anything else is lie

the posh boy solution

hi hello welcome to the second part of this little piece

part one: the posh boy problem

also available on: AO3


Sometimes John calls Sherlock little secret names in his head. Greets him with hey, handsome in the morning, calls him genius when he’s being too clever, calls him pretty man, silly git, sweetheart. But sometimes he just needs to call him,

“You fucking idiot!”

John throws his jacket at the back of his chair in obvious distress. It falls off immediately. He is clearly angry with him, Sherlock has observed the ragged breath and flaring nostrils long ago and drawn his conclusions. He wonders what exactly he’s done wrong to upset him so much. The fact that he (technically not quite) stole a boat or that he managed to fall into the Thames? He himself is just upset about having been forced to sacrifice his woollen coat in order to save himself from drowning. Of course, he owns lots of coats. You never know when an accidence like this one might occur.

While Sherlock swam to the shore, John made sure the jewellery thieves, due to which that boat chase had originally been initiated, did not shoot at Sherlock, and in the process of that received a pretty hard blow to the head. A bump is already growing just next to the vein that always pulsates visibly when John is angry.

“You should cool that,” Sherlock suggests.

“Shut up! I will cool that when I feel like cooling it, I’m a bloody doctor!”

Sherlock swallows. It’s worse than he thought. He cannot deny that he likes John when he is on the right side of angry, but this is probably the wrong side and he is also being yelled at.

“A boat chase, Sherlock?!”

“In my defence-” Sherlock starts, but is interrupted by John raising a finger, ordering him to shut the hell up.

“Take your clothes off.”

Sherlock stares. Sherlock blinks. His mind stays blank for a worryingly long amount of time. Then he remembers. He’s wet. Soaked, in fact, completely down to his bones, and freezing too. It’s taken him a little long to catch up because these words, words spoken in the tone of an army captain, are something he’s last heard two days ago, half asleep and desperate in his own bedroom. Another one of those nights in which his imagination filled in for the needs that reality doesn’t meet.

John is waiting in this charged air of silence, maybe having realised what he just said, maybe not. Sherlock tips his chin up and obeys.

“I’m not so posh anymore now, am I?” he mutters under his breath.

John presses his lips together at this, and Sherlock worries briefly that the vein at his temple might just burst. His eyes withhold a certain kind of spark, like a candle flickering, like the glare of a predator. All of a sudden, Sherlock feels stripped completely naked by those eyes only. Then he comes to realise … He’s stripping down. The ruined jacket abandoned next to his shoes and socks, his shirt hanging open to expose his chest and stomach, and his trousers… he’s in the process of shoving them down his thighs. The process of stripping down to his underwear for John Watson. But he feels naked.

John is walking towards him. Slowly, like he means to break him. He might.

His eyes are boring into Sherlock’s own and electrify the space between them, the air they breathe. Sherlock swallows, once more, but his throat is dry and he is thirsty. He is cold, goosebumps all over his body from the river water and those ocean eyes, but his skin is hot with anticipation.

John steps right into his space. Sherlock can smell him. It does things to him, awful things to his heightened senses. It clouds them, but at the same time he is overly aware of naked skin and of John wearing way too many clothes.

“Yeah,” John whispers roughly, so rough and so low he could hurt himself on that sandpaper voice. “You’re still a fucking posh boy.”

John’s eyes drop, and his breath is ragged, but Sherlock suspects this time it’s for entirely different reasons than anger. He doesn’t know who gives in first, and frankly, he  doesn’t give one fuck about it because the next thing he knows is that John’s lips are on his and it feels like he’s dying and being reborn in one single breath.

They long for each other, and their lips meet so hard it might leave bruises. John is all-consuming, is groaning and opening his mouth by opening his own first. Sherlock’s knees buckle at the sensation that is John’s tongue running over his bottom lip. If this is what it’s like to kiss John Watson, he should be put in chains because it’s dangerous. He walks him backwards, shoves him into the wall next to the kitchen. Sherlock’s trousers have dropped down to his ankles and he almost falls over them, held upright by the hard surface of the wall where he bumps his head into.

