Harry looked up — much too slowly, probably — and saw Louis watching him, his mouth quirked up on one side, a grin threatening to steal the pretty curve of his mouth.
“What?” Harry squeaked.
Louis put his hands on his hips, almost challenging Harry to look again, “I said…my eyes are up here.”
Harry felt something electric pass between them. He felt the need to take a step forward, call Louis’ bluff, see if he was more bark than bite.
Biting sounded really fun right about now.
**** OR a five-times fic where two guys, one college dorm room and a faulty door lead to a few embarrassing situations and finding out more about themselves and each other than they ever bargained for.
This is part of a prompt challenge that a group of us are participating in for the prompt “Hinge”. To read the other amazing fics that were written by the others on this prompt, you can click here and to see all fics written as part of the challenge, you can click here.
‘Elder power:’ Seniors who couldn’t march hold own mini-protest Caitlin Gibson | 21 January 2017 (x)
They stood in the center of Thomas Circle in downtown Washington: more than a dozen 70-, 80- and 90-something retirees, huddled together in a cool mist and hoisting signs as honking cars and pink hat-clad pedestrians streamed past.
“Honk if you support health care for all!” shouted 87-year-old Tina Hobson, and a passing car answered with three emphatic horn blasts. Behind her, 93-year-old Marcie Simon clutched a sign emblazoned with the words “Hope Has No Age Limit.”
Hobson and Simon were among a couple dozen residents of a nearby retirement community who bundled up Saturday morning and came out to support the Women’s March. They couldn’t make it all the way down to the official march site, but they were determined to be seen and heard. So they decided to demonstrate in shifts, gathered around a bold-printed “Elder Power” sign.
“We’d hate to go back 20 years, 30 years, 40 years, when we marched for pro-choice rights, when we marched for Civil Rights,” said Hobson, who says she has been demonstrating for political causes all her life. “Now, because of our families, we are very invested in fighting climate change.”
The elderly DC residents came out to demonstrate despite the concerns of their retirement community, Hobson said.
“The people who take care of us, they didn’t want us to come. They worried we would get hurt,” Hobson said. “But we didn’t care. It was more important to be here.”
As she spoke, a crowd of young protesters passed by and started clapping and cheering their approval.
“Everybody stops and talks to us,” said 83-year-old Harriet Fulbright, grinning and waving back. “Everyone is so nice.”
It was the first time that Simon had ever participated in a protest. But Trump is “very frightening,” she said, so she felt it was necessary that she participate.
“It’s hard to come out when you’re 93,” she said. “I almost didn’t come. But I’m glad I did.”
Deaged!Tony and Bucky waking up from being deaged (kidnapped by Hydra) and kicking ass and taking names while breaking out of Hydra’s lair, only to be met with the team coming to rescue them? (How long of a warm up were you wanting to write? because then we could have the team taking care of them until they are returned to their real ages) Maybe Bucky could be a few years older because he’s actually so much older than Tony? And like, super protective? And maybe they become best friends?
Christ!” Bucky cursed under his breath as Tony–eleven-year-old Tony!–not only
blasted three of the assholes who had been holding them captive with some
modified futuristic gun, but blew a hole in the wall large enough for a group
of people to escape through.
Unfortunately, instead of
blasting a wall that would have led to the outside world, Tony had destroyed a
wall leading to the labs.
Bucky cursed and aimed his gun–a
gun that used actual bullets and didn’t shoot laser beams or whatever the hell
it was the rugrat had his gun firing–at one of the scientists who had
recovered from shock and was reaching for a weapon of their own.
Bucky killed them in one shot,
His aim was good, but not that good.
Bucky had little time to
contemplate his improved aim, as more scientists recovered and either scrambled
for safety or pulled out weapons from secret compartments and started attacking
Tony and Bucky.
Bucky and Tony pressed themselves
back to back-Bucky making it a point to kneel to make up for the height
difference between him and Tony.
Fear pumped adrenaline through
Bucky, but instead of going into a frenzy and panicking, everything seemed to
slow down for him. His first shot hadn’t just been luck. With ease he took out
everyone who came at him and Tony.
When the air cleared, Bucky
seized Tony by the hand and dragged him toward a corner that would provide them
shelter as he reloaded his gun and got ready for another fight.
“You remember your promise,
right?” Tony asked.
Bucky paused as he reloaded to
glance at the eleven-year-old, who was looking pretty damn determined.
Bucky shook his head in
exasperation. “Your eleven. I’m Seventeen. Why would you want to date an old
man like me?”
