broken bulbs

Throat

Originally posted by bovaria

Summary: Bucky can’t quite control himself when it comes to you, and he’s not about to change that.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N:  i’m disgusting dude :/

WARNINGS: 18+!, dirty talk, masturbation, gagging, spanking, SLIGHT voyeurism, in general it’s nasty and i’m sorry. also! no condom is used in this but that don’t mean you can go around shoving ya dix and fajitas and whatnot anywhere ya want without protection. keep it safe.

Wordcount: 5,400 (no self control? i think so.)


Bucky Barnes was the kind of man to keep things bottled up. He was the kind of man that clutched his fists tight, kept his mouth shut, and dealt with things in his own time. More often than not, his methods of coping with situations gone wrong usually remained orthodox and controlled. He would sit and write until his mind could write no more and it was easier to breathe. Until he could face his team, face you, and function properly.

You were never an easy team member. Stubborn, scrappy in principles and always looking to give him a wild rush. He could almost say he hated working with you. He hated how you were always questioning orders, even if you often had a point, and how he could never concentrate with you around. Bucky Barnes hated the way you made him feel.

Like he wanted to grab a hold of your hair and smash his lips to yours. Like he couldn’t wait to tell you just how crazy you really drove him.

So it was hard, living with you. Often times, he scorned himself for choosing to reside in your second bedroom rather than in Steve’s apartment. He had been given a choice, and Bucky just couldn’t shut down your offer. He wanted to be closer to you, he wanted the rush in his veins when he was around you. It was different from the Avengers compound. There, he wasn’t alone with you. The team was there.

But here…here, he had you to himself.

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How many feminists does it take to screw in a light bulb?
  1. One to declare that broken light bulbs are a “Women’s Issues”
  2. One to excoriate men for creating the need for illumination
  3. One to blame men for inventing such a faulty means of illumination.
  4. One to write about how society marginalizes darkness.
  5. One to suggest the whole “screwing” bit to be too “rape-like.”
  6. One to deconstruct the lightbulb itself as being phallic.
  7. One to start a campaign for women’s lightbulbs to be taxpayer funded.
  8. One to make sure there are not too many straight white cis people included in the light bulb changing process.
  9. One to use her White Privilege to make sure no on speaks over the trans and POC members of the light bulb changing committee.
  10. One to blame men for not changing the bulb.
  11. One to blame men for trying to change the bulb instead of letting a woman do it.
  12. One to blame men for creating a society that discourages women from changing light bulbs.
  13. One to blame men for creating a society where women change too many light bulbs.
  14. One to advocate that lightbulb changers should have wage parity with electricians.
  15. One to alert the media that women are now “out-lightbulbing” men.
  16. One to say that the man who found the step ladder is an “ally” not a light bulb changer.
  17. One to just sit there taking pictures for her blog for photo-evidence that men are unnecessary.
  18. One to hold the bulb to the socket and wait for the world to revolve around her.
Living as a Liminal Space

Is this the way things have always been?
The question is always nestled in the back of your mind, smile carefully in place as you nod along with someone’s conversation. You don’t know who they are - their face feels familiar, but the list of remembered names in your mind is very small.
You stare at their cracked lips, trying to commit their words to memory. You wonder if they had ever used chapstick, and just as that thought bubbled to the surface, time slipped sideways. You awake from your dream to find seconds have passed, countless words lost in the haze of existing and you look up at the person speaking.
“I’m sorry,” you say, with that careful smile painted delicately across your face, “Could you repeat that?”
They do, but the words slide like quicksilver in and out of your ears, darting just long enough to hear, but not long enough to understand. You blink, trying to remember, but that moment is gone as if it had never happened. They are already talking about something else, addressing you by name, but their own name remains lost.
Conversations flow like a river around you, snatches of meaning caught here and there, but holding onto conversations is like trying to dam a stream with a bucket. You learn to scoop down as quickly as you can, snatching just enough context to divine meaning.

Is this the way things have always been?
The light bulb needs to be changed.
There are two bulbs, one broken, one not. The room is dim, but not so dim that it is untreadable. You see the light bulb, and it registers as something that Needs To Be Done. You look down to the warm mug in your hands, and consider that to change the bulb, you need to have your hands free.
And the thought is gone, the significance of room dimness lost as your thoughts fizz like static to wrap around the mug’s heat. You find the mug the next day, left on the corner of your desk, drained of coffee. The room’s dimness is remembered, but you should take care of that mug first, right? It could mold.
By the time you place the mug in the sink, your thoughts are already occupied by dish soaps and lipid breakdowns, and the bulb lies forgotten, nestled dead against the ceiling. 

One morning, neither bulb turns on, and you navigate the kitchen by the light of your cell phone before work.
That night, you use your cell phone again, because you’ve forgotten where the bulbs are, and need to get gas to get to the store.
The next night and the night after that, you ate early enough in the day that light bulbs weren’t needed, so the deadness never registered as a problem.
At the end of the week, your hunger draws you to the kitchen late in the evening, but it’s too late in the day to go to the store - they won’t be open.
When the problem of the bulb is not in front of you - is not making an active nuisance of itself, it’s like it doesn’t even exist.  
Nothing in this world exists, when it’s not in front of you. 

Is this the way things have always been?
“You’re so good at traveling!” your coworker said, “Aren’t you homesick?”
Belatedly, you realize that you’ve been away from home for a week and a half. Each day seems like an individual lifetime. They flow back-to-back never quite related, for all their similarities.
Like picking up a new novel every morning, each set of problems is unique to that situation.
Like picking up a new novel every morning, the previous book’s worries shed like water. They’re not here anymore, so they don’t matter.
“Do your parents know you’re in California?”
No, you think to yourself, I haven’t talked to them in months.
It’s not any malice or dislike that stops you from calling, and that’s what frightens you, a little.
You’d be happy talking to them, but you just…. Forgot.
Like all things, when they aren’t in front of you:
They just don’t seem to exist. 

Is this the way things have always been? 

“You know I was only joking!”
I didn’t, you think to yourself, forcing a titter of agreeable laughter.
Every word, unless emphasized deeply with emotive gestures and tonal changes, seems genuine. Flat-faced delivery of falsehoods always rings true to your ears. It takes effort to remember to parse out people’s wording - their delivery - and compare it against their previously stated opinions and choices.
It takes effort to remember to analyze again and again and again and again, until every conversation is a minefield of potential missteps, drawing close a handful of responses that could be interpreted a hundred different ways. At least with those, you can play along.
“How come you’re being so quiet?”
It’s exhausting to dance the dance of smalltalk, when your feet just seem unable to develop that muscle memory. So every conversation becomes mechanical, automatic, words filtering through keyword searches and tonal registers to find the ‘correct’ response that is both situationally appropriate, not emotionally hurtful, and hopefully accurate enough not to elicit guilt.
Like all automations, It doesn’t always work.
Like all machines, it doesn’t feel real.
The people of the world seem like a thousand NPCs, all demanding answers from an endless multiple-choice list of dialogue options. Humans become something like obsticals, and conversations like challenges, fights waged with memorized expressions and rote responses. You become accustomed to spitting back wisdom from books and television shows written by actual people, in the hopes that their words can make your forced empathy seem real.
None of it feels real. 