Dizzy and with a sharp pain buzzing through the back of his head, he feels weightless when John lifts one of his legs, slowly running his hand over the underside of his thigh, fingers through thin hairs and over hard muscle, and Sherlock’s natural reaction is to wrap his leg around John’s middle and hold on tight, so tight. His trousers are hanging from the end of his foot like one last resort before they fall off and to the floor. The pain wears off, and suddenly Sherlock thinks he can feel everything.

The smooth fabric of John’s shirt and the rough one of his jeans that presses against the lower part of his body. Against his thighs and hipbones and the growing bulge in his pants. John’s one hand is rubbing back and forth over his inner thigh and the soft spot where it dissolves into firm buttocks. A soft spot that draws a quite whine out of the back of his throat. He places his other hand on his face to hold him. Lifting his jaw ever so slightly, his thumb is stroking over one sharp cheekbone, and he kisses him again.

Sherlock still feels like he is dying, but it’s different than it was before. John deepens the kiss, and he feels utterly devoured. He’s never wanted anything more, he thinks. Wrapped up in all of him. It fuels his addictive personality in many dangerous ways, but he cannot think, can only indulge in this dance of drawing back only to lean back in again, tongues against each other in one hot wet mess.

All the blood is running south, and as he wraps his arms around John’s neck, he isn’t quite sure how to feel, much less what he is doing.

John breaks the kiss with a sigh. A long, dreamy sigh Sherlock has trouble interpreting correctly. Is it regret? Relief? Pity? But as he closes his eyes in silence, he brings their foreheads together and leans against him. They stay like this for what seems like minutes over minutes, and it should be uncomfortable, should feel ridiculous - with one of them undressed and the two of them panting against each other - but it doesn’t. They breathe together in unison, and when John draws back to look at him, his eyes don’t show anger, aren’t predatory. They are warm, they are gentle.

“You have no idea how long…” he begins, but doesn’t quite know where he was going with it, or if he wants this sentence to end.

Sherlock’s response gets stuck in his throat and its remains come out in a sob. “Yes,” he manages.

“And all this time,” John continues, “So much time…”

“It’s okay,” Sherlock assures him. His voice is quiet, as if he was afraid of breaking emotions fragile and clear as glass. And when they aren’t clear as glass, they are a thick fog of all the things left unsaid. It’s very hard to see through it, but what he sees is sharp enough. “We’re here now.”

John leans back in. He takes his time now, is gentle in his touches and caresses his cheeks. They feel wet, somehow, but Sherlock doesn’t understand why. It’s like the tears are falling naturally.

“Bedroom,” John whispers.

How many times has he imagined John Watson in his bed before this? He hasn’t kept track, but he knows that this time couldn’t be further from his imagination. Because it is reality. And it feels so, so much better than anything else in the world.

John doesn’t hold anything back with him. He kisses him in every spot, he bites his lip and neck and, oh god, the sensitive skin up, up his thighs. He whispers names into all of those spots, lets them sink into his flesh and travel to his chest where they can burn and glow and melt his insecurities with flickers of bliss.

He calls him love when he breaks a kiss, calls him honey as he buries his face in the crook of his neck, calls him genius when Sherlock touches him in the most intimate of places. He tells him he is gorgeous, tells him I need you and I want you. It’s the hottest thing in Sherlock’s ears, goes straight between his legs. He asks him, Is this okay?, asks almost desperately how, how can I have you?

He calls him you brilliant man when he groans, you pretty, pretty boy. But as he thrusts, harder, yes harder, sinks his teeth into his flesh and moans, as his movements became frantic and they are so close and wrapped in each other with tangled limbs and desperation, and yes, as he comes, the one thing on his lips is Sherlock. Only Sherlock. As beautiful as he has ever heard his own name sound. He’s had no idea his name could sound like this, and he’s not sure how anything else could ever come close to being this good.

