it's a lifestyle.

23 / amateur writer / ex-game addict / slytherin / TCC / bonghead / australian / masterlist

[crystalpistol]

Having a little sister is hard, but it does come with some unexpected perks. 

Dean was just washing up in the shower after a vigorous session with some blonde beauty he’d met at a bar. How he managed to reel her in besides his dashing good looks and irresistible charm, you ask?

His expert braiding technique - which he had time to perfect while raising his two younger siblings. 

Dean stood up to get the attention of the bartender, who had his back turned in attendance to someone else’s drink when his eye was caught by a woman’s hot-pink mini dress and obviously bleached blonde hair. She was damn near having a fit when Dean slid up and stole the unattended bar stool next to her, flashing her a toothy smile.

“You alright?” The woman ignored his presence at first, but then finally turned to him with a huff. “Can you help me? My hair has a knot.”

Dean held back a laugh, was this chick serious?

“Uh,” he gaped, and the blonde simply rolled her eyes, “Forget it.”

As she went to stand, Dean quickly followed suit, “No, no, I can help with that. My sister gets her scrunchie caught in her hair all the time.”

Instantly, her eyes softened, “You have a sister?” The older Winchester nodded, “Yeah, my little sister, actually. I’ve picked up a few tricks over the years, but don’t tell anyone that.”

Dean winked, and the woman further relaxed, easing back onto the stool and crossing her legs. “That’s so sweet. Most guys don’t even know how to use a hair tie.”

"When my little sister was a kid she was too short tempered to do her own hair, so being the best big brother in the world, I learned how to do a wicked braid.”

Dean leaned forward and began untangling the woman’s curls, his musk enticing her instantly. “Now, let me help with that.”

Dean’s eyes snapped open at the sound of a frightened yelp and he tripped getting out of the shower, pulling the curtain off the rack with him. 

“No, no, you don’t - ” A glass shattered in the other room and Dean clumsily wrapped a towel around his waist before swinging the door open with a yell.

“Hey! Everybody just calm down!”

Sam was taking cover behind the grimy motel sofa while Dean’s hook up, Uma, held a lamp high above her head. “This creep just walked in here, Dean!”

Just as Sam was about to explain himself, you interrupted with a snide comment that went unrecognised. “This is my brother, Sam. We’re sharing this room together.”

Uma looked appalled instantly, placing the lamp back on the bedside table and scrambling off the bed to apologise. “I am so, so sorry. I thought you were, like, breaking in.”

You folded your arms over your chest with a huff, “Dean, we’ve got work in Kansas.”

Uma stood in her shirt and underwear, still as a statue, while you, Sam and Dean gathered your less incriminating belongings together and packing them into the impala. Slowly, the woman began to do the same, although rather shamefully.

You almost felt sorry for her, but she wasn’t the first nor the last you’d give the cold shoulder. You knew better than to get attached to any woman Dean slept with, it was just natural for you to be standoffish.

“What about our case here? I mean we still gotta put an end to Archie Crane, don’t we?” Dean asked, pulling the back door open for you. “Y/N and I took care of that while you were supposed to be following a lead at Bourbon’s Place.” Sam shot Dean that snotty look he hated so much before ducking into the passenger seat.

“Salted and burned the body, he’s gone.” You quickly elaborated, for your poor brother’s peace of mind.

Uma lingered at the motel doorway, watching with sad eyes as she’d already come to understand Dean was skipping town. She wasn’t usually the type of girl to sleep with strangers, but something about this man disarmed her in ways she couldn’t explain.

Through all the poetic sentiments running through her mind as she watched the impala tear out of the car park and onto the dirt road, Uma did notice how neat your braid looked.

[crystalpistol]

Part One

As time passed and seasons changed, so did the world and everyone in it. Kattegat was still bursting with energy and the people still just as ferocious, but changed. Yourself included. Ivar included.

You raised your cup to him and he to you, copying you when you began tapping your hands in rhythm with the painfully loud beat of music. The drinks, the atmosphere, the food, the people, everything tonight had gone perfectly. So much that you were beginning to feel anxious that it was too good to be true, but chose to drink the thought away.

He was mirroring you, crazy little boy, you thought. You could tell by the look on his face that he wanted to join you and so you graced him with your presence, loving the way his smile only grew as you neared his table.

“Y/N, you appear to be enjoying yourself.” Ivar shouted, turning himself to face you completely. “And you, Ivar? You look quite entertained.”