Is this the way things have always been?
“Do you have a crush on anyone?”
Should I?
Sexual and Romantic relationships burn brightly, all-consuming while they last. Obsessive is a word fit for the hungry hoarding of dragons, and the vicious consuming of ghosts.
It is an accurate adjective for your heart.
While things are here they are all that exist.
While things are elsewhere they may as well have never existed at all.
It applies to tasks,
To objects,
To people,
To relationships.
To your own emotions. 

Existence itself remains a fleeting experience of not-quite-real spaces. Each moment feeling the most important thing you’ve ever done, yet once that moment passed it leaves only the briefest of marks on your heart or memory. Often the memory slides away completely, leaving nothing but the memories of others, and whatever few pictures were taken.
Your self exists eternally on the outskirts of other peoples lives, recollection of what you’re like always reminded by pictures and stories told by friends. That perfect, careful smile painted delicately across your face slips to neutrality when alone.
You simply consume the world, experience it, and let it go again.
An eternal catch-and-release, where there is no fish more important than the one caught in your gaze NOW.

 Is this the way things have always been? 

Yes. 

And will always be. 

Your mind is a Liminal Space, and the world around you can only briefly visit. 

Lightbulbs Are Useless

Pairing/Characters: Bucky x Shy!Reader

Warnings: Nothin really just fluff Bucky’s so nice and patient

Summary: Bucky’s fallen for Tony’s shy assistant who is actually more than she seems.

Word Count: 930

A/N: I actually suck at writing shy!reader because I’m not shy and none of my friends are omgbut I still hope this is remotely good hahaha

Originally posted by stuckybarnesrogers

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2

A/N: This is actually a Part II to this Imagine but I guess you can read it without having read the first part too. It was requested by @dark-night-sky-99 and I really liked the idea, so I decided to give it a shot right away. Have fun!

Words: 2793
Warnings: smut

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Winter Shadow - chapter 1

I’m kinda scared to post this (even though I’ve turned off anon), I’m sorry if it’s crap or you don’t want me to post stuff.

I’m at work today but it’s a slow day so I started writing someting. Sorry. This is from a prompt that @pixierox101 sent me ages ago. I hope I haven’t screwed up your nice idea, thank you for sending it to me. x


It was like a ballet, watching them together. They moved in perfect synchrony, every move complementing the other in a dance to the death. They didn’t speak, they didn’t need to. Decades of training, of suffering, had left them connected in a way that no one could break. They circled each other, back-to-back but aware of the other’s every move, ready to defend, to attack, to win.

They had their roles, each knowing their place on this mission. He was there to break, to destroy, to kill, to create mayhem and fear. She was there to infiltrate, to penetrate the unbreakable, to leave slow devastation in her wake, chaos that would insinuate itself into computer systems, into people’s minds. Each knew their role, and supported the other.

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Hiraeth | Pt.2

pt.1 | pt.2 | pt.3 | pt.4 | pt.5 | pt.6 | pt.7 | pt.8 | pt.9 |

[!] Contains mature and graphic content, mentions of blood + death. 

Words: 7,694.

Genre: Zombie apocalypse au, angst.

Summary: A world full of dwindling hope and lost loves and yet you and Jungkook are all the other needs to feel at home.

A/N: Inspired by The Last of Us. 

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thatdamncutething  asked:

Hi there!! That shinee reaction was sosososocuteeeee 🙈🙈🙈💞💞 Can i request "shinee getting a crush on you on your first meeting and trying to woo you" pretty please??? I fell in love with your onew~

AAAAAAAaAAaaaaAAAAAHHHHH <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 THANK YOU SO MUCH I’M GLAD YOU ENJOYED IT!! And thank you for your request! Still not great at this but I hope this is ok! <3 -admin Mimi

SHINee developing a crush on you when first meeting you trying to woo you

Onew/Jinki:

There were only 2 workers on the shop floor, working the evening shift at the supermarket when he came in. Jinki had a face mask on hoping to avoid being recognised; he just wanted to buy some chicken nuggets to put in his freezer back in his apartment. He hadn’t been to this particular market in a while and they’d changed the layout, so he wandered around looking for the signs to point him toward the freezers. You noticed him looking sort of lost, he was the only customer in the shop and you were not on the tills so they approached him.
“Excuse me, sir. Can I help you with anything?” he turned to you, looking slightly startled. You smiled warmly to encourage him to tell you what he was looking for.
“O-oh, uh…” He didn’t quite know what to say. The stunning individual before him snatched any words he might have had to offer as a response.
“Sir?” You asked, tilting your head.
“Ah, sorry, your smile is very disarming.” he said, regaining his composure, pulling down his mask, showing his own charming smile. You giggled,
“And what is it you were looking for, this visit?” you asked again, your smile much more genuine this time.
“Ah, right. Chicken nuggets.”

As you served him at the checkout he shyly avoided eye contact, making you curious.
“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to meet up some time?” He offered, his mask back on his face. You were shocked, but flattered and nodded with a smile. “Maybe meet up for coffee. If someone as lovely as yourself isn’t busy or taken, of course.
“Sure, I’ll write my number down on your receipt.” You chuckled softly, “Flatterer.”

Originally posted by oncw

Jonghyun:

Jonghyun wanted to unwind and have a cup of coffee at a small cafe that he’d passed a few weeks earlier. It was open late and rarely had many people in it at any time. He walked in and sat himself down at the barstools at the counter. It was a cute layout for a cafe.
“What can I get for you this evening?” You, the barista, asked. Jonghyun looked up and was stunned into momentary silence. The charming barista before him had a sweet smile that had his cheeks heating up.
“Ah-um, a caramel macchiatto please.” he just about managed to stutter out his order, unable to stop staring at the barista’s face.
“Sure thing, are you drinking it here?” You asked before turning to pick up a cup.
“Ah, yes.” You nodded turning to the mugs,
“Large?” you looked back at him and he nodded. He sat attempting to collect his wits, trying to think of an appropriate way to ask this lovely individual on a date. 

When you turned to give him his coffee, he had an adorable frustrated look on his face. you carefully placed the coffee down before him and smiled staring at his beautiful face until he came back to his senses.
“Whoa! Ah!” he jumped and you giggled, moving back.
“You coffee, sir.” he chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck, getting the money from his pocket, 
“Hahaha, thank you, sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” you winked turning back to clean up. Jonghyun’s eye flickered up from his coffee to your back as he tried to think of what to say to win you over.
“Would y-”
“How about-” he shut his mouth and motioned for you to continue. “How about a date?” his eyebrows shot up.
“Yes.” he responded instantly.
“Hehe, great!”