They lie together, cuddling and blissed out and fucking happy for the first time in what seems to have taken ages. Sherlock feels a smile stretching across his face. John’s thumb caresses long laugh lines as he is bent over him. But he isn’t smiling back. He looks like something worries him.

“Don’t ever risk your own life like that again,” he warns him, but warns him softly.

Sherlock thinks about it in the most rational way he can. He is very serious when he says, “If risking my life leads to this right here, to you and me, I might just consider it.”

John goes ahead and bites him. Just below his jawline, as he has very recently learned he likes a lot.

Sherlock gasps and John lets go.

“Oh no,” he whispers. “This wasn’t a reward, Sherlock. It was… long overdue. I’m still mad at you.”

Sherlock looks away in honest concern and fear. “Are you really?”

John sighs. “No.”

They cuddle in silence for a long while. Sherlock is very close to falling asleep. He is much closer to losing himself to whatever he feels for John Watson. He knows it is love. He’s not sure how much more it is, but it might just kill him one day. That might just be fine with him.

“You’re my posh boy now,” John murmurs right before he feels himself drift away.

He smiles, honestly. Wholeheartedly.

“I’ve never been anything else, John.”



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Panic Cord pt.2 (Tom Holland x Reader)

Hey, Lovebugs! a lot of you requested for the second part of Panic Cord so here you go!

Originally posted by lovershub

“I’ll see you at home,” he says quietly, obviously disappointed and sad that you’re leaving. You step forward into his arms and wrap yours around his waist, placing your head on his chest. He kisses your hair.

“See you at home.” you say.

“I love you,” he adds as you are walking away.

You don’t say it back.

It has been a week since the premiere and Tom can count the number of words you’ve spoken to him on one hand. Ignoring the hums and grunts of acknowledgment, you’ve only spoken to him twice. He notices how your clouded eyes are bloodshot and puffy in the mornings. He can hear you trying to be silent as your tears flood the room. He has stood outside the bedroom door with a hand on the doorknob, trying to find an excuse to go in before he either gives up and goes to bed or slumps down beside the door with his head on his knees. He tries his hardest to monitor your sleeping schedule through the thin wall separating what was once his and your room, and the guest room he is now occupying. He insisted that you stayed put. He has tried to help in any way he can but you never say or do anything to show him you’re hurting. You’re silent, you’re tired, and he has run out of things to do. He cries himself to sleep now too.

Tonight, however, is different. You’re watching a movie on the couch, snuggled up in your duvet. Tom walks into the room from the kitchen and gazes at you. You don’t seem happier, per say, but you seem less empty. He finds that to be a little win. He goes back into the kitchen and gets you a cup of tea. 

The lounge is hard to navigate without any light other than the television, but he finds his way. The cup of tea acts as a peace offering because you take it hesitantly with a little upturn of your lips before pulling your feet closer to yourself. He sits next to you and you place your duvet-covered ankles on his lap. 

The movie continues playing and Tom watches how the screen reflects off your iris’, giving them a life he used to see daily when you’d explain a new theory you’d found online. When you blink, your eyes stay closed for a long time; your long, dark lashes almost grazing your cheekbones. He thinks he can see remnants of mascara below your eyes, but there’s a possibility that’s just the dark bags. He sees the slope of your nose, the freckles on your cheeks, the arch of your cupids bow. He likes watching you when you’re this close to sleep. You look peaceful.

You’re tired because you haven’t slept a lot since the premiere. You don’t know why you’re not speaking to Tom. You love him too, you know you do, you just can’t say it yet. He doesn’t notice that you put your feet on his lap but he subconsciously goes to massage them. You like snuggling into his chest because you can hear his heartbeat. You’ve never told him why you sleep on the side closest to the door, yet he always lets you sleep there. He doesn’t mind when you pull the covers from his side of the bed or when you accidentally hit him in the middle of the night. He doesn’t mind that you haven’t said I love you back, and that makes you love him even more.