“Because you’re pretty, and you
Bucky internally groaned. He had
promised Tony that if the self-proclaimed genius could get them out of this
nightmare scenario he’d become Tony’s boyfriend, but he hadn’t actually thought
Tony had a chance of success. “I’m not going to be pretty forever.”
“Then I’ll make something so that
you’re always pretty, if you want. I think you’ll always be pretty to me
“Kid, keep that up and you’ll
have all the ladies fawning over you when you’re older.”
“But I just want you to fawn over
me.” Tony huffed and crossed his arms over his chest.
“And maybe I will too, but right
now, you’re just a cute kid with one hell of brain.”
Tony beamed. “You think I’m cute?”
Bucky groaned and finished
loading his gun. “We’ll talk about this more later. Right now, let’s focus on
Tony nodded and raised his gun.
“Let’s. I can’t wait for you to be my boyfriend.”
Bucky bit the inside of cheek and
rolled his eyes.
Fine, he could be Tony’s
‘boyfriend’ when this was all over. Whatever kept the kid happy. Not like he
wouldn’t owe the kid big when they escaped.
someone flew a drone into the library’s open windows today. it hovered awkwardly while everyone in the library studying, myself included, stared at it, and then left very quickly
one of my apartmentmates had a talk with me around one in the morning where she very emotionally declared that the only thing she’s learned since coming here was how to properly cook ramen.
my physics prof brought a miniature pool table into class and set it up at the front of the room and got two volunteers to come shoot balls around to demonstrate collisions. bear in mind, this is a lecture hall that seats around 700 people.
one of my apartmentmates and i went out for boba and french fries at around one in the morning. this no longer strikes us as an odd thing to do.
i’m sitting in a courtyard as i type this post. on the other side of it there are three people blasting “boss ass bitch” and attempting to choreograph a dance to it.
my roommate had a midterm this morning at nine. last night i made myself tea around 2 am and glanced over to her and saw her scrolling through google results for pictures of young joe biden and whispering i’ve lost control of my life
and my all-time favorite: a friend of mine once begged me to let him come over to borrow my clothes iron because he desperately needed to print pictures of his CS professor and put them on a t-shirt.
BK: Villains are always fun to create and write for, so Book Three was a blast in this regard. Mike, Tim, Josh and I got to dream up a team of baddies who represented each of the four elements, but with rare and deadly skills. The designers and I hastily cranked out concept designs so the storyboard artists would have at least rough materials to work with at the start of the new season.
Designs by Bryan Konietzko, Christie Tseng, Angela Song Mueller, and Ki-Hyun Ryu. Color by Sylvia Filcak-Blackwolf.
QUEUE ARYA PUSHING KAEY INTO A WARDROBE OR SOMETHING.
‘ ——BOYFRIEND? ‘ hahahahahahaSHIThahahahaha. ‘ ——umm. what? no. why would i have a BOYFRIEND? i’m not interested in that shi— in that stuff, mom. gross. that’s— are you trying to make me get a boyfriend? ‘cause— no, mom. stop. ‘ ——just stop talking, Arya.
she shifted. usually LYING came easily to her, but not when it was her mother addressing her… and what would her MOM make of Kaey? her sister was dating some sociopathic, hedge-fund baby but oh, she tells her mom Kaey grew up on the street & was all involved with the WRONG PEOPLE & she was gonna’ be in for it.
It had been a long week, full of hunting almost every single day. You, Sam, and Dean had been spending half of the time in the Impala, and you were getting antsy to have some free time. Today, Dean had said something about meeting up with a friend in New Orleans, which was somewhere you’ve always wanted to go, but had never been to. The drive from your current case, which was a string of wendigo attacks in Charlotte, was going to be a long one, about a two-day’s drive, but you were used to toting around in the Impala with the boys. Half of the drive you three spent it blasting the radio, singing every song at the top of your lungs, windows down as the smell of the country swept through the car. Growing up in North Carolina, unlike Sam and Dean, the mixed smell of wildflowers and gasoline was your home, so the car ride brought back your happier memories.
By the end of the day, you had made it to Alabama, and you had about eight more hours to go the next day. You three made your way into your motel room, snuggling into the bed you were going to share with Sam, since this room didn’t have a couch. You had shared rooms with the boys before, so you were used to sharing. And besides, it wasn’t such a big deal to have to share a bed with your brothers every now and then.
The Alabama sun rose with beautiful pinks and purples streaking the clouds as the Impala made its way down the two lane highway, green hills passing by in a blur. Small talk passed between you three.
“What’s the case, Dean?” Dean hadn’t really elaborated on the reason for the long drive, so you were hoping he would give you a hint as to what was going on.
