Think Big, Get Cash, Make Them Blink Fast

dwarrowkings replied to your post: addictsitter: Crossdressing! Also, optional…

FUCK YOU THE MOST OF ANYTHING EVER.

moltres:

overhearing a conversation between strangers in which they’re saying something completely wrong and you really feel like correcting them

(via misandrwitch)

addictsitter: Crossdressing! Also, optional incest.

Nick lets his brothers get ahold of him once, and he sorely regrets those pictures to this day. Joe had carefully flat-ironed his hair, while Kevin critiqued his technique and spritzed maximum holding gel on it to keep the unruly curls in place. He looked like a science experiment gone horribly wrong, and the internet has the proof. 

Nick, because he firmly believes revenge is a dish best served cold, waits a long time before he gets them back. Kevin’s much easier than Joe. All he does is tell Kev that yeah, that scarf is really cool, it totally goes with his boots and just lets him walk out the door. He copies all the links into a special folder in his bookmarks and links Kevin to OceanUp. He sits in his room and tries not to smile when Kevin bursts in the door. Kevin struggles to yell at him before making a frustrated noise and slamming the door on his way back out. 

Home run. 

Joe is a lot harder to prank. Joe has the amazing ability to wear the stupidest shit and get away with it, like he’s some of fashion trailblazer. Nick is pretty sure no one else, including himself, has ever made gold clothing work. 

Strike One. 

Nick tries making him carry a purse, but Joe just thinks that’s even cooler, somehow, and Nick ends up with a leather briefcase slung on his hip because otherwise, it would blow his cover and let Joe know he was trying to fuck with him. He has to defend himself to the entire band for a long time, and accept all the jokes on what he carries in his manpurse, until he can safely park it in his closet and just chalk it up to a phase. 

Strike Two. 

Nick knows that the count’s against him right now, and it’s either go down looking or swing for the fences. He has to pinch most of it from his mom’s drawer, hoping she won’t notice that it’s gone until he has time to put it back, but the red lipstick he has to go buy himself. He throws it in with a bunch of other crap he doesn’t need and hopes the cashier won’t turn him in for it. She doesn’t even pause from popping her pink bubblegum long enough to look past his ball cap and sunglasses to know who he is. She rings him up and takes his card with a half-hearted sigh, turning back to her magazine before he’s even properly out of line.

He thinks about trying to trick Joe into putting the make-up on, but that didn’t work with the purse so why would it work now? Instead, he figures an ambush attack and wrestling him into the chair is a better bet. He’s taller than Joe now, and they’ve been working out together for a while now. He totally can bench more than his brother any day. 

“Shit,” Joe swears, when Nick barrels into him as soon as he comes through the hotel door. It only takes a couple of cheap shots to get him in the chair, and Nick holds him there with a couple of shoves to his shoulders. 

It’s mostly a joke, threatening him with blush and eyeliner, except Joe only flinches away because he says the brush tickles and he totally doesn’t believe that Nick knows what he’s doing. 

“You’re going to take my eye out.” 

“Just sit still, damn,” Nick huffs out, and Joe just frowns deeply, before looking up at the ceiling. They’ve all worn a little pancake makeup for photo-shoots  or at least had an airbrush taken to their pimples, but nothing like a dark smudge of kohl around their eyes or red lipstick on their lips. Nick messes up Joe’s eyes probably three times, but he finds that if he drags his ring finger across Joe’s lashes, it blurs into something that looks more natural than the harsh, uneven line that he had drawn. 

Joe isn’t even fighting him anymore, and Nick thinks that should take some of the fun out this, but Joe’s skin is already so smooth and dark that the little bit of black around his eyes just makes them look better, and Nick sort of wishes he knew what he was doing all of sudden. 

Nick leans over to the desk where he had dumped his scavenged goods and that’s when he notices that he’s got one knee between Joe’s legs, the kind of unconscious move one makes when they are just trying to get closer so they can see, and Joe isn’t making him move. 