The movie ends and Tom turns off the tv. “Tom,” you say with a croaky voice. He understands before you can say anything else and crawls from one side of the couch to lie down behind you. An arm over your waist, fingers intertwined with yours laying above your heart. “I’ve missed you,” he whispers into your hair. “I’ve missed you, too.”

“Y’know,” he says after a few moments of silence, “ I want you to know that I didn’t say “I love you” to hear it back. I said it to make sure you knew.” You sigh happily and huddle even closer to his body before placing your head in the crook of his neck. You place delicate kisses along his jawline and down his neck to his collarbone. “I love you,” you whisper into his skin. His strong arms pull you on top of him, your legs bent either side of his waist. He leans to kiss you before you lay your head on his chest and fall asleep, only to wake up together in the morning. You wake up like that many times from that point onward.

@literature-loving-girl @lghockey @oi-fandomhigh

Please leave a comment if you like the series and/or if you want another part!

The Seven Deadly Sins - Part 1

Originally posted by 98a

Pairing: Reader x Namjoon

Word Count: 2.6k

Genre: Angst, Smut

Series: 1. Lust |2. Gluttony |3. Greed (1) |4. Greed (2) |5. Sloth |6. Wrath | 7. Envy

Description: Seven men helped shape you into who you are. Whether they were friends, enemies, or lovers, they all left a long lasting mark on your life, for better or for worse.


          Some flames burn too brightly and too quickly. He was the flame and you were the match, burning and disappearing as he tore through you, his aim to leave nothing behind but ash. He loved to destroy things, to destroy people, and leave them worse than when he had found them. He gravitated towards people who were strong and that took time to tear down. He fought hard, very hard, to destroy you.

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Gosh there is just something so satisfying about watching Imperial Star Destroyers be destroyed. They just look so indestructible, something about the design (I think the stark white paint job has something to do with it) just makes them seem so imposing and completely impervious to damage, like a force of nature. But it’s a lie. They’re just as destroyable as anything else.

Bite Me (Oneshot)

AN: Soooo guess who’s not dead? Yeah, sorry guys. I started my Senior year and everything just went to hell from there. Fortunately, I’m graduating next month and I won’t be starting college until the Fall, so guess who has more free time soon!? Anyways, I started a new request, but then remembered I had this one already started and almost done. So I finished it real quick and I’m posting it as a sort of apology for being so inactive. I hope this one is to your liking, anon!

Prompt:  Hi! Can you do a Bucky x reader where they kinda have a love/hate relationship and one day they are arguing and the reader is like “bite me” to Bucky and he’s like okay and leaves a bunch of hickeys on her. And then like the next day while them and the avengers are chilling Steve see’s the marks and is like the hell? And Bucky appears and is like she said bite me so I did. Sorry if this is confusing and thank you so much!!

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, teasing, angry/horny Bucky, heavy kissing, hickeys, no smut tho.

Gif not mine

The relationship between you and Bucky was friendly but at the same time… strained. At times the both of you would get along and sometimes actually hang out. Other times you would be at each other’s throats. This obviously was driving the team crazy since they never knew what mood the two of you would be in. However, everything finally came to a head one evening after a particularly stressful mission.

“Hey, Y/N, have you seen my-” Bucky was cut off as soon as he walked into the bathroom connected to your room and saw you. He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

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Knot because I love you, just because I care (Part 4 of 7)

Her visa was up. He offered to help. That’s what friends are for -right?

Also on FF.NET and AO3

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

The ceremony had gone by quickly - their simple vows chosen as they were the most succinct - and if Killian had to hazard a guess he would have thought barely five minutes had passed since Emma had entered on David Nolan’s arm looking beautiful in a cream silk dress. Now it was over, the silver rings they had bought on their fingers, the registrar looking at them expectantly…. and a frozen expression on Emma’s face.