“Honestly, I’m not sure…A friend of mine called and didn’t really explain what was going on, but he said it was definitely something.” Dean explained, sharing a look with Sam. A knowing look, and Sam’s face said the whole, ‘Dean…..’ You three could have a whole conversation with just looks.
You settled back in the seat, requesting Dean to switch to your favorite radio station before you lost the signal. And, for once, this time he did.
When you arrived in New Orleans, the first stop was for dinner, at a local seafood place. Dean was disgruntled because he couldn’t find a greasy hamburger joint, but he could settle for seafood for once. You three ordered, with Sam, of course, ordering whatever had the most vegetables and organic foods as possible. Your shrimp and scallops were exceptional, you moaned as you took another bite.
“Keep it PG, kiddo,” Sam chided, nudging you with his elbow.
“Rule number one: seafood is best at the coast, because it’s always fresh from that day. Rule number two: never get “sweet tea” in the north, they don’t do it right.” You stated knowingly, sipping your sweet tea, which was perfect to a southern girl like yourself. Others, especially northerners, would cringe at how much sugar and honey was put into just one glass, but it suited you just fine.
“And how would you know that?” Dean butted in, amused.
“Dude, I grew up on the coast of North Carolina,” you responded. “Remember that family friend, Morgan? I lived with her and her family for most of my life, out in Snead’s Ferry.” You saw the confused looks on their faces at the mentioning of the city. “Super small town.” They nodded and continued to eat their food.
You had spent one night in a New Orleans motel, and you were loving the city. Everyone had thick accents, mostly southern, so you felt at home. Every now and again, you’d overhear a conversation in French, which you could completely understand, thanks to taking so many years of the language in school.
Today was the day you and your brothers were going to see about the oh-so-important case, driving up the the harbor about six miles away from the motel. Dean brought the Impala to a sputtering stop, in front of a man who’s face lit up when he saw Dean step out of the car. So this is the friend, you thought. You had to admit, he was handsome. He was broad shouldered, stockily built and about as tall as Dean. Stubble peppered his smooth jawline, and his smile was warm. You stepped out of the backseat and walked up behind Sam, slightly shy to meet the new stranger.
Dean and his friend were making small talk, smiling and embracing tightly, as you could tell that Sam was uncomfortable, his bodily visibly tense. You squeezed his arm to ease some of the tension. Sam looked down at you, his hazel eyes hard. You mouthed, “What’s wrong?”
Re: your post about LoT and Apollo 13... they also let the capsule return to Earth with only two astronauts (Lovell and Haise) on board, instead of the three it blasted off with. Granted, they didn't have the real Swigert to put in Eobard's place, but I'm pretty sure that everyone is going to notice that little detail. It also begs the question of what exactly did Eobard do with the real Swigert? Is he even still alive since it's been nearly a week since he replaced him...?
Yes, this! Nothing in this episode made the slightest bit of sense, but them permitting the timeline to be changed in such a radical fashion is just…contrary to the entire rest of the season!
That being said, I figure that Swigert is probably dead and his body ditched somewhere - Eobard’s not sentimental unless for plot reasons (see: why Stein wasn’t killed) - and that the other two astronauts will remember that “Swigert” attacked them. And then, of course, the LEM ejected and crashed on the moon. The obvious assumption is that “Swigert” had some sort of psychotic break and/or (knowing the era) was a Soviet spy of some sort, knocked the other two out, took the LEM and disappeared. If they can ID the crash site on the moon, the assumption will be that he miscalculated and crashed.
Honestly, I feel like this would be even more of an issue than the Apollo 13 mission itself? Apollo 13 freaked people out about space travel, showing how dangerous it can be, but if NASA gets it into its head that going into space can turn a regular, thoroughly tested astronaut into someone who’d do that…that would be bad.
If they simply think Swigert’s the problem, then his family is shamed forever and he goes down as a legendary villain.
The moon is the only source of light that they have. Dean crouches down behind a log, setting his rifle quietly on top. He closes one eye and looks through the scope with the other. There’s a figure in the distance but it’s too far away for Dean to make a shot.
Suddenly there’s a rustle behind him, but before Dean can turn around three shots blast right into his side. He curses loudly, clutching the side that is now painted with colour. Dean whips his head around to see who the shooter is.
He’s met by Cas grinning widely, a hand on his hip, his rifle hanging off his shoulder by it’s sling.
“You little fucker.” Dean says, before he whips his gun around and shoots Cas three times. Cas’ grin immediately vanishes and he stumbles back slightly as the paint balls explode all across his stomach.