Originally posted by mykeem

Kibum/Key:

You were about to close up as it was pretty close to closing time at the gallery, you figured no one else was going to show up and you could leave right on time if you cleaned up during the last few minutes of open hours.
“Ah, just in time.” you turned to the sound of a voice just coming into the gallery. “Oh, you weren’t closing up were you?” Kibum asked as you looked startled that someone had entered. You had  such a soft cute face he just had to strike up a conversation.
“Oh, ah no don’t worry about it. But there’s not much time before closing, are you sure you’ll enjoy the gallery with so little time?” You ask, hoping he’s not one of those people who makes a fuss.
“Don’t worry about it, I’m here to buy a piece.” He smiled. You were slightly surprised, but why else would someone come to a gallery so close to closing? “I don’t suppose you’re the curator?” he asked standing closer to you, as if to lead you to the piece he wanted. “This is one of my favourite galleries, the layout is always stunning.” You blushed, what a sweet talker, he must have known you were the curator.
“I am the curator, but I suspect you already knew that.”
“You caught me, I was hoping I could sweet talk you into seeing me outside of your work hours some time.” His face lit up with a cheeky grin.

Originally posted by jaepup

Minho:

You were one of the groundskeepers of a park that plenty of people enjoyed playing football[soccer] and basketball late at night. And as luck would have it you have the evening shift and one of the ground lights needs fixing. Once you get to the field you noticed a tall man beside the light that needed fixing, his back turned to you. You place your tools and the box containing the replacement bulb down and snatch his attention. Minho was startle by the sound and was shocked to see that the groundskeeper who had come to fix the light, that he had accidentally damaged, was so cute.
“Excuse me please, sir. I don’t want you to be a risk if the bulb is broken.” You chirped, he was very handsome and the air was much more refreshing than you had been expecting and it lifted your spirits.
“Ah, uh, I’m sorry i’m the one who broke it. I didn’t mean to of course, but I figured you’d need to know what happened.” you smiled, how cute! What sweet young man.
“Hehehe, no, there’s no need for that. I appreciate your honesty and willingness to help, though! It very refreshing. Usually it’s some brats who don’t even mention that anything need fixing. So thank you very much.” You beamed at him taking the protective panel away from the light fixture. “You can go back to your game if you want to.” You said looking up at him.
“Oh, but what if the ball comes this way and you have your back turned? The light is replaceable but you aren’t.” he gave a dopey smile at his cheesy excuse for sticking around. You laughed heartily.
“Well thank you then.”

Originally posted by dearmyfairyboy

Taemin:

You were working late at the library hanging around the small manga area, people kept leaving it a mess so you decided you’d stick around to deter anyone from doing it again. Taemin had some free time before they all went out to eat so he decided he’d spend some time catching up on some manga and meet the others at their selected restaurant later. When he got to the manga section he was surprised to see someone fixing the order of the books on the shelves. He often found them in a mess, so this was a pleasant change. He noticed you were in the way of the volume he wanted to read and stood behind them awkwardly, unsure of whether he should ask them to move or to just wait. He didn’t reach a decision as you noticed him behind you.
“Oh! Sorry, I’ll get out of your way.” You squeaked stepping out of his way. He stared wide eyed for a moment, his mouth agape. “You wanted something I was in front of, right?”
“Oh! Yes, sorry. Thank you. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be sorting the books.” he replied looking away bashfully. He hadn’t meant to stare but the glowing person before him was a sight to behold. You laughed,
“Yes, I figured I’d try to deter anyone from leaving it in the mess it usually is in by this time.” he smiled back hoping to keep the conversation.
“Ah, I had noticed that too. I guess you work here then?” before you could answer you were called by your boss.
“Oh, I’ve got to go.”
“W-wait, will you come back over here when you have the chance?” He blurted, cheeks flushing as he realised what he’d said. You giggled, nodding as you wandered over to your boss’s desk.

Originally posted by littleprinceu

Crows give gifts to 8 year old who feeds them

Eight-year-old Gabi Mann from Seattle, Washington started feeding the crows in her family’s garden in 2013, and now this lucky little girl gets gifts from the crows.

Gabie keeps her gifts in specially labeled bags tucked safely inside a bead storage box. After all, these are her most treasured possessions. Her labels are detailed, for instance one containing a broken light bulb reads: “Black table by feeder. 2:30 p.m. 09 Nov 2014.”

Gabi started feeding the neighborhood crows by accident, as she was prone to dropping food. She’d climb out of the car and a chicken nugget would fall off of her lap, prompting every crow on the block to circle in for a snack. Gabi noticed and started rewarding the bird’s quick and hungry behavior, feeding them food scraps on her way to and from the bus stop with her brother.  Her mother encouraged her generosity and provides peanuts and food scraps to be distributed each day along with fresh water in the bird bath.

Before long small, shiny objects started showing up by the bird feeders.  The crows were showing the little girl that they appreciated her consistent feedings.  Gabie has received all kinds of gifts from the crows, including Lego pieces, beads, buttons, paper clips and pieces of foam. Her favorite gift of all is a pearl colored heart, she said, “It’s showing me how much they love me.”

Huntress- Part 17: Power

Sam x Daughter!Reader, takes place in S12 E17 so warning: SPOILERS

Part one
Part two
Part three
Part four
Part five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine
Part Ten
Part Eleven
Part Twelve
Part Thirteen
Part Fourteen
Part Fifteen
Part Sixteen


Dragging yourself down the steps of the bunker you tried your best to ignore your Uncle and Dad’s worried stares. Thankfully, they didn’t have time to question anything. Your head was bearing sharp pains, making you feel ten times worse. But, again, you said nothing.
“How did you get here?” Dad’s defensive statement caused you to glance up form your feet. There was Mick. He had a glass of whiskey and was sat comfortably at the table. Her smiled “Alright lads…you know, this is our building. It’s men of letters.”
“It’s creepy.” You mumbled, rolling your eyes.
“That key of yours opens up the door to every Men Of Letters bunker there is.” 
“What do you want?” 
“It’s urgent, so here me out. A few weeks back our lab picked up some sort of cosmic energy-”
“A nephilum.” Dad nodded, the three of you were well aware.
“You knew?” Mick looked offended, like some sort of trust between you had broken. You didn’t remember making something to be broken in the first place.
“We had her.” Uncle Dean admitted.
Had?” 
“She got away.”
“You let her get away!” Mick was in shock. 
“She wanted to get rid of the baby too. We didn’t think she was just going to up and run like that. Besides, while you lot were off sipping tea they were locked up!” You snapped at him.

Everyone hesitated and fell silent. You glared at him before saying “I’m going to bed. Don’t try to wake me up.” 

You trudged away from them, feeling their confused stares on your back. Making your way to your bedroom, you closed the door and sunk to the floor. Your head was now throbbing.

