cardboard kitchen

At the end of every summer the older campers get together to play drunk battle games with foam swords, padded arrows, armour made from cardboard and kitchen pots, and have chariot races with people pulling the chariots instead of Pegasus

Every Time You Call

*click through to read on ao3!

written by: Mel | @caramelkru

prompt: ‘modern day fic where bellarke decide to send nudes to each other even though they’re just friends? ’ for anonymous

word count: 1406


[10.42pm] bellamy?

[10.45pm] Clarke

[10.45pm] ok good. just making sure u’re holding ur phone

[10.46pm] … What??

[10.47pm] Clarke sent an image

[10.49pm] Uh

[10.49pm] That is

[10.50pm] stop typing n backspacing n typing again u can ditch the awkward idk-whats-goin-on spiel i just needed to vent

[10.51pm] With a picture of your boobs?????

[10.51pm] … Those are YOUR boobs, right?

[10.53pm] yes very much mine

[10.54pm] i’m making up for all the unsolicited dick pics out there in the world

[10.54pm] By sending an unsolicited boob pic?

[10.54pm] boob pics are always solicited

[10.55pm] Fair point

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Creepypasta #1134: Someone Is Sending Me Weird Text Messages

Length: Long

Someone is sending me weird text messages.

The first one came a few days ago. It was a Thursday night and I was up to my elbows in a cardboard box full of kitchen utensils and baking pans when I heard my phone ‘ping’ from across the room. I ignored it and went back to rummaging through the box.

I had moved into my new apartment a few days earlier and was still living out of boxes. The necessities had been unpacked and set up — my bed, the TV, my kitchen table. Toiletries had been stuffed under the bathroom sink, a dozen black garbage bags full of clothes had been stuffed into my bedroom closet. The rest was hidden in a daunting heap of cardboard boxes I hadn’t bothered to label when I packed them. I only rummaged through the pile when absolutely necessary, like the night before when I realized that I hadn’t brushed my teeth in three days and spent half an hour trying to find my toothbrush.

An hour later, I had abandoned the box of kitchen crap and curled up on the couch to watch TV. I was wearing an oversized orange hoodie that I could pull over my knees like a blanket. It was the wee morning hours and the only shows that were playing were infomercials for blenders and crappy old episodes of CSI. I had just flipped to a televangelist preaching when I heard my phone ‘ping’ again. It was still next to the stove where I had left it charging.

This time I got up and dragged myself across the kitchen. I was teetering on the edge of drunkenness from the $5 bottle of bitter Pinot Grigio I had helped myself to for dinner, pretending it would help me unpack. It just made me feel all warm and floppy and silly, and even less motivated than before.

I picked up my phone and looked at the texts. The first thing I noticed was that both texts were from the same person. The second thing I noticed was that instead of a contact name or phone number, this person was identified simply with the purple devil horn emoji: 😈

Now here’s something you should know about me: I’m not the sort of person that uses emojis. I’m definitely not the sort of person that would save someone as a contact in my phone using an emoji instead of their name.

That’s when I noticed the third thing about these texts: they were picture messages. I have that setting on my iPhone where message content is kept private on my lock screen. So instead of seeing the text or picture, my phone will just say “Text Message” or “Picture Message.”

Sober Me might have been seen red flags pop up at this point, but Drunk Me was excited. It seemed flirtatious and naughty. I quickly tapped in my pass-code and clicked straight into my messages to see what pictures this purple grinning devil had sent me.

Two black rectangles. The pictures were of nothing. I tapped one to make sure I wasn’t missing anything. Pinched the screen to zoom in then out again. Nothing. I opened the second one, same thing. Just black.

Sober Me wouldn’t have responded, but Drunk Me wanted to flirt back. I thought for a second about what to say, then typed: “I think you forgot to turn the flash on.”

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3

(y/h/n) means Your Hero Name.

“I need to tell you something. All seriousness, no jokes.”

“Wait, what?” Cisco asked, dropping his pizza back onto his plate. You and him were at your apartment, having your pizza and movie night, but you had something to tell him. Something you had tried to keep secret, but you couldn’t anymore. It’s been too much with you being introduced with the vigilantism all over again for the second time of your life. “Is something wrong?”

“No! I just need to tell you something. It’s kind of a big deal.”

Cisco chewed the bite he had in his mouth and nodded his head, the gleeful and playful light on his face diminishing. He didn’t speak but was looking at you to start the conversation.