He’d found it almost charming when she had appeared at his door the night before, drenched and with so many questions. Since this whole idea had formed, his sole motivation had been to do a good deed for someone who sorely needed a break. Of course, when she’d mentioned a kiss, well, it wasn’t too much hardship to kiss a beautiful woman, was it? Now their friends were waiting, the registrar’s words hanging in the air and Emma looked like she was terrified.

He took her hand in his, running his thumb across the back of it, whispering, “Breathe, Emma.”

She looked quickly up at him, her expression softening as she gave him a little nod, her eyes flashing to his lips. Oh yes, he thought, you may kiss the bride.  Then, she leaned up onto her toes as he tilted his head to meet her until their lips aligned and touched for a second, just like the night before, the briefest of kisses, enough to satisfy their guests.

But as he went to pull away, she didn’t- instead, she reached up her hand to wrap around his neck, securing him in place as she increased the pressure on his mouth, teasing his lips open with a brief swipe of her tongue.

If he’d brushed off their kiss from the night before, it was impossible to do so now. She was kissing him; she led their actions, pulling him closer, her other hand resting on his chest, her lips so demanding- like-

Like it was real.

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"What was his name?”

Last night, Peter Quinn died. 

For some of you, maybe he died over a season ago. Maybe he died in that gas chamber, really and truly. After that, “Quinn 1.0,” as we came to identify him, was but a distant memory. 

Quinn 2.0, the Peter Quinn we saw this season, was in some respects worlds apart from that man. I will not rattle off the list because we know it well. We saw him struggle, we saw him fight, we saw both his slowly boiling rage at his slow recovery as well as his eventual resignation that this might be the end for him. 

This is what matters, ultimately. He was a hero, in life and in death. He loved fully, with his whole heart and without abandon. He was totally and completely committed to his country and to those he loved. He kept a tattered copy of Great Expectations in his dresser, seemingly took it with him everywhere he went. It was filled with photos of Julia, the mother of his child; John, the son he never knew; and Carrie, the woman whom he loved as no other.

That’s tragedy. 

To call it anything else would be a lie. 

I wasn’t expecting to have to write this. I spoke confidently that he would be fine. That the forces that kept him alive last year (and the year before, and the year before that) would keep him alive this year. I was wrong. So now we grieve. 

I think that everyone will process this death in different ways. Already I have seen reactions of anger, confusion, and abject sadness. In the coming days and weeks we will be open to all these reactions, because that’s what a community is for. 

In the meantime, if you need to take a break, that’s ok. If you need to say goodbye, that’s ok, too. If and when you decide to come back, HYH will be here. 

anonymous asked:

Hi! Nice to meet you. I don't really think that Beth is coming back. I think she is dead. Btw, I'm not a hater. You know, I think it's good to hear opinions about this, so I just wanted you to convince me about Beth being alive. I'll be waiting for your answer. xoxo

First, Beth had a survivable gunshot wound (GSW). The bullet entered high up on the left side of her forehead, and it exited out the back of her skull. Because TPTB used Dutch angles to film the scene, they were able to make it look like the bullet entered from below Beth’s chin and exited through the back of her head, top-wise. You can see the entry here:

There was no blood on her chin, and in Coda’s BTS video, an SFX worker confirmed that the forehead was the entry wound (X). She was also not shot point blank, as some people think. Depending on the exact angle, the bullet might not have even touched her brain, as it could have skimmed along the inside of her skull. Either way, she would not die immediately, as she sustained no damage to hindbrain or brainstem, which handle primary bodily functions. What would likely kill her is infection if left untreated, and the treatment she would really need is stitches and antibiotics, as the bullet exited. Edwards could treat that. You can read more about Beth’s gunshot here: X.

Beth’s GSW is actually a parallel to comic!Andrea’s GSW. In issue 44, Andrea sustained a graze to the head, resulting in her forehead scar. Her scars are mirrors of Beth’s facial lacerations, which Emily referred to as “scars” long after she should have finished filming. Beth shares many parallels with both versions of Andrea, and many believe that her Grady arc is Gimple fixing Andrea’s Woodbury arc. You can read about the Beth-Andrea parallels here: X.