He laughed and pulled a plate forward, pointing at his now open mouth. You looked back at the crowd for a moment, no one would notice, everyone was so immersed in their own goings on. 

“I would be more pleased if you fed me.” Ivar had crept in close without your notice and you jumped, making a fist instinctively. The cheeky devil leaned away and opened his mouth again, wagging his tongue at you.

You plopped smaller pieces of meat into his mouth and blushed, wildly scolding him whenever he bit you. “I am gentle with you always, Y/N.” 

Wiping the moist fingers into the underside of your tunic, you turned to him, knee-to-knee, and gently shoved him. “Take my finger and I will take one of your pretty blue eyes.”

Ivar was so, so close to letting the impact of your words show, the smallest gesture of affection making his soul sing. While he was an aloof, confused, angry young man, he was still just as in need as when he first met you and wanted to throw himself into your arms right there, but maintained himself.

You quickly raise your goblet, feeling flushed and nervous as Ivar eyes you up and down before grinning again. Oh, Gods.

“You think I have pretty blue eyes, Y/N?” Ivar taunted in a sickly sweet tone, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand and laughing when you spill your drink in his lap and shout, “Oh, shut your mouth!”

[crystalpistol]

Floki is an artist, an architect, constantly creating new and exciting designs for his fellow Viking to set sail upon new and exciting seas. Beneath the busy waves, you sing a solemn song, settling on the soft floor bed. This is where you wait for men to drop trinkets and treasures to the inky depths just for you.

The sailor’s eyes widen as you pass beneath his boat, bright tail catching the sunlight. You have the upper body of a woman, but the tail of a mystical being.

Your head dips closer and closer to the surface and Floki reaches out to touch you, cursing when you slip just out of reach, cautiously circling him. Floki begins to stutter when you emerge, finally showing him your scaly face. Indeed, you look otherworldly, but so very beautiful. 

Your lips move and while Floki knows you’re singing to him, he cannot hear the words - he closes his stained eyelids and leans into your hands, captivated.

He’s surprised, expecting the cold, wet, slimy touch of a fish, only to feel soft, silky hands that send glorious heat through him. Floki trembles when you pull him closer, letting go of his face and taking his hands. 

His eyes snap open and he whimpers as his fingertips gently touch what he believes is the end of your tail. Floki begins to cry and you smile almost lovingly, unaware just how graced he feels to have touched you. The clash of burning-hot flesh and ice-cold water snaps him from a daze and he rips himself from your embrace.

You look hurt and for a fleeting second Floki wants to comfort you, but he has heard tales of creatures such as you and knows how it ends. So beautiful and dangerous, Floki has no choice but to return to land that day.

He only wishes he could remember the colour of your eyes.

[crystalpistol]

(DISCLAIMER: Mentions of depression.)

It was so hard all the time. Every morning was a struggle to get out of bed, the day dragged on and on and on with seemingly no end in sight, and finally when night came, you couldn't sleep knowing the next day would be exactly the same as the one you'd just endured.

You sat in a satin gown, clammy hands barely keeping a grasp on the drink Thomas had poured you upon arrival. He sat across from you with one leg folded across the other and his hands in his lap. He was examining you, something you'd come to wave off as simply Thomas being Thomas. You were covered in sweat and cringed every time your thighs stuck to the leather of the couch. The room was silent save for your laboured breathing and the occasional slurp - until Thomas lit a cigarette and began speaking.

"I know that look," he started, lazily pointing his cigarette at you and raising his brows, "you can't sleep." You nodded meekly, afraid that if you responded verbally, your voice would break. "What's on your mind?"

You looked up at him, gaping like a goldfish, and Thomas chuckled lightly, blowing a ring of smoke at you before offering you your own cigarette. Normally, you were well against smoking and drinking, often scolding Thomas and his brothers for such unhealthy habits, only to instantly apologise for making such criticisms. This time, you were eager, snatching the little white stick from the packet and leaning forward, letting Thomas light it for you.

Of course you coughed a lung up, taking a much too large inhalation. Thomas would've laughed at you any other time, but could read the atmosphere well, he knew now was no time for jokes. You were in pain. "I just feel like every single day something has to happen," you started, knowing full well you wouldn't stop, "I try so hard to stay positive, like my doctor says. It's just so hard when life just keeps.."

You trailed off, unable to continue as tears rolled down your puffy, red cheeks. "Shovelling shit at you." Thomas leaned forward, putting out his cigarette in the glass ash tray and stepping around the coffee table to take a seat next to you.