You had tried to compile a speech of sorts, but your mind could never find the right things to say. It always became a jumbled mess and left you more emotional then what you wanted to be. That part of your life had still affected you, even though it was completely in the past.

“I know you’re really into the vigilantes of Gotham-” You started, trying not to look at Cisco in the eyes and rather decided to find the edge of the wooden table rather interesting.

“The Bat Family?!” Cisco interrupted, a giddy smile on his face. Normally that would cheer you up, and a part of you was a little happier to see Cisco smile, but that part of your mind was overruled by the guilt eating you up. Cisco stopped smiling, noticing the situation, “Yes, I know of them. Continue, please.”

“I also know that you’re investigating the disappearance of (y/h/n).“ You had found the newspaper articles and documents on his work station at STAR Labs, you had known of Cisco’s crushes on all things mysterious vigilante, but you didn’t know he would try to take it into his own hands. The dates on some of the documents went months back, meaning this wasn’t something that he had just started, he had gotten more than just his toes into the story of you leaving Gotham.

“How?”

“I found your stuff,” you admitted, wanting to get the devil of the details out of the way. “But that’s beside the point, I know something that would stop you looking for them.”

You felt cruel for telling him this way rather than outright saying it, but your voice didn’t want to speak it.

“Are you serious?” Cisco asked excitedly, leaning forward towards you. He took a look at your face and his smile dropped. “Why do you look like this is the most serious thing in the world?”

“You can’t tell anyone I told you. You shouldn’t even know it in the first place.” You continued on without answering Cisco’s question. “You have to promise me that, Cisco. That you won’t tell anyone.”

Cisco nodded, taking your hand that was tapping the table anxiously. “I promise.”

You got up abruptly, the chair making an awful scooting noise as you did so. You exited the kitchen and made your way to your bedroom, going to the hidden box in the bottom of your closet. You hid it so maybe you could start over with a normal life, but a life with Cisco, no matter how amazing, was not normal. You two had been so close and as of late the guilt of not telling him had grown more and more in the pit of your stomach. Now was the time you told him.

You brought the cardboard box to the kitchen and placed it in Cisco’s hesitant hands. You sat back down at your previous seat, waiting patiently (and nervously) for Cisco to open in.

He kept looking at you and the box before gently going for the folded flaps on the front and undoing them. He looked down to inside of the box in his lap and his mouth dropped open. You could see what was in the box. The black suit with the yellow logo, the logo of the bat of gotham.

“Holy crap.” Cisco exclaimed softly, taking the suit gently in his hands. “Oh my God.”

“You like my suit?” You said, hoping the playful words would lighten the mood, but for you they didn’t.

Your suit?” Cisco asked. “Wait, your suit. Wait, you’re (y/h/n)!”

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that? I’m sure China couldn’t hear you.”

requested by: anonymous
*gifs are not mine* (REQUESTS ARE OPEN-READ IMAGINE RULES)

Unbelievable - Elliot x reader (part 2)

(Part 1)

Here it is! The second part, for all of you who enjoyed the first one.

I’m thinking on writing a shorter, third and final part, a little after the baby is born, just like the Anon who requested this imagine sugested. Kind of like a prologue, really, but I’m not sure yet.

Anyway, as always, criticism is always welcome. Thank you for reading!