We also never saw Beth be buried onscreen, never saw a funeral, or even a grave marker. There is no contextual/canonical evidence that she had one. The opening clip of 5x09 showed what appeared to be Beth’s funeral but was actually was Tyreese’s, which TPTB had no reason to do unless it was to emphasize Beth’s lack of one. Nicotero said on 5x09 TTD that they intentionally misled the audience and you just don’t do that unless there’s something to mislead from. Why not show something? Closure and funereal rituals are very important to the show, as they have been emphasized since season one when Glenn insisted they bury their loves ones, but funerals are especially important to Beth. Instead, we have 17 days unaccounted for, Beth’s body unseen, and a continued, increased focus on closure and honoring the dead. Nicotero at a con supposedly told a fan that Beth was buried offscreen, but that cannot be trusted. He couldn’t say anything else without spoiling the show. These people lie. This is compounded by the fact that the theme song played in her “death” episode, which never happens for a main character’s farewell. For the most part, and always under Gimple’s reign, when a main character dies, they either receive silence or sad music in the ending credits. It would have been especially poignant if Beth received silence, as she represented music. Instead, the theme music played. (Incidentally it also played for Glenn in 6x03, which had the same writer as 5x08).

Regarding Beth’s body, there is a theory that she was left in a car after being brought to Maggie and then taken back to Grady, where she received treatment. Nicotero mentioned filming 800 walkers for 5x08, but they were never seen. In 5x09, twice we saw in Tyreese’s flashback the men running to cars waving their guns. There has been a focus on cars, walkers/people in cars, coupled with cars being connected to Beth. Andrew Lincoln said that going to Virginia was the only physical way to honor Beth. Emily recently said in an interview that Beth would understand not being given a funeral, because Team Family had to leave in a hurry, though that was never indicated at the end of 5x08. A herd of walkers descended on the group and forced to run, had to leave Beth behind in a car, protecting her. When they came back, she was gone. (You can read more about Beth and her lack of funeral here: X. You can read more about the Beth-left-in-a-car-theory here: X).

The 800 walkers are part of many unseen spoilers from season 5 that never made it onscreen. They were too numerous and too large to be cut. A notable example is a pair of white houses that were filmed at in late May 2014. Some of the main cast was spotted/photographed there, including Emily as Beth and Lennie James as Morgan. Security was noted as being tight, and they filmed there for at least a day, though maybe longer, and yet it never aired. Many TDers believe that Emily filmed a large number of scenes, mainly involving what happened to Beth in those 17 days after 5x08, during season 5 so she wouldn’t be spotted by spoiler sites in season 6.

Here is a breakdown of some of the big stuff:

  • Missing body/no funeral
  • Theme song played
  • Survivable gunshot wound
  • Parallels
    • Narratively
    • Characters (Rick, Andrea, Jessie, Denise, etc.)
  • Missing season 5 and 6 spoilers
    • Bethfoot 1 and 2
    • White houses
  • Bethyl promotion
  • Foreshadowing (I am strong; there’s a new sheriff in town; religious symbolism)
  • Clocks
  • Music Box
  • Emily not having done any panels
  • Emily using TWD in present tense, both on her social media and in interviews
  • Boots/Binoculars Bethfoot

If you would like to review any of the pieces of TD’s evidence/theories, you can read more summary posts here (X), and I archive it all here (X).

anonymous asked:

Oh my god, what if Lena is asking Kara to be her support because her ex is like kryptonite for her. She loses all sense of self/power in the relationship and she needs Kara there for backup. Which then leads to her asking Kara what her kryptonite is and the awkward "um.." is not only because she's supergirl but also because Lena inadvertently dragged mon-hell!!!


anonymous asked:

Fic title idea: hellfire


Mike and El are seventeen when their first niece is born. Nancy names her daughter after Barbara, but when neither Barbara or Barb stick, El nicknames the baby Bobbie and that’s what they end up calling her. Anyways, with Jonathan and Nancy up in NYC, they’ve only met Bobbie once, and El has never even held her. Nancy asks them to babysit on a four day weekend so that she and Jonathan can go to work party, and they agree, thinking “how hard can babysitting a three-month old be?” Mike, who is pretty good with little kids, so much that he wants to be a teacher instead of an engineer like his dad wants him to be, is pretty confident that this babysitting shindig should go down fine, but El is quietly freaking out the whole ride to new York because she has NO experience with babies.