He wrapped an arm around you and rubbed your shoulder with his thumb. "I know how it gets, Y/N. I know how hard it is to find the strength and the will to keep shovelling when you've been doing it so long."

You took a smaller drag and while the smoke made you light headed and slightly nauseous, it was somehow helping, much like a cup of tea would. You continued to cry but the noise settled back into silence, "I'm so tired." You admitted quietly, almost shamefully. 

Thomas turned and pressed a kiss to your temple, "You can't stop shovelling, not ever. It's what we were born on this earth to do. Shovel through all the piss and shit and blood until you find something else." 

You relaxed, soothed by the tone of Thomas's voice in your ear and his lips gently tickling your face, noting the lack of stubble - he was always immaculate when it came to personal hygiene and grooming.

"But how do we know there is something else? What if there's only more piss and shit?" Your eyes widened at the daunting thought, so panicked at the possibility that you found it laughable. You did, you laughed hard and the tears kept flowing. You must have looked like a demented person gone astray, but your feelings were so overwhelming that you couldn't contain them.

Thomas didn't have an answer for that question and you laughed harder when he snatched the cigarette from your hand and pressed it between his lips. "We'll just have to find out."

"I don't want to fucking find out, Tommy. I'm sick of waiting for something to change, something to give - because it never does!" Thomas leaned back into the couch, pulling you with him and humming in agreement with your statement.

You appreciated Thomas's lack of judgement when given insight on the workings of your mind. He never shamed you, and acted as a safe space. "I just feel powerless, like my life has no direction. My family, my friends, my love life, my occupation, it's all fucked."

Thomas pulled your leg across his lap and held it there, allowing you to rest your head on his chest, the crisp white fabric tarnished by your tears. 

"Don't do that. You always do that. Stop basing your self worth on what you have or haven't done in life, that's where everyone else is making a mistake." You raised your head and blinked at him, "What do you mean?"

Thomas sighed, clearly beginning to lose patience, but continued for your sake. "You need to do things in life for you, Y/N, not for other people's approval of you. No one else fucking matters, no one but you - and you've got a lot to work with."

You felt ridiculous, but compelled anyway, "What do you mean?" You repeated, and Thomas simply cupped the back of your head and pressed your face into his chest, gently smothering you. "I've never met someone who was as hard on themselves as me. You haven't succeeded in the ways you want to yet because you're so afraid of failure."

You pondered his words, trying to connect the dots in your mind, while Thomas continued his take on your current situation. "And after a while of procrastinating out of fear, it becomes failure anyway. I know how much that scares the shit out of you, just like being judged by the people you care about scares the shit out of you - and that's what's holding you back, Y/N. You're capable of so much."

His button-up was drenched in tears and drool, but Thomas ignored the moist sensation gathering against his flesh, simply running his right hand up and down your back, unable to feel the soft fabric beneath his calloused fingers. 

He continued to jump back and forth between comfort and lecture, but Thomas made himself clear - and despite all the pessimism swirling around inside your mind, his words touched your heart and made it beat double. Your eyes squeezed shut while you hiccuped, pulling your other leg off the ground and laying straight between Thomas, too tired to care about his hipbone digging into yours. 

The day's events, the emotional turmoil, the melt down, it was all so energy consuming and you were utterly drained.

Your head shook but Thomas stilled it with his hand, pressing his free one on top of that and holding you against him. "You are."

[samuelyounart]

Chihiro for Character Design Challenge. This month’s theme is Spirited Away.

[crystalpistol]

You heaved, hand pressed flat against your tender stomach muscles. Gaara hovered above you with folded arms, completely unscathed despite your efforts.

“I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong, Gaara.” You breathed, plonking down in the grass. The red-haired ninja neared you slowly, arms still pressed against his settled chest. “You need to remember that not everyone’s defences are the same, Y/N.”

You yelped when coarse sand slid across your body like tentacles, forcing you upright.

“Let’s try again.”

[crystalpistol]

Sam wriggled against the soft soil beneath him, glaring at you past his stocky, rounded chest. “Will you stop yammerin’ on about how cold the ground is?”

You sat up and tossed dirt at the blonde hobbit and he returned it to you, lips pressing together in annoyance. “That’s the whole point o’ campin’, Y/N. You’re meant to reconnect with nature.”

“Well what if I don’t feel like reconnecting with nature?” You asked in a sarcastic tone, mocking Sam’s. “Then why d’ya always come with us?”