You clutched it, trying not to hit it against something in some sort of desperate attempt to stop it. Flashes of the one before Claire, the experiment, appeared in your mind. You hissed in pain. This wasn’t normal. This can’t have been-

A surge of agony broke you from the thought, making you curl into a ball, shaking lightly from the never ending pain. Your hands clenched into fists. It wasn’t fair. Nothing was fair.
Why didn’t she survive it? Why didn’t she survive? 
You were angry and desperately trying to keep yourself calm. Each breath was harder than the last. Your grip tightened around your hands as you pictured her screams and cries for help.
Anger was swarming inside your mind and everything changed to shapes. Reds and oranges took over as the vibrant hues danced in your vision. The rage was reaching it’s peak, a breakdon was rising up rapidly as your felt your hands shake in attempt to free themselves from their own grip. Your heartbeat throbbed loudly in your mind, muffling out any other sounds.

Then you broke.

At first you heard nothing, but a deafening white noise as it pierced your ears. Then a smash.  
Everything fell dark as shards of glass scattered about the floor. Some sliced through your own skin, but you didn’t even flinch. You shouted and cried, burying your head in your hands, bringing your knees to your chest. You coughed- your head now ready to explode.
A harsh cough escaped your throat, sending acid and bile up with it, it seeped through the edges of your mouth, making you choke on the bitter foam.
Then, you felt nothing.


“Anyone seen, Y/N?” Mick asked, walking in on two slightly hung-over and very tired Winchester brothers.
“She told us not to wake her and judging from the way she was I’m keen to obey.” Dean explained, taking a sip of water.
“Alright. I just thought I outta say sorry. She wasn’t wrong, to be fair.” Mick admitted.
“If she’s up she’ll be in her room. Knock and wait.” Dad ordered, making sure an angry teenager wasn’t added to the list of problems.
“Alright, cheers.”

When Mick reached Y/N’s room he knocked on the door and waited for almost a full minute before sighing. “Here goes nothing.” He mumbled, turning the door handle. Only, when he opened the door he saw something he wasn’t expecting. “Y/N?” Mick asked hesitantly, hurrying over to where her unconscious body was. She was on her side, eyes closed, breathing even. If it weren’t for the cuts along her body from the broken light bulb, it would have looked like she was sleeping peacefully. “Sam!” Mick called in a panic.
Running footsteps sounded as Sam sprinted towards Y/N’s room. When he arrived he nearly stepped back at the sight of it.

His daughter was lying in the middle of what looked more like a bomb-site than a bedroom. Shards of glass were plastered across the floor, a few pieces sticking into her bare arms and some on her face, both orbited by specks of dried blood. “Y/N!…Sweetheart?” Sam knelt down next to her, his eyes glistening with tears “Can you hear me?”

Please.” Sam begged. Dean followed after his brother, kneeling next to his niece.
“What happened?” He demanded. No one knew so no one spoke. Sam sat his daughter up against his chest, taking some tissues from the box and wiping away the sick that was around her mouth. Mick began to clear away the area surrounding her body as Dean grabbed the first aid kit. He opened it up and took out a pair of medical tweezers. Dean gently pulled some of the glass from her skin, wiping away any excess blood that oozed out of the wounds.

She groaned a little, trying to grab back hold of consciousness. Dean paused. “Y/N…?” Sam encouraged, squeezing her hand.
“It…it didn’t…” She never finished, her eyes drooping shut. She faded in and out of consciousness as Dean finished clearing her wounds up.

Sam lifted her up gently- bridal styel. He then lay her down on her bed, pressing a kiss to her forehead before pulling up a chair next to her. He put his elbows on the mattress, resting his head in his hands. “I don’t understand.” He admitted- lost. “What the hell happened?” Sam looked up to Dean. His older brother. His guide.

“Sammy, I-“ Dean gulped “I don’t know.”

“Some sort of fit…” Mick said “Did she ever tell you about her…power?” He didn’t like to use the word ‘power’.
“Yeah. When we found that other psychic, she used it a little.” Sam nodded, determined to understand what had happened. Mick nodded slowly “She’s dangerous. Or she can be.”
“But she wasn’t using it.” Sam didn’t understand.
“No….but she was angry. Of course.” Mick nodded to himself, suddenly understanding the mood you were in “She was angry.” He repeated.
“Why?” Uncle Dean questioned, folding his arms against his chest.
“The cure. It worked for Claire.”
“Why’s that a bad thing?” Dean pressed.
“Because it didn’t work for Max.”


You awoke to the sounds of muffled voices and a throbbing head. You heaved yourself up from the bed, sitting up straight and taking in your surroundings. This was your room. You had a few bandages on your arms and there were two chairs next to your bed.

You pressed the palm of your hand up to your head as though it would help with the pain.
You were still angry, but maybe because you weren’t fully recovered you wouldn’t lash out aomeone by accident. After a moment of hesitation you made your way towards the voices. Occasionally, you stopped when everything started swaying.
Your throat was dry.

The voices kept growing louder until you turned the corner. You held onto the door frame, your eyes falling on the backs of Dad and Uncle Dean as they discussed Kelly…the one pregnant with the nephilum.
You opened your mouth to say something, anything, like “hey” or “sorry for breaking your lightbulb”, but only a cough came out.

Their heads turner towards you in shock. Dad rose from his chair and smiled: “Y/N”.
He headed straight for you and hugged you tightly, wrapping his arms around you protectively. “God, you scared us.” He said, relaxing as you hugged back.

“Sorry.” You smiled sheepishly.
When Dad let go Uncle Dean shot you a smirk before hugging you too. You hugged back, smiling in his embrace. You nearly stumbled when he let go, but managed to balance yourself.

Your eyes squeezed shut for a few seconds as you tried to stop the room from turning.

“The hell happened in there?” Dad asked, taking your hand and guiding you a little.
You followed them to the table, too tired to refuse the help. You shrugged.
“Let me guess, you don’t want to talk about it?” Uncle Dean rolled his eyes. You found it hard ot tell if he was being serious or not. “Sometimes I can’t control it. I think I can. But I can’t. Like…everything’s fine,  but suddenly something happens that reminds me of all this shit I’ve been through and it happens.”
No one knew what to say.

“My head hurts. Then I break something. Then I throw up. Then I pass out.” You went through the same stages. “Always the same. “
“Did you smash the lightbulb…with your mind?” Dad asked, leaning forward.
“Yeah. Not on purpose, though. I just. God I don’t know…” You paused to try and think straight “I feel everything rising up and it all snaps. Then something breaks. Or sets on fire. Or falls down.”
“Like I said,” Mick appeared behind you all “She’s dangerous…” He paused, looking at you sympathetically “but, she’s not a bad person.”
“She’s also sitting right here.” You noted.
“Yes…” Mick caught on and added a quiet “sorry.”