They get there, only to find out Nancy’s ulterior motives behind asking them to sit for her. “I’m hoping this will prevent you from getting any ideas, Michael.” His only response is a really red face “I CAN’T HEAR YOU NANCY OVER THE SCREAMING CHILD” “Mike, the baby is sleeping.” El has no idea what’s even going on. They listen for thirty minutes to Nancy explain in detail everything to do for Bobbie, when to feed her, when to change her, how to make formula until jonathan is literally dragging her out of the house because they are already late. Mike turns to el and is like “how hard can this be?”

Oh, Michael, so naive.

It’s starts out fine; Bobbie wakes up and they take a wild guess, deciding to give her a bottle
(“That’s what Nancy said to do right?” “Nancy said so many things I can’t even remember”) Mike says he’ll make it if she wants to hold Bobbie, and El admits she’s never actually held a baby before, and Mike’s like “it’s easy! It’s okay el you have no reason to be nervous.” He helps her get Bobbie in her arms, reminding her to support the head, and is secretly totally blown away by the smile on El’s face as she holds her niece. Things take a turn after that, Bobbie throws up on Mike, and El tries not to laugh at him, the two try to change a diaper and accidentally put it on backwards and have try again and Bobbie screams the entire time stressing them out even more. They get the diaper on right but then they have trouble getting her clothes back on (babies are so squirmy) and she still hasn’t calmed down
Nancy calls then, and mike insists everything is fine as el tries to get her little shirt back on (“everyTHING IS GREAT! Bobbie is fine, we’re fine, EVERY THING IS FINE TRUST ME” “I hear screaming are you sure? Do you need me to come home-” “EVERY THING IS COOL NANCY ENJOY YOUR PARTY” and hangs up) they reason Bobbie HAS to tire herself out at some point, and take turns rocking her until she starts to sleep. Mike tries to put her down in the crib and it was LIKE SHE KNEW that she wasn’t going to be held anymore and begins to scream again (that used to happen all the time when I worked at a daycare) . El takes her this time to give Mike a break, and at this point she figures she use her powers to send little pulses from her brain that start to calm Bobbie down, and are sent to calm her emotions and match them to el’s. Eventually Bobbie falls asleep, and stays in the crib, but Mike and el are too exhausted to do anything else but lie there by her crib. Nancy comes home to find all three of them sleeping, and makes jonathan take a picture.

It all comes in handy when their own daughter Michelle is born ten years later. They mostly ignore Nancy’s teasing, planning to better with their own daughter than with their first attempt at watching their niece.

Send me a fic title and I’ll tell you what I would write about!

Second Chance (Karamel) - Chapter 1

Originally posted by allpeopleareincredible

One moment can change everything.

When Mon-El lost Kara, his fiancee, in an alien invasion one year ago, he thought he’d never see her again. Since then he’s been trying to build himself a life and pick up whatever pieces of him was left after losing her, and he’s been failing miserably. Just when he thinks he can’t go on anymore and loses all hope, he’s thrust into a world completely different than his; a world in which everything he used to know is changed. Which includes Kara Danvers never dying on that fateful night.

Mon-El soon finds out it won’t be as easy as he hoped it would be to reverse the changes, especially when with each passing day he gets more sucked up into his new life. Because in the end, reversing everything means losing Kara all over again, and he’s not sure he’s strong enough to go through that a second time.

