is not a pipe

Keep reading


This, ladies and gentlemen, is how you wear a suit.

That is probably the most gorgeous piece of clothing I have ever seen in my life - no fucking joke. The tailoring is perfect, and I mean perfect. The pants are tight but not too tight, the shirt just passing the jacket sleeves, and a close-fitting waistcoat underneath: textbook. 

I mean, it’s just a delight to look at. The deep blue, in an irresistible sheeny fabric, with those splendidly lustrous silk lapels… Oh my god, I have lost the ability to function. 

You are one classy motherfucker Thomas.

message received...

This prompt was requested by annytecture for my canon full of prompts project, who asked for a missing scene where Emma reacts to hearing Killian’s voicemail. This is set in the happy 6 weeks.

Her fingertips dig lightly into the centuries old leather wrapped around her as she leans back, pulling a content sigh from the pirate behind her, his arms tightening as she settles against his chest. Neither of them moves to speak as the campfire warms their slightly chilled skin, the sand beneath soft and welcoming. She settles her head in the crook of his shoulder, dimples kissing as they sit cheek to cheek. She needs to bring up Belle finding her phone, the voicemail she’s finally heard, the staggering revelation of just how devoted this man is to her. But she waits. She deserves this blissful moment, they both do.

“I take it back, Swan. You do know how to plan an evening out.”

Chuckling softly, she finds his hand beneath his coat, his long duster he wore because she told him to “wear something warm”. It wasn’t until he showed up at her door wearing it did she realize how much she’s missed seeing him like this, the pirate swagger the long leather provokes, the memory of her grip on those lapels as she gave the first piece of her heart to him back in that place. He’s given up so much of himself, for her, to be a man he still doesn’t see as worthy enough to be by her side. Her blindness almost took him away from her, forever. She’s can’t let that happen ever again.

Determined, she focuses on the gentle tide of the ocean beyond their campfire; his fingers tangled with hers the anchor she needs to say what needs to be said.

“Belle found my phone today.”

Keep reading