“Perhaps I need a break from town. Do you know how hard it is to live with hobbits?” Frodo nearly snorted at your line, biting his lip momentarily. “Uh - hello. It’s me, Sam, a hobbit raised with other hobbits. Of course I know how hard it is!”

Frodo closed his eyes, smiling with his back turned to his bickering friends. He took a deep breath, settled by the heated back and forth argument between you and Sam over the crackling of the warm fire. 

[crystalpistol]

“If you behave, Reek, you might join me this evening when I visit Y/N in the kennels.” Ramsay proposed, smiling sadistically when Theon expressed a great joy in the thought of seeing you, his lover from Winterfell, alive again.

Ramsay knew that with you in his hands, Theon would completely submit to him not only for his own sake, but for yours.

[onedragonholmes]

FUCK YOUR THOUGHTS AND PRAYERS SCOTT MORRISON

[talesofnelda]

half of my state is on fire and it’s only getting worse

if you still don’t believe in climate change then it’s time to wake the fuck up

[232514-deactivated20191117]

please know that australia is on fire. we’ve lost 10 times the amount of land the amazon rainforest lost. we are in drought. no one is talking about it. our government is ignoring climate change. the firefighters are now paying for fuel for their trucks out of their own pockets. our prime minister refuses international help. people are dying. wildlife are dying. the fires are catastrophic and spreading so fast. please hear us. my home is burning. it is spring.

[crystalpistol]

Part One

It took three days for you to wake and when you did, you wish you hadn’t. Thin, curved, concrete walls were your only guide in the narrow tunnel. You couldn’t see a single thing as there was no light, but you could definitely still smell - the air was sticky, warm and foul in a way that made your lungs try to repel every inhalation.

Fear loomed behind you like a shadow but you were too disorientated to acknowledge it at the time, focusing entirely on not falling face first into what you were beginning to suspect was grey water.

“This is so wrong.” You muttered, instantly regretting the choice when the sound travelled at a speed that terrified you down the tunnel and around a corner hiding in the dark.

You froze and stood there for minutes, waiting for the echo of your voice to settle before finally willing yourself to move again. That same looming fear was breathing down your neck, parting your damp hair.

Literally.

You froze again when you actually felt it, the ice-cold air travel down your scalp and neck from somewhere so specific right above your head. Tears welled in your eyes and you began to tremble as a massive, gloved hand caressed your shoulder - it willed you without process to whip around and face whoever or whatever was in the dark with you.

The astonishment you felt when Bobby held a lighter close to your face, his own being bathed in the light. “Oh my god!” You whimpered, throwing your arms around the man without even thinking, temporarily overwhelmed just by seeing a familiar face,

Until the fog clouding your memory of the night at the carnival slowly started to drift away and you could recall it clearly, see it for what it was. By the time the dread settled in you, Robert had already wrapped his long arms around you, pulling you tight against his tall self.

You began to struggle and it only intensified when you were plunged back into black again and were rendered blind and immobile. “Please - ”

“Please don’t hurt me, oh please let me go.” The man mocked and your stomach tightened with fright, his voice twisting and changing in the same way his face had when he attacked you. 

Your eyes clenched shut and you braced for death when you felt that cold breath on your face, the smell of rot assaulting your senses and leaving you speechless. Your brain refused to actually process what was happening as real and as a result, you were left hanging like a limp noodle with this fucking thing ran it’s vile tongue across your jaw, slithering like a worm up to your ear where it settled, dancing playfully.

“Please. I don’t deserve this!” You begged, your full weight being supported by Robert’s antagonistic hold. “You do deserve this, Y/N.”

You stilled, hair raising and skin bumping in terror. You could only mutter one question while the man pulled back, arms releasing you like an anaconda uninterested in it’s current prey.

“But why?”

Silence, until a completely separate voice answered, making your mind flare up in absolute horror and forcing you to turn and run. 

“The smell, your smell. I need to know what you taste like.” 

[crystalpistol]

Athelstan and Ragnar looked over you as you lay covered in a thick layer of sweat, face twisted into a pained scowl. “I leave Y/N in your capable hands, Athelstan.”

The brunette turned to his blue-eyed friend and leader before thinning his lips and stepping closer to you, pulling back the furs from your naked torso and inspecting the rancid wound there.

“The healers say if Y/N can survive the night, the fever will pass and they may live.” Ragnar explained while the ex-monk peeled back the dressing and pulled away quickly at the foul smell of your festering wound.