He has to break the plastic seal on the lipstick, and he knows Joe sees him doing it. Instead of getting shy about it, he leans Joe’s head back with a couple of fingers on his chin and tells him to shut up. 

“I didn’t say anything,” Joe croaks, and Nick ignores him. He smears red waxy lipstick across his lips, going outside the lines in a few places. He makes sure to cover it all before he goes back with his thumb to clean off Joe’s upper lip. The red stain on his thumb looks a little like a drop of blood, from when he tests his sugar, and he wipes it on Joe’s white v-neck just to watch his brother squirm. 

“This is your shirt anyway,” Joe answers smugly, and Nick just presses his thumb harder into Joe’s chin. Joe’s eyelashes are too long, curling slightly all on their own, and Nick slides forward another inch. 

Kissing Joe feels like taking a baseball right to the chest. 

dwarrowkings:

Nick/Kevin. “Maybe you shouldn’t come back / Maybe you shouldn’t come back to me / Tired of being so sad, tired of getting so mad, baby / Stop right now, you’ll only let me down, oh oh / Maybe you shouldn’t come back / Maybe you shouldn’t come back to me.”

Kevin’s eyelashes flutter a little, as Nick’s lips brush his forehead, but he doesn’t wake up. Nick half wishes he would, so Nick wouldn’t feel like he is stepping out of a movie theatre, leaving with memories of things that didn’t happen to him. He remembers Kevin’s fingers on his jaw, on his hips, the taste of them in his mouth, but they’re distant, like someone painted them on a wall and then let the wall get so dirty you can barely see the pictures.

The feel of Kevin’s mouth though, pressed to the underside of his jaw, feels seared on, a brand on his skin that will never cool or fade away.

—

Kevin finds him, a week later, in a hotel room in Charlotte. Kevin’s sweating through his shirt, little droplets gathering on the side of his neck, and Nick licks his lips and steels himself. He isn’t going to fall back into this… this… whatever this is. He isn’t.

Kevin’s voice breaks on Nick’s name, and Nick’s fingers curl around Kevin’s wrists. “Hey,” Nick says, trying to make it a normal thing, but his voice is too soft, more intimate than he is used to. Kevin’s smile is pained, uncertain and fragile, and it breaks Nick’s resolve.

—

Nick can feel the dark circles under his eyes like weights holding his eyes open. He is so tired. He flops back on the pillow, unable to sleep. Cool fingers brush the hair away from Nick’s forehead, and Nick pushes his face up into Kevin’s fingers. “I love you,” Nick says, sweet and soft.

Kevin takes a long time to answer. “I love you too, Nicky,” Kevin says, his voice quavery and weird. He presses his mouth to Nick’s temple, and it feels less like a brand, and more like goodbye. “I love you too.”

—

Nick taps out a series of text messages that he deletes. He sends Joe one that says, “I want ice cream,” and Joe shows up twenty minutes later with sugar free chocolate chunk. 

Nick could lie and say he likes Joe best, but Joe hands him a spoon, and doesn’t make him get a bowl, so Nick is pretty sure that he doesn’t have to say anything.

“I brought The Italian Job,” Joe says, waving the case around. Nick slumps his shoulders.

“Marky Mark,” Nick sighs approvingly.

—

It doesn’t matter that he falls asleep before Charlie punches Steve, because Nick wakes up with his head on someone’s lap. “Kevin,” Nick sighs, and the fingers on his scalp still. Nick wakes up a little more. “Joe?” Nick says, and he can feel Joe’s body fill with tension.

“I’m sorry,” Joe says. 

“Don’t be,” Nick says. 

—

“I’ll always come back to you,” Kevin says, the last time before he goes. He kisses Nick’s fingertips, and Nick feels flush with it, warm and slightly sick.

“Maybe you shouldn’t.” Nick says, and Kevin pulls away. 

