while-being-wtf

  • bucky: *talking about some weird kinky shit he did with t'challa*
  • steve: I MUST KINKSH-
  • sam: do i have to remind you of what we did last night?
  • steve: ...
  • steve: why you gotta expose me like that
9

‘twas the grammar slam before christmas…

just because it’s christmas time doesn’t mean your poor grammar is excused!

But Annabeth cosplaying Rose Tyler

 12x06 coda. Kind of. I wanted to make it Cas-centric for a change.

Castiel sat at the edge of the bed, pen poised intently over the cheap motel notepad, brow furrowed. Every time he’d thought about starting this, the words just never came. Feelings, yes, but those, Cas had learned, were far more difficult to articulate.

“Thinking of starting your first novel?” Crowley asked, peering over Castiel’s shoulder. Cas jumped, trying (and failing) to hide his empty page. Crowley smirked, pointing at the paper. “You’ve got a grammatical error there and…” he slid his finger down the page, “There.”

“Very funny,” Cas snapped, pulling the page out of Crowley’s reach. The argument was interrupted, however, by a phone call. The screen lit up with a picture of Dean’s smiling face. Castiel’s heart sank as he let it go to voice mail.

“Is it the end times?” Crowley asked with mock horror, “Castiel won’t pick up when his boyfriend calls?”

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wwc i; memories | singing now while rome burns;

i.
The first thing Lorcan remembers is falling. One moment he was peeking around the staircase, slowly starting to make his way down to the piano at the base of the stairs and the next he is flying through the air. Lorcan barely had time to let out a loud cry before a pair of pale arms enveloped around him, stumbling back.

The next thing Lorcan remembers is the smell of burning flesh. His father’s burning flesh who had stepped back in a patch of sunlight. The sun wasn’t down yet, the last of the light filtering through the open window. It wasn’t a lot but it was enough to burn his father’s flesh. Lorcan didn’t know any of this though, he laughed loudly when his father clutched him to his chest, unmindful of the singed skin.

“You haven’t slept,” came a disapproving voice from the doorway and Lorcan blinked his eyes at a tall, auburn haired figure. Lorcan didn’t know who the woman was or where she came from. He only knew that she had always been there.

“I haven’t slept in two years,” his father responded lightly, even as the toddler in his arms, tried to pull at his hair.

The woman pursed her lips and Cenric glanced at her, shaking his head, “What’s two years to us, Asta?” he questioned as he sat down on the piano bench with Lorcan in his lap. He kissed the top of his curls, “He’s growing up so fast.”

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