“That will be no easy task.” 

Ragnar scratched his beard and skimmed over you one more time before nodding, “Which is why I want you to help see them through the night.”

[crystalpistol]

“You’re sorry?” You wheezed, eyes wide and mouth open. “You’re sorry.”

Gally stood there, shifting from one foot to the other uncomfortably, eyes on everything but you. “I don’t know what else I can say, Y/N.”

You were so shocked by how nonchalant Gally was acting about all this that you didn’t even react accordingly, you simply turned your back and walked away from him as if on autopilot, his voice a distant echo.

Gally followed you with long strides easily, still talking your ear off the whole time but not really getting anything back from you. “I don’t wanna talk about this.”

The teen grabbed your shoulder and forced you to face him, “You don’t wanna talk about anything, Y/N. It’s been weeks and you still won’t talk to me. Hell, you won’t even be in the same room as me.”

Before you could catch it, your hand swept hard across Gally’s cheek, and the entire room seemed to shake from the impact. “You let me go on believing you were dead, Gally. Do you have any idea how much that haunted me? I saw you die! I watched it happen with my own eyes!”

If the room felt a shake from your hand and Gally’s face, it felt more like an earthquake when he yelled back at you, taking both your shoulders in his massive hands and shaking you slightly.

“I had no choice! You think I didn’t want to come back for you? That I didn’t..” Gally trailed off, voice suddenly dropping below a whisper. You frowned and leaned in, “If you’ve got something to say, say it now. I’m gone in five.”

You felt his fingers press into you and shot him a hard glare, only to feel it instantly dissipate when your eyes met his. He hesitated for ages, thin lips parting and pressing back together as he tried to form the right words.

You tapped your foot impatiently, anger returning slowly, already mentally preparing for whatever ridiculous excuse he was about to throw.

“I love you.”

Wait what.

[crystalpistol]

Billy knew you were close with Steve, but he didn’t know just how close until Tommy filled him in after a warm up basketball game at school. Billy had done almost every other thing possible to make that asshat’s life difficult and he was sure if he stole you, it’d finally be game over.

Just as he pulled up to the Wheeler household, you emerged with food wrapped in tinfoil, Mrs Wheeler at your side. She smiled and pecked your cheek before wishing you a safe journey home, and Billy laughed out loud. Unbelievable, he thought, this was a sign that you’d definitely be the next thing he’d ruin for Steve Harrington.

[crystalpistol]

You leaned over Daryl’s shoulder, perching your chin on his broad shoulder and smiling. “What’cha doin’, daddy?” The man grunted but otherwise gave no response, and after a moment of watching him sharpen a hunting knife, pulled back and began braiding his hair.

“You need to shower.” You could practically feel the oil on your fingertips as you worked, laughing when Daryl finally turned, feigning hurt. “Yeah, ‘cause you look much better, bunny.”

You gasped and turned around, peering at the white-haired woman behind you, “Mom, I don’t look as bad as him, right?”

“Him, she says. Him.” Daryl scoffed, standing up and ruffling your dusty head. “That’s Mister Him to you.”

[crystalpistol]

Hvitserk often relived memories of you in his dreams at night, waking up to plan another elaborate trap to capture another glimpse the following morning. The Witch that inhabited the forest outside Kattegat, a young woman who had supposedly graced the outskirts of the village for as long as it had existed.

Some accounts detailed you as being old and weathered, while others claimed you were child-like in appearance. The first time Hvitserk saw you with his own eyes, you appeared just how he liked his women - young, beautiful and completely naked. Twigs and leafs tangled into your hair and your face was caked with dirt. 

You looked as if you hadn’t bathed a day in your life, but as you passed him through the forest from a distance, he noticed it was only your face that was soiled, the rest of your body and even your bare feet left untouched.

When he returned home to his family with his exciting tale, his brothers all accused him of lying while his mother seemed concerned. She asked for more details, strange details that Hvitserk definitely wouldn’t have noticed, but somehow could recall.

“What did she smell like?” Aslaug’s hands trembled in her petite lap and she could not bring herself to raise her head to look at her son. “Fresh soil and sea water.”

“Sea water?” Ivar leaned forward, shoving his plate out of the way and propping his elbows on the table. “What did she look like, brother?” Hvitserk smirked and mimicked his brother’s posture. "She has the face of a feral woman.”

Ubbe couldn’t help but glance at his brother, intrigued himself in the topic. “And her body?”

“Sculpted by the Gods.”