Word count: 1707


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He woke up and automatically reached for her, but only found empty space. Yawning, he got out of bed and padded into the kitchen in her bunny slippers (he knew he shouldn’t have let her pack his bedroom stuff).
   It was their first Sunday morning in their new apartment. Sunlight streamed in through the polished windows, and she was sitting on one of the unpacked boxes, already sipping her coffee and flipping through one of her poetry books. His favorite mug was sitting on another box across from her, fresh coffee billowing steam, beckoning him.
 He smiled and took his silently indicated seat and brought the mug up to his lips and took a moment to inhale the aroma.
“Weirdo” she muttered without looking up, but he could see her small smile behind her book.
He laughed and leaned back on the box. It was one of his- he could tell because of the clear packaging tape neatly sealing the plain brown cardboard clearly labelled “Kitchen”.
Her boxes were from appliances, shoes, gifts, and various projects she had gotten herself into- boxes she had accumulated over the years and had never thrown out or recycled and were haphazardly taped with the ridiculous craft duck-tape she loved to collect- duck-tape of all the colors of the rainbow, colorful designs, smiley faces, flowers. He recalled fondly how, when they first loading boxes, he had looked at hers and held his head in his hands…“Um, Love, you- you didn’t label them?” Her eyes lit up as she proceeded to show him that the boxes with the yellow smiley face tape were “kitchen stuff”, the ones with the plain blue tape were “boring books”, the ones with the flamingos were “good books”, and the ones with the daisies…
Here her face scrunched up with concentration as she pointed to them “er…those are…um, miscellaneous?”
And he wanted to be annoyed, he wanted to give her the lecture on the importance and benefits of organization he had gave to nearly everyone he knew (the one she often exaggeratedly mimed from behind his back whenever he started) but all he could do was burst out in laughter as he saw her mildly horrified expression, and kissed her on the forehead.
She was a mess, but he was in love, and as he sipped his coffee that she had so lovingly set out for him, he looked at her, sporadically flipping through the book, closing it and opening it to a random poem, dog-earing the ones she liked. She was the antithesis to his previously rigid, neat, organized life and instead of messing him up, the sight of her made him feel ready to take on the world everyday, and as he watched her proceed to write in the margins of a page, it struck him how strange, how random, how hilarious and absolutely beautiful love was.
—  Duck-tape, an excerpt from a book I’ll (probably) never write #4
Dark Knight

This is just a little idea that’s been nagging at me, about how Emma would react to finding out about a certain one of Killian’s adventures.  I’m going to rate this one T. 1040 words.

*~*~*

Emma hefted the cardboard box onto her kitchen table and started with the business of unpacking the items they had gathered from Regina’s vault.  She plucked out the sealed jars of dried stuff , the long thin bottles of potions that she probably shouldn’t spill, and the storybook.

Wait, make that two storybooks. Odd, she didn’t recall packing up more than one. These days the things seemed to pop up everywhere, no doubt due to Henry’s Author status.  She ran her finger over the embossed letters before flipping open the front cover.

The first page let her know this was the Enchanted Forest based on the clothes and the horses and wagons drawn there. The next page showed her parent standing together, watching as someone rode off on a horse, and that someone looked suspiciously like Killian in his long leather coat.  She didn’t realize that he knew how to ride, but of course he did. He’d been in that forest for … centuries?  Excitement started in her toes and jolted up her body as she realized she was holding a book about him. She scooped it up and hurried over to the couch, where she could better settle in and devour this story.

He was on a search for his ship. So this was that missing year, when she was in New York with Henry, and dating Walsh.  Walsh? What had she been thinking? The thought of the man left her with no feelings at all, and had she actually considered marrying him? Stupid, stupid Emma.

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A Few of His Favorite Things

Summary: Mako goes over a few of the things he loves about Korra.

A/N: The title is horrible I am aware. But the fic is pretty freaking cute.

“Mako? Can you do me a favor?”, Korra asked while poking Mako’s sleeping form.

“Korra, go back to bed.”, he groaned.

“Makoooooo.”, she whined. 

He dug his face into the plush pillow. 

“I promise, it’ll be quick.”, she whined again.

He cursed under his breath.

“Fine. What is it this time?”, he asked, still buried into the pillow.

“Can you please order use some cinnabon rolls for breakfast?”, she asked in the most innocent way possible.

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2

IN JANUARY OF 2015, ON A DARK WINTER FOREST NIGHT THAT DIPPED INTO THE 30S, A SMALL BABY APPEARED IN MY GARAGE. I LIVE IN THE WOODS. THERE ARE 3 HOUSES ON MY STREET AND NONE ON ANY OF THE SURROUNDING STREETS. THE TREES ARE FULL OF OWLS, COYOTES, FALCONS, WEREWOLVES, SERIAL KILLERS, AND SOME VERY MEAN BUNNIES.

SOMEHOW, THIS SMALL WHITE BABY MADE IT THROUGH ALL THESE HORRORS, SURVIVED THE WOODS, THE COLD, HUNGER, THIRST, AND WHATEVER OTHER DANGERS SHE FACED ON THE WAY OUT OF HER MYSTERIOUS ORIGINS, WHICH I STILL HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THEY ARE. NOBODY IN THE AREA OWNED A RAT THEY WOULD HAVE DUMPED, A WHITE RAT WOULD HAVE BEEN AN IMMEDIATE TARGET FOR ANY AND ALL PREDATORS, AND SHE WAS PERFECTLY SOCIALIZED WITH NO WILDERNESS SURVIVAL SKILLS, YET SOMEHOW SHE ENDED UP IN MY GARAGE.