“Hey! That’s cheating! I shot you, Dean. You’re out!” Cas yells, stomping his foot on the ground. Dean laughs and pulls himself up off the ground.
“Yeah, well that’s payback for shooting me nearly point black three times! You couldn’t have shot me just once?” Dean asks, raising his eyebrows as he stalks over to his boyfriend.
“I’m so sorry, Dean. My fingers must have slipped.” Cas says sarcastically, blinking up at Dean as he encircles Cas’ waist with his arms.
“Oh, of course. I mean a small guy like you, with these big, heavy rifles. You don’t stand a chance.” Cas lets out a small chuckle which quickly turns into a small moan as Dean kisses and nips at his neck.
“Dean. What do you think you’re doing?” he asks, resting his arms casually on top of Dean’s shoulders.
“Can’t blame me. You come over here lookin’ all dirty and covered in paint and expect me to not jump your bones? Although it would be preferable if you were wearing less clothes…” Dean trails off, thoughts of a dirty, paint splashed and very naked Cas suddenly filling his head. Cas snorts.
“You have a dirty mind, Winchester.” he remarks, leaning back to look at Dean properly in the poor light.
“Oh c’mon Cas. If you kiss me back I’ll forgive you for shooting me all those times.” Dean says, giving his best puppy dog eyes. Cas huffs but eventually leans forward and pleases Dean’s request.
Dean hums into the kiss, slowly pushing Cas backwards until he’s backed up into the tree that is behind him. “Dean.” Cas warns, once he pulls away. But Dean seals their lips together before Cas can protest any more. Dean tangles his hands in Cas’ dark locks and after a few tugs Cas finally responds and starts moving his own hands up and down Dean’s spine.
Dean’s just about to make his way back down to Cas’ neck when there are two sharp blasts against his thigh. Dean immediately jumps back from Cas who seems to have been hit as well. They both whips their heads around to see who the shooter is.
Dean’s face falls. Sam and Jess erupt into laughter and with one glance at Dean’s face, Cas does too.
“Screw you, Sammy.” Dean huffs, crossing his arms.
“Oh no. I’m pretty sure Cas is the guy you wanted to screw. And in the middle of the woods, Dean? That’s disgusting.” Sam replies. Jess covers her laughter with her hands and Cas blushes furiously. Well, Dean doesn’t see the blush but he can tell that it’s there.
“Well maybe if you two didn’t interrupt I might’ve!”
“Dean!” the three voices yell in sync. Dean laughs before walking over and tugging Cas in by the waist.
“Fine. Whatever, you guys win. Cas and I are both out anyway so we’re just gonna head home early.” Dean calls over his shoulder to where Sam and Jess are still standing, paintball guns up and ready to shoot again.
“Are we now?” Cas whispers into Dean’s ear. “Maybe when we finally get there you can make up for shooting me three times and making my stomach ridiculously sore.” Dean chuckles and leans in closer to whisper right back in Cas’ ear.
“Oh, when I’m done with you, your stomach won’t be the only thing that’s sore.”
AaAaAaAaAaaa So I’m doing the pokemon competition that’s live right now and this person opens with an Eevee and I opened with my Flareon like, oh psh I don’t need to worry about that, I’ll Flame Charge and become faster than his Eevee even after it Z-moves, buT THE EEVEE BECAME FASTER THAN SPEED 192 LIKE WHAT THE FUCK WHAT KIND OF WITCHCRAFT so it baton passed the boosts to a Charizard, which missed with Focus Blast three out of four times so there was no good reason for me to have won that fight
If you’re still skeptical about Euron as the new Night’s King, even after the evidence that he’s Bloodraven’s bad seed, his icy-cold dick in Dany’s dream, his terrifying pale bride in Damphair’s vision, “all of Westeros is dying,” and Sam bringing the Horn of Joramun into a city Euron is invading, let me ask ya this.
How does the Night’s Watch signal the arrival of the Others? Three horn blasts.
And how does Euron signal his arrival at the kingsmoot? Three horn blasts.
The Maribel Caves Hotel, also called ‘Hotel Hell, was built in 1900 on the site of a health spa in Wisconsin. It eventually became a tavern, until a fire in 1985 effectively destroyed the interior. Rumors have persisted around the hotel for decades, however, giving it it’s nickname. Some say three fires have blasted the hotel, all at the same time of day and date. It’s rumored someone murdered all the guests at some point, and committed suicide themselves. Some also believe the hotel was owned by Al Capone during prohibition, and served as a hideout and bootlegging business for him. The hotel has since been gutted and only the exterior shell remains.