“What?” Kevin says, and it hurts the way that Kevin’s voice doubts him.

“Maybe you shouldn’t leave.” Nick says, careful.

Realization brightens Kevin’s eyes. 

For a second, Nick believes it, but only for a second.

Bey & Jay ♔

(via menacherie)

(Source: gastrogirl, via misandrwitch)

(Source: mizik-wal, via fuckyeahjonasgifs)

sosobriquet: Morgan/Garcia first kiss

“Oh my God?” Garcia gasps, covering her mouth with her hands. Derek’s hands are still brushing back the errant strands of hair around her cheeks, his rough knuckles leaving little goose pimples up and down her arms. “That was so totally not to plan.” 

“Plan?” he laughs. “You had a plan, baby girl?” 

“There was going to be candles, and, like, wine and a romantic dinner. Maybe in the mountains, or at a lake house. Somewhere really pretty. I was going to wear a dress. I’ve got it all picked out and everything. And I was totally going to let you lean in first and I’m so sorry.” 

She looks around at her messy apartment, at the cold pizza congealing on her coffee table, and the crappy rerun of Seinfeld playing on late night and almost cries. 

“First kisses are supposed to be, I don’t know, magical. And this is just -“ 

“Hey, hey.” He frames her face in both of his hands. “It felt pretty magical to me.” 

She smiles, because she always smiles for him. “Really? The dirty socks aren’t a turn off?” 

“Dirty sock are definitely a turn-off,” he jokes, leaning in again for a second. “But I think you do just fine all on your own.” 

She closes her eyes and presses their temples together. “I should have kissed you a long time ago, Derek Morgan.”

loki-is-our-god:

(Source: thesheepenthusiast, via impetuousvortex)

anartinsorcery: mcdanno or harvey and mike

“Steven, please, I’m begging you. Steven, Steven. It’s like talking to a cinder block.” Danny is actually begging, his hands pressed together like a prayer in front of him following his partner all the way out the door of the house.

“I heard you, Danny, I’m concentrating.” 

“He’s concentrating,” Danny opines to absolutely no one. “Steve, babe, listen. I love you, okay? With a deep and abiding love. But don’t do this, okay? Don’t agree to this because you think I want you to. Nothing about our friendship says you have to suffer through a Williams family dinner for me.” 

“I met Stan and Rachel, they aren’t so bad.” 

“Stan and Rachel are not my parents and siblings. I don’t think you fathom the depths of soul-sucking judgement you are going to walk into.” 

“I was a Navy SEAL, Danno. My first nickname wasn’t Smooth Dog, it was Maggot.” 

Danny stops pacing for a second and contemplates every choice in his life that lead him to this exact moment. Rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyeballs, Danny takes a deep breath and says, “okay, okay. But watch out for my sisters, okay? They’ve got eyes, and, like, hands. And they are all married, so don’t fall for any of their shit. And don’t bring up Matty. And don’t bring up that thing where Gracie got kidnapped. Or anything about our job. Or the grenades. Or the prison. Or Gabby, don’t bring up Gabby. And if my dad asks-“ 

“Danny, it’s going to be fine. Now, get in the car.” 

“Don’t tell my mother I let you drive.”

“You don’t let me do anything. I just do things. Now get in the damn car.” 

They are halfway to the airport when Steve looks over, and waits just long enough for Danny to yell at him to “watch the goddamn road, Jesus Christ, Steven” to say, “You really love me, huh?” 

Danny’s only answer is one finger, held up an inch from his nose. 

“Yeah, yeah, love you, too, Danno.” 

menacherie: And Wu told his mom Portland had nothing on Gotham.

“No, Mom, it’s fine. No, it’s - It was just some weird flu thing, don’t get- Yes, mom. Yes, I know. No, trust me, Portland has nothing on Gotham.” 

“It’s not a good thing, you know, ” Hank says, hobbling into the hospital room on his crutches.