“How’re you feeling?” Dad asked. Maybe he was changing the topic for a reason, or maybe he just didn’t have anything else to say. You sure didn’t. “Fine. My head hurts I guess. But it usually goes after a while.”
“I remember when this happened for the first time,” Mick said “Your Mum wasn’t home and I panicked.  You basically made yourself get better.”
“You lived together?” Dad questioned Mick’s word choices, making you look away.
“Well,” Mick stuttered “It was the Chapter House…there were a few different family’s living together.”
“Really?” Uncle Dean raised an eyebrow in disbelief “You’re a terrible liar.”
Mick didn’t say anything.

“Y/N.” Dad’s firm voice forced you to look at him “Care to shed some light?”
“It was the Chapter House, there were a few different families living together.” You lied, copying Mick’s exact words. “There’s a huge one just north from Central London. “
Your Dad seemed to calm down a little when the words came from you. “Okay.” He didn’t push, but something told you he wasn’t fully convinced either.


Almost two days later you were leaning up against the table, Uncle Dean at your side. Both of you were waiting in anticipation, this was the fifth time you’d called Cas. Once again it went straight to voice mail. “This is my voice mail,” Cas’ awkward voice filled the air once again “Make your voice a mail.”

“Come on Cas we’ve called you about five times already.” Uncle Dean sighed, out of words to say. You shrugged when he glanced at you, followed by him hanging up. “This is hopeless.”
“Is he usually like this?” You asked, still not sure if it was like Cas to leave for quite some time. He was an Angel, so who were you to say what was normal for him?
“Not so much lately.” He shook his head “But even still he usually says what he’s doing or where he’s going.”

A woman called Eileen was sat in the war room with your Dad. She was deaf and used sign language when she spoke. And my God was Dad in love. You didn’t say anything, but watched as he blushed when she spoke. “He’s like a ten year old with his first crush.” You whispered to your Uncle, making him chuckle “Yeah tell me about it.”.
“She’s badass.” You noted, realising just how intelligent this woman was. Not to mention the fact that she was a Hunter. Your Uncle gave you an unreadable look before giving in “Yeah. She sure is.”


Stood next to Eileen, you both watched in amusement as your Dad pretended to be a Doctor to get more information. When he hung up Eileen gave up a thumbs up, Dad grinned back and joined the mini line you’d made. You were with Mick and Rawlings, who were now part of the whole nephilim predicament. 
“You might wanna take this back with you.” Mick handed over the Cult and Dad took the opportunity to sass him “Gee Mick. I thought we’d gotten past the trust issues.”
You gave Rawlings a glare before getting in the Impala.

Everyone arrived at some sort of abandoned looking carpark. You were waiting for Dean who, hopefully, would be with Kelly and maybe even Cas. “Who’s this?” Dean pointed at Rawlings.
“I’m Rennie…Rawlings. Graduated Kendrick’s-”
“Great. I don’t care.” Uncle Dean ignored his ‘look how amazing i am’ speech and opened up the door for Kelly. She refused any more help and got out of the car, staring at you all with brave fear.

Dad stepped up “Kelly, we all know what difficult situation you’re in and we..we want to help.” He kept a calm voice as not to frighten her anymore.
“You call this help?” She asked, rubbing her stomach where the baby-bump was.
“That kid, “ Uncle Dean began “It’s Lucifer’s.”
“I know!” She snapped “Do you think I wanted this? I love this child.”
“You will mean absolutely nothing to that child when it’s born. It’ll kill us all.” Mick scolded. 
“Not helping.” You hissed at him. 
“This is absurd.” Rawlings reached for his gun.

“Don’t!” You and Uncle Dean warned him, only to be cut short by a menacing sound with a strong wind. You paused…this wasn’t natural.
“She’s here.” Kelly managed, looking ten times more afraid than she had been.
who?’ you thought. 

Everyone reached for their gun and stood apart to cover more ground. You all protectively glanced around to see who, or what, it was. “Hey!” A shout came from behind. You glanced around, seeing a woman…well…demon, with yellow glowing eyes and a determined expression. She threw her hands up, sending everyone except Kelly to the ground. You smashed against one of the broken up cars, your gun trying it’s best to slip from your grip,

She walked forward with a blank expression as everyone fired at her. You stopped, putting your gun down. This was a waste of bullets. She was a Prince Of Hell, she’s not going to die from bullets. She threw her hands up at those still left with guns in their grips, making them drop their weaponry, and continued to advance towards Kelly.

You watched as Eileen reached for the cult, lying just in front of her reach. She grabbed hold, cocking it and holding her finger over the trigger. She aimed for the Demon’s head, squeezing the trigger.

However, as the gunshot sounded you watched in a helpless realisation as the Demon disappeared from view, along with Kelly Kline. The bullet continued further along it’s path than it should have and hit Rawlings in the chest. His eyes widened in shock and pain before he fell to the floor. Blood seeped down his shirt.


You stayed close to your Dad as you watched Mick kneel down next to Rawlings, well aware of the bloody code. “I- I didn’t mean to.” Elileen apologised, moving closer to where Mick was. “I meant to shoot the demon.” 
“It’s okay it was an accident.” Dad reassured her, but Mick was unconvinced.

You opened your mouth, halfway between wanting to warn Eileen and shout at Mick. Mick reached for his gun and held it up in front of Eileen. “Woah woah!” Uncle Dean gasped.

“What are you doing?” Dad demanded.

“Mick put the gun down!” You shouted at him loudly. Everyone else had their hands up in defense except you.
“B-But she shot a Men Of Letters. She has to die!”
“It’s not as simple as that!” Dad protested.
“But it’s the code.” Mick was lost.
“Fuck the code!” You practically screamed at him. You stormed past Eileen and your Dad who grabbed onto your shoulder to stop you. You shrugged him off, marching right in front of the barrel. “Y/N, get out of my way.”
“You know I won’t.” You glared at him, trying your best not to look scared.
“Then I’ll shoot you too!” You could see up close that Mick’s eyes were teary.
“You won’t do that.” You said calmly “You don’t have to answer to that stupid code. You can answer to yourself.”

“Your Mum did that.” He was close to crossing a line you’d clearly drawn “And look where it got her.” Your eyes narrowed as he continued “Max tried. Look where that got her.” 
“You’re not Mum! You’re not Max! And you’re not my family!“ You cried.
Mick’s expression fell at your words. 

Please.” Eileen begged “Please don’t…”

Mick squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. “Mick…” Dad had stepped forward, putting his hand on your shoulder and dragging you away from the gunpoint. Mick followed with the gun absentmindedly before putting it back in front of Eileen. “I know you have this code that you blindly answer to. But you’re better than that.”

Mick lowered his gun, looking in pain as he did so. He avoided everyone’s gaze. “Just go…” he whispered.
Dad nodded, backing away. Only he stopped when you didn’t move. You didn’t know what to do. Did you mean what you’d said? Half of you wanted to apologise whereas the other wanted to walk away. “Y/N,” Dad put his hands on your shoulders “Come on, kid.” 