You can find the rest of the story, and my other Karamel fanfics, here:
Karamel Fanfiction Masterlist

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i hate myself i hate the way i look i detest every inch of skin that i have but i know that if i express this to anyone they will deny it and go on about my ‘sweet nose and unique features and… and… and…… well, you’re beautiful!!!’ and they can’t think of anything else to lie about and i can see them searching my face desperately for something that is the slightest bit appealing and failing and it aches deep deep deep in my chest i can’t get it out

Little things Hoseok does to make you happy

-waking you up in the morning with happy shouts and kisses all over your face and when you finally get up you see him holding flowers which he found who knows where considering you didn’t hear him leaving the apartment

-doing little dance performances for you when you’re feeling down and then not letting you go until you dance with him, claiming that ‘’HIPS DON’T LIE JAGI’’

-wants to make a lunch for you at least one time so he spends hours in the kitchen not accepting defeat even after he accidentally poured like a whole box of salt in one of his ‘’experimental’’ soups

-hugs…HUGS ALL THE TIME, no matter what you’re doing he’s always somewhere close searching for an opportunity to give you one

-like, you’re doing the laundry or just laying on the couch watching a tv show and he suddenly appears like a happy seal ready to hug the life out of you

-you don’t have any doubts about how loved you are since as soon as he sees you his face face suddenly shines you much that you’re pretty sure it’s capable of making people go blind

-doing ‘’Bapsae’’ choreography for you   because if that doesn’t make your day i don’t know what can

-you can appear in front of him with bed hair, no make up, wearing some old clothes and he would still stand there with his mouth open looking like he just fell in love with you all over again

-every ‘’couple thing’’ that exists in the this world…well, he probably bought it at some point

-but then you found matching toothbrushes in your bathroom and you were like ‘’what…is there still something in my apartment that isn’t couple thing?’’ and he was like ‘’You mean soulmate thing, jagi?’’ with smile a brighter than sunshine  and then he has to chase you around the house desperately trying to kiss you while you’re running away laughing and cringing because of cheesiness

-if you come home extremely tired he’ll notice it right away and even though he might want to spend hours talking to you or just quickly tell you about that amazing things that happened to him today he’ll won’t do it

-instead he’ll carry you princess style all the way from the front door to your bedroom, which he not so secretly enjoys doing, and put you on a bed leaving you alone so you could get some rest

-still, only a few minutes after, you would hear the bedroom door opening again and the sound of his footsteps getting closer to the bed…maybe you’re too tired to do anything else but he can still lie there cuddled up to you, right?

-using random English words because he know’s his English is your favorite type of English

-sending you cute  and sometimes really cheesy  voice messages while he’s at practice

-even just shopping for groceries seems like an adventure with him since he makes a whole show even about choosing the best toilet paper

-not a day would go by without him saying ‘’I love you’’ at least once and he will say it at most random times making it seem like every time he looks at you he remembers one more reason why he loves you

Yoongi version


Imagine feeling like Neal doesn’t love you.

Neal pressed a kiss to your cheek, reaching for the doorhandle of the car, “Love you.”

You stared at him, “Do you really mean that?”

Neal paused, his nose wrinkling in a frown. He seemed genuinely shocked by the question. “What do you mean?”

“Do you really love me?” you pressed, swallowing thickly and averting your gaze.

“Of course I do. Why would you have to ask?”

You fiddled with your fingers. “You’re a con man, Neal. It’s what you do. And I never know whether or not you’re lying. For all I know, this is just another con. It’s not like a guy like you could ever really love someone like me.”

Neal’s expression softened and he took your hands in his, “Hey, hey. Don’t talk like that. You are amazing. I should be the one thinking you’re out of my league. Because, you’re right, I am a con man. Some days, I don’t even know if I’m a good man. But if you never believe anything else I say, please believe this- I will never lie to you. And I love you with all of my heart.”

You forced a tiny smile, “That’s two things.”

Neal’s lips curled into a grin of his own and he let out a soft chuckle, “Does that count as a lie?”

Gif Credit: Neal