“What’s not?” Wu pants, letting his pain come through now that he’s safely disconnected the call. 

“Lying. To anyone, really, but to your mother?” Hank whistles, sitting down on the edge of the bed, careful not to displace Wu too much. 

“It wasn’t a lie.”

“You got shot.” 

“Yeah, and I did in Gotham, too. Except in Gotham, I almost died.”

Hank frowns, and opens his mouth to contest him again, but Wu just holds up a hand. 

“I laid on freezing cold metal for hours before anyone came back to check on me. Then I laid in a hospital bed in a city under siege for weeks, while everyone else was busy hailing our very own private vigilante a hero. And then I got a medal from the mayor, and a call from my mother, and a transfer order on my desk. 

“The difference between then and now isn’t that I got shot. It’s that, this time, there was someone to carry me out of there. So, no, Hank, it wasn’t better for me in Gotham.” 

“Wu, listen, I’m-” Hank starts, then fades off, eyes focused on Wu’s hands where they were worrying at the frayed edge of the hospital sheets and on the slight tremble in his fingers. “I’ll ask your nurse if you can have something for pain.” 

“Don’t bother, Hank.” He points to the dry erase board, with a bunch of medical words Hank didn’t understand written in neat, blocky writing, and smiles wanly. “It’s not due again for another hour.” 

xiahjour replied to your post: SOMEONE SAID FIC WAR?

JONAS, THAT BUZZCUT DOES TOO MUCH TO JOE

Joe can remember every stage of Nick’s sad, sad hair history. He remembers the afro fondly, if only because it was a gold mine of jokes to be made about if Nick needed a monkey to sit on his shoulder and pick bugs out it for him or if he was attempting to make the Cousin It look something Tiger Beat would call “edgy and cute.” 

Then again, Joe has two eyes. He remembers his own fashion faux-pas (he’s never going to live down the feathering thing) and really, glass houses, stones, etc. 

But the thing about Nick losing his curls altogether seems like something Joe should be worried about; like it’s a cry for help, or something. Nick tells him in a  text that he’s thinking of going minimalist for the summer in South America, and Joe goes, “Yah, less is more” with a saucy wink, because he doesn’t actually know what Nick means by “minimalist.”

He gets an eyeful of it when Nick comes home, shuffling in the apartment twirling his keys and whistling the melody to whatever had been on the radio last. 

“Nicholas.” Nick looks up, probably not expecting Joe to just be sitting on their couch when he got home, and smiles bashfully. He hangs his head and runs a self-conscious hand over the bristles. 

“Too much?” 

Joe’s mouth is kind of too dry to answer that, but he manages. “No, it’s just…”

Yeah, it’s definitely too much, because he can see Nick’s eyes and the freckles on his temples, and he sort of just wants to touch it. He can remember the soft, bouncy feels of Nick’s curls from when he was 15, and he can remember how it felt on the nape of Nick’s neck when it was shorter when he was 18, but he has no idea how this will feel against his hand, against his forehead when they pray before a concert. 

“It’s good, man. The ladies of Lima are going to love it.” 

“We’re not even going to Peru.” 

Joe still feels like he’s reeling a little, something he’s pretty sure other guys don’t feel about their arrogant little brothers, but hey, he’s Joe Jonas. He just swallows again, and puts on his best smile. “Their loss, then.” 

Nick smiles back. 

dea-goes-a-tumbln:

What: Tumblr Fic War

Who: Anyone who reblogs this post.

When: Until everyone is actualfax dead, because this is WAR suckers!

Why: FEELINGS

What: Everyone who reblogs this post is opening their ask box up to the most brutal, feelings-inducing prompts anyone who is playing can imagine.  Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to take those prompts and DESTROY EVERYONE with them. Not just angsty stuff either, fluff can be just as bad, as many of you know!

(via dwarrowkings)

SOMEONE SAID FIC WAR?

(Source: textsfromgrimm)