The four of you trudged down the stairs. Eileen was in front, her hand went to her face where she no doubt wiped away an escaped tear. You watched sympathetically as she stumbled to a halt. 

“You okay?” Uncle Dean asked her.
She nodded for a few seconds, before changing her mind “No…hee wasn’t a monster…he wasn’t” Dad stood next to her, perhaps about to offer some form of comfort, but she hugged him without needing an offer. He hugged back, his head resting protectively on hers. 


“Morning…?” Dad raised an eyebrow at you. It was at least 2 or 3am by now. You’d been up for quite some time.
“Morning.” You hummed, not glancing up from your fidgeting hands.
“Been up long?” He asked, sitting down on the table next to you. Your feet swung, not quite touching the floor.
“A few minutes.” You shrugged.
“Right.” He nodded, still in his night clothes. You both knew he didn’t believe you, but no one said anything.
“What were you reading?” He asked, nodding towards the open book on the table. 
“I wasn’t actually reading it…” You admitted, not sure how to explain.
“What else do you do with books?” He asked, slipping off the table and folding it over to read the title “This is in Latin. You can read this?”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t reading it. I was just..turning the pages.”
“Turning the pages?” He echoed. You nodded, not wanting to say it out loud. Dad noticed your slight awkwardness and took a moment to think through everything you’d said. “Oh…you mean, Turning the pages like…with your mind?” 

You nodded. “Maybe if I use this…whatever this is…for harmless stuff it won’t build up. And I won’t hurt anyone.” 
He offered a sad smile then joined you again, his feet touched the floor. “Maybe.”
“I never told Mum.” You admitted.
“What?”
“I never told her. As far as she was concerned I was normal.” You explained.
“You are normal.” Dad reassured.
“Max couldn’t do it.” You ignored him.
“Really?”
“Just me.”

“I’m sorry…”
You frowned in thought “Why?” 
“Mick told us what happened to Max.” 
“Oh…” You looked away again.
“I know it must have been hard to watch it work on Claire after.. But, that is a good thing. It’s not fair, but it did save a life.” Dad tried to calm you down, but you’d already lost it over that. 
“They made me watch.” You said blankly.
“Watch?”


“When they realised that the cure wasn’t working they made me watch her die.” You took a deep breath. ‘Don’t cry’ you told yourself. 
“That’s horrible, Y/N I’m so sorry.” 
“I think-” You paused, having never said these words out loud before “I think they meant for her to get bitten.”
“What makes you think that?”
“They never liked us. They could just pass it as an excuse for an experiment. Nothing they did for us was ever due to good intentions.” You didn’t know how to say it without sounding way too suspicious of them.

“What did they have against you?”
“I’m not traditional. I’m not obedient. I didn’t go to Kendrick’s. I have a brain-”
You were cut off by him chuckling at the last point “You’ve been through a lot.” He commented.
“Not compared to some.” You shrugged it off.
“Doesn’t make it insignificant.” He countered, smiling at you.

You didn’t move for a while. “You should get some sleep.” He said, placing a gently hand on your shoulder. 
“Yeah.” You agreed absentmindedly. 
“Come on.” He said calmly, guiding you away from the room.

When you reached your bedroom you noticed he hadn’t left your side. “Y/N, hey. Look at me.” 
You glanced up, your eyes tired and teary. He had a sullen look. 

Without saying anything he wrapped his arms around you and hugged you tightly. You squeezed your eyes shut in his embrace in a desperate attempt to keep the tears from falling. Dad’s arms held you close in comfortable silence. “I’m proud of you.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to your head. “So proud.”



Masterlist

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(Tag list after cut)

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anonymous asked:

tetsurou and tooru as husbands!!! ps love your writing pls keep up the good work : )

Thank you darling and i hope you have an amazing day! I’m gonna make headcanons because that’s my favorite thing to write!

Domestic Headcanons

Oikawa

  • The ‘Breakfast in Bed’ husband. He tends to wake up very early and move to the kitchen to make his s/o breakfast to start their day. He eats with them, obviously, but seeing how flustered and happy they get whenever he does this for them is the most rewarding thing.
  • Every single year on his anniversary with his s/o he takes them to a different country, a new destination, and he renews his vows so often that his s/o has a book collecting the many things he has said about them every time he renews them.
  • Even though Oikawa’s affectionate and flirty ways calm down after marriage, it doesn’t stop him from doting on his s/o and occasionally spoiling them just to get them flustered and embarrassed.
  • Oikawa’s favorite thing to do with his s/o is get massages and go to couple spas. There have been many if not a majority of the time that during their little spa trip they get a hotel room and settle on giving massages to each other, if you know what I mean~~
  • “Honey, remember that pair of red underwear I bought, and told you I couldn’t find?” “Yeah, why?” “I found it” “Oh! That’s good! Where was it?” “Mixed in with the whites….” “TOORU OIKAWA”

Kuroo

  • After the honeymoon, and after buying a home, the first thing he did with his s/o was slide across the new floors in nothing but socks and underwear. There were some bumps and bruises, but hey, they had all the fun in the world that day.
  • Most couples on their wedding anniversary would go to a candlelit dinner at an expensive restaurant or a couples retreat to some unknown place, but not with Kuroo and his s/o. They much prefer paintball, volleyball tournaments, and sometimes just a day in where they can be alone and be with each other without being around other people.
  • Kuroo and his s/o love sharing remedies with each other for many things like colds, hangovers, sore throats, sore body parts (*winks*), etc.
  • Kuroo kills all the bugs and does all the brave stuff, while his s/o changes light-bulbs, fixes broken things around the house, and curses out the deliveryman if they deserve it.
  • They also take turns deciding on things. One will decide on a weekend trip, the other will decide on dinner, one will decide on when to shop, etc. Sometimes they can’t come to an agreement, other times if they can’t decide they’ll play rock paper scissors.
2

THE GREAT PAPYRUS WILL SERVE YOU JUSTICE!… AND HOLY SPAGHETTI THIS EVENING.

Papyrus, why are you such a cluster fuck of colours, why. I guess he used glow sticks and broken light bulbs to make that bowl of delicious spaghetti shine like that.

It’s a second drawing, first being Sans which you can see… right… about… HERE.

Toriel is… HERE. On the new blog. So is Undyne… HERE.

Don’t Get Me Started

Based off of a tumblr post: The idea is that one person gives the other a word, and they have to go on angry rant about whatever it is. 

What happens when Dean asks Cas to go on a rant about Dean?

Read it on AO3!

Castiel, despite what many people thought, did not dislike parties. He didn’t necessarily like parties all that much, but he didn’t harbor any unnatural hatred towards them. He would just rather stay on the fringes, where he wasn’t expected to dance or shout to be heard over everyone else shouting to be heard.

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Unspoken Love

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings:  None, minor swears, fluff

Words:  1390

A/N:  I’m so sorry I didn’t post this when I should have @senselesssamii!  I am the worstist human ever!  Thank you so much for letting me participate in you Gag Reel Challenge.  It’s been forever since I’ve written anything other than stupid essays for class (I graduated, btw yay!) so FEEDBACK IS DEEPLY APPRECIATED!!!  Anyway, hope this doesn’t suck too bad.  I’m trying to get back into the swing of things, so sorry if it sucks.

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A Night With Alpha

Big bro - Alpha - wanted to hit the town.  In the car, in the descending dusk, he is telling me how it’s going to go.  I call him bro.  Just like any other bro.  And it doesn’t change anything, it’s just for the night.  How I feel, who I am, doesn’t change.  But big bro wants to hit the town, and we do.  He’s feelin the pump, I can tell.  He’s usually kind of reserved.  Quiet intensity.  Like a warrior preparing for battle all the time.  You can see that he is smart.  It burns in his eyes.  In the set of his jaw and the slight furrow of his brow.  Sometimes he even wears glasses, and man, I gotta say, it didn’t used to turn me on, but a lot of things didn’t used to turn me on before I met Alpha, and now they do.  I like it when he’s all intense like that.  Like a gathering storm. 

It’s hot.  The summer is splitting right down its side with humidity, oozing out everywhere.  No sense in wearing anything but a tank.  That’s what Alpha said.  Staring into the full-length mirror, flexing, posing.  I’m staring at him staring at himself.  Not like I can help it.  Alpha has a field around him, and it draws the gaze like a hurtling satellite.  It makes sense.  He is fucking planet-sized.  I’m big too.  More like dwarf planet-sized, though.  That’s why I’m in orbit around him.  He doesn’t ask me what I think.  He just flexes, poses, and then meets my gaze in the mirror.  He doesn’t have to ask.  The look in my eyes says what he needs, and he nods.  He’s wearing a cobalt blue tank that smokes from dark blue at the bottom to gray at the top, a dusky color that draws attention.  It hangs loosely over his massively defined pecs and what I know are raised cobblestone-sized abs underneath.  The flare of his lats, never-ending, is more like a wingspan, attaching his arms to his trunk.  He was vascular as fuck that night, veins snaking down and around his biceps and ricocheting, lightning-like, around his corded forearms.  He wore loose gym shorts, too, black, the Big Swoosh kind that Nike makes, the logo standing out in blinding white against his quads.  To finish it off, he’d gone a little flash on the sneakers - at my urging, I have to admit - and chosen a pair of Nike dunks, white and black at war with one another, and blue paint-splashes all over the upper.  No glasses - tonight his eyes were bared to the world, for good or for ill, and they were winter-sky blue, compelling and solid.  At times, they even looked like iron.

In short, he looked fuckin killer.  I’d thrown on a red and black tank, black gym shorts of my own, and some Jordans, topping it off with a fitted cap - my own, personalized, black with the face of a snarling wolf imprinted on the front.  Nothin special.  Not compared to Alpha.  The tank was his, anyway, and it was a little big on me, something I kinda liked.  The shorts were his too. 

A night ago: we laid in bed, next to one another.  He had exhausted me, and I lay in a stupor, my brain sparking and fizzing with half-hearted attempts at creating thoughts.  It made me horned up, actually, that feeling of being totally drained by my Alpha, that slight furriness in my brain and tongue, almost unable to speak English correctly good.  It made me roll over and groan a little, almost wondering at my voice - how much it had changed since Alpha became my trainer, started me on my cycle - so rough, deeper than before, and nuzzle at the side of his neck.  He wrinkled his nose and pushed me away.  He, too, was in a sort of post-coital glory, spread out, arms behind his head, muscles twitching under the skin.  His eyes, fixed on the ceiling.  Alpha was thinking.  “I want to go out tomorrow night,” he said, and I knew at that moment that we would be doing exactly that.  I made a note to cancel my plans.  “I want to hit the town.” 

In the car, Alpha explained to me how it was going to go.  He wanted to show off.  He wanted to be slutty.  He wanted to look good and have people appreciate his body.  The car was full of the sounds of the road passing by underneath us.  “How do you feel about that?”  He asked me, which startled me.  I kept my eyes on the road.

“I don’t like the word slutty,” I said.  “I feel possessive about you.”

He nodded, and shifted position.  His monster arms uncrossed, and his hand fell to my right shoulder.  “I understand.  You don’t want to lose me.”  He paused.  “You won’t.  I am the best thing that ever happened to you.  I don’t need anyone other than you.  My wolf.”

I fought the urge to howl, like I always do.  “But I need others to see my body.”

I understand.  I nod my head.  Of course I understand.  “And I need others to see yours, too.  This is what we work for.  Do you understand?  Hear your Alpha.”

It’s dangerous when he does this and I am driving, but I have no choice.  My limbs go on autopilot.  I am watching the road but his voice is sinking into my ear, confident and arrowed.  “I hear my Alpha.”

“You love it when your Alpha looks good.”

“I love it when my Alpha looks good.”  The yellow lines are straight down the middle of the road.  I maintain steady pressure on the gas pedal.  My eyes are firmly ahead. 

“You love it when you look good.”

“I love it when I look good.”

“Your Alpha is a cocky stud.”

“My Alpha is a cocky stud.”

“Say it again.”

“My Alpha is a cocky stud.”

“That’s right.”

I drift back up to reality, as though I was never gone.  Something about the edge of drifting to my Alpha’s voice and being his chauffeur is intoxicating - and I haven’t even had anything to drink yet.

At the club, it is dark, and there is a pulsing, grinding beat at the core of the darkness.  Lights flash through like search-lights, questing through the inside.  They are looking for Alpha, I’m sure.  Once they find him, they’ll stop, all at once, multicolored and variegated lights purring all over his body, shading and dappling his muscles.  At one point, I lose track of him, he merges with the darkness.  I don’t know how.  When I catch sight of him again, he is in full flex mode, and there are admirers all around him, a ring of fawning adulation.  Hands reach out as if in religious supplication to brush against the mighty ridges of his abs.  His biceps are squeezed by hands one-fifth the size of them.  He is impassive, he is like a living artwork, being adored by the throngs.  I can see that he’s stripped out of his tank and shorts too, gyrating slowly in only a pair of blue briefs.  Someone has rakishly stuffed a dollar bill right into the front, no doubt to get closer to the origin of his manhood.  Alpha’s eyes are closed, his head tilted back, as the music itself even seems to falter and stutter against his display. 

“Hey stud,” a voice from behind me.  There’s almost a taunt in it, and there is in the impish gleam in the eyes of the speaker that fades as quickly as a broken bulb as I turn around.  “Whoa, shit,” he said, looking - no doubt - at the size of me.  “You’re a lot fuckin bigger than I thought you were.”

I shrug, and do what Alpha taught me.  I flex, pulling the double-bi pose.  Just like every time, I feel a bit of my thoughts kinda leak out of one ear.  My focus becomes tight on my muscles, clenching and surging, as if in a war against the bones and ligaments.  “Fuck,” the dude breathes.  He works out.  But not as much as Alpha, or me.  He’s tiny, compared to us.  I guess he’d probably be hot to the natty guys, but he’s just not big enough for me.

“You can touch it, if you want,” I say, and he reaches out an arm.  I see his biceps.  They aren’t bad.  Kinda like mine when I first started out.  I glance over my shoulder, and Alpha has moved on to another clutch of people.  I am concerned about the quality of them.  Some of them don’t look like they workout at all.  They aren’t fit to touch Alpha.  My hackles raise, internally, and I keep a narrowed eye on them even as this dude palpates my 19″  biceps.  They’re big.  I like that.  Alpha helps me make em bigger.  Alpha’s biceps are 23″.

I let him lick my flesh.  I don’t know why.  It’s that kind of club.  It’s a turn-on that guys that size find me attractive, but it’s nowhere near as much a turn-on as when Alpha flexes in front of me.  In front of the mirror.  In our bed.  I could palm this guy’s head and lift double his body-weight with my little finger.  Still, it’s a turn-on.

Later, at home, again exhausted.  Brain spinning like a broken toy, chest heaving with exertion, muscles spasming randomly under my flesh.  Laying next to my Alpha.  Haven’t been fucked like that in months.  Does Alpha good to be cocky.  To go out and be adored.  To hit the town.  He lazily lets a massive hand fall to my breastbone, and he taps on it with his knuckle, once, twice, pauses, a third time.  As if ruminating over moving a piece of furniture in the living room:

“I think it’s time we get you inked up.”

And at that moment, I knew we would be doing exactly that.  I, once again, as always, resisted the urge to howl as electric joy rushed through me.  I failed, and as I loosed the sound, my Alpha turned his face to me and let it split with a huge, confident grin.

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST (AU BARRY ALLEN IMAGINE) - PART TWO

Summary: When Barry Allen gives up on love, he gets turned into a hideous ‘beast’, and must find love before the last petal falls. When Y/N comes across his hideout, can she break the spell?

Gender: Female

Notes: Yay, part two! I wasn’t sure if I was going to get this up today, and then it wouldn’t be until Sunday, but I managed to do it this afternoon. This turned out longer than I expected, and I had to cut it off earlier than I originally planned. But the reader and Barry finally meet!

{REQUESTS ARE OPEN}


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“How many Lojbanists does it take to change a broken light-bulb?” goes the old Lojban joke. “Two: one to decide what to change it into and one to decide what kind of bulb emits broken light.” The further I waded into Lojban, the more everything I heard seemed to be filtered through the sensibilities of a bratty, literal-minded eight year old– “You love birthday cake? Well, why don’t you marry it?” “Can you use the bathroom? I don’t know, can you?” – with the difference being that while an eight-year-old knows what you really mean, my lapses in understanding were genuine. One day during my weeklong immersion in the Lojban grammar, I was watching an Elmo video with my son when a friendly puppet character popped up to ask, “what are two numbers that come after 6?” I had no idea what this puppet was getting at. “What the hell does she mean?” I wondered. “There are an infinite number of numbers that come after the number six.” I honestly did not know what the answer was supposed to be until the video told me (it’s 7 and 8, by the way).
Was this some kind of Whorfian affect? Well, no. It was more like a Freudian effect–like when you read a little Freud and suddenly everything starts to look like a penis. If someone keeps calling your attention to hidden meanings, you may start to see them.
—  Arika Okrent, In The Land of Invented Languages, p.233, discussing the constructed language Lojban, which began as an attempt to create a language that followed the rules of formal logic
Fic update: The Other Commander Shepard, 20/?

andom: Mass Effect

Summary: Val Shepard is the survivor of Mindoir, Hero of Elysium, first human Spectre, Savior of the Citadel, Destroyer of Bahak, and savior of the galaxy…… or is she?  Waking up as an ordinary Alliance officer, Shepard tries to make sense of the world around her, where everything seems changed.

Length: This chapter, ~4200 words; overall, ~85,000 words

Links: AO3, ff.net

Credits: Thanks to @theherocomplex and @probablylostrightnow for thoughtful and invaluable beta reading!

Notes: Back after Andromeda- and work-related hiatus. Thanks for reading!

#

Exhaustion, physical, mental, and emotional pulled Val quickly into sleep. Waking was like pulling herself out of a hole, thrashing, while husks grabbed after her with cold hands as she ran, desperately.

She sat up so abruptly she nearly cracked her head on the upper bunk. Wiping both hands over her face, she tried to orient herself.

Where — oh. Garrus’s little scout ship. She’d slept soundly, though the sense of restless dreams still clung to her in a haze. Fire and destruction, mass relays winking out like broken light bulbs, Reapers crashing to Earth —

Dreams like this had a certain familiarity to them, just the kind of thing she had to expect after a day of something messing with her head, like bruises after a hard fight. What did it say about her life that this sort of shit seemed routine?

Nothing good, she decided, and reached for her hairbrush. Her mouth tasted sour, and hunger clawed at her stomach. She’d fallen into bed without eating, too worn out by the enormity of everything that had happened. Breakfast would have to be a marathon this morning.

Just as she finished twisting her hair back into a knot, someone tapped at her door, in a familiar pattern.

Garrus.

Val froze for a moment, her pulse quickening. Part of her felt like the day before might have been a dream, that once she walked out of this space, they’d go right back to not knowing her any more.

There was only one way to find out.

“Hey,” Garrus said, leaning against the doorframe, as if he were just casually hanging out in the corridor outside her room.

“Hey,” Val replied.

“Can we talk?”

“Yeah.” She stepped aside to let him in, and shut the door behind him.

This cabin allegedly could house two turians, but it seemed small for the two of them, even though Garrus was in civvies instead of armor.  

Val was still in the soft shirt and pants she’d slept in, for that matter, and felt tender and exposed without the security of a uniform around her. She curled her fingers into her palms, conscious both of the privacy of the space, and of the distance between them.

Garrus said, looking around at the walls rather than at her, “You know, it feels like I should be angry with you for that evacuation bullshit.”

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Prompt: “Did you just___?”

Thank you @mustardyellowsunshine ! Its hard for me to write without a prompt and this just seemed perfect!! @inunanna HERE IT ISSSSSSSS


“Did you just attempt conversation?! ARE YOU AN IDIOT?! WAS THAT EVEN JAPANESE?!”  Inuyasha scolded himself, sitting on the bench in the staffs locker room. Shaking his head, allowing his snowy white hair to tickle his nose with its tips, he closed his eyes and scrubbed a hand over his face. The hanyou recalled the event that occurred not ten minutes prior..

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