MY DAD CALLED ME OUT INTO THE GARAGE AND SAID “A LITTLE WHITE RAT JUST RAN ACROSS MY SHOE. I THOUGHT IT WAS A BABY POSSUM.” AND WHEN I FOUND HER, SHE JUMPED INTO MY HANDS AND CRAWLED UP MY ARM TO SIT ON MY SHOULDER, HUDDLED UNDER MY HAIR AND CLICKING IN MY EAR. MY DAD WAS LIKE “NUH UH NO” BUT EVEN MY STEPMOM, WHO HATES RATS, WAS CHARMED. I WAS LIKE COME ON. AND MY DAD WAS LIKE FINE. SO WE PUT HER IN A BIG CARDBOARD BOX IN THE KITCHEN WITH SOME DOG KIBBLE AND A CHEESE SLICE AND SOME WATER WHILE I RAN OUT TO BUY A HAMSTER HOUSE.

BY THE TIME I GOT BACK MY STEPMOM TOLD ME THAT WITHIN MINUTES MY DAD WAS WALKING AROUND WITH THE RAT ON HIS SHOULDER AND WAS CALLING HER ELSA, AFTER THE DISNEY ELSA. SO THAT BECAME HER NAME.

MY OTHER TWO RATS, MATILDA AND KIRA (AFTER MATILDA’S MATILDA AND THE DARK CRYSTAL’S KIRA), WERE ADOPTED AS COMPANION FRIENDS FOR ELSA, AND ARE MY DEAR SMALL FRIENDS ALSO.

I DECIDED THAT THEIR BIRTHDAYS ARE ALL THIS MONTH AND WILL PROBABLY BE MAKING TINY CARROT MUFFIN FOR THEM TO EAT.

2
#30daysoftomlinshaw | day seven: favorite fluff headcanon

nick owning a bunch of one direction merch. specifically louis merch.

even before nick started dating louis he had some one direction merch. the thing is, once they started dating properly (out and everything) it got worse. a lot worse when louis was on tour. one day nick found himself using the ‘you and i’ body lotion and putting on socks with louis face on them before bed. it’s not even close to the first time he’s done this, the tube is already 2/3 of the way down. 

he tells louis but louis doesn’t take him seriously until it’s his first night home from tour. he wakes up in the middle of the night to drink some water and almost has a heart attack when he goes in the kitchen. "a cardboard cutout, nicholas?!”

[throw pillow credit 
inspired by the mrs tomlinson shirts headcanon and this post]
youtube

Ice Cream Van
:27

INT KITCHEN DAY
A boy - (about 5) - sits at kitchen table in foreground eating beans on toast. A younger boy - a toddler (2) - stands on a long cardboard box in the background, smiling at the camera and eating some kind of toaster pastry.

They eat in silence.

The toddler takes a step forward, his loses his footing on the edge of the box and collapses. He lies still, phased but unhurt.

CAMERAPERSON
Haha. Oh gosh.

SFX: Ice Cream Truck Music begins - the tune of “Yankee Doodle”

SEATED BOY
(getting up)
The Ice Cream-!

He trips getting out of his seat with a crash, holding his baked beans on toast aloft, and lands next to a soccer ball.

CAMERAPERSON
Hahahahah. [F**k.] OH MY GO-

Blackout.


I’ve watched this more than 25 times in the past hour.
Why? This video, I propose, is an alignment of the universe resulting in perfect comedy, and - moreover - wonderment.

I want to address the thing that I think really sends this funny video into the stratosphere of tragicomedy and that is the camera person. I initially assumed this third person was the mother of the children, but after repeat viewing, I think the voice sounds more like that of a pubescent boy. Let’s assume he is babysitting his two younger brothers. He’s made them snack. Pocket pastry for the toddler, baked beans on toast for the 5 year old. Now he’s got nothing to do, so he turns on his camera (BTW the quality of this video is very high). For sixteen seconds the two boys eat happily. The toddler stares and smiles into the camera as the other crunches into his beans on toast and wipes his nose.

At the sixteenth second the toddler steps forward, off of the cardboard box he was perched on and he rolls his ankle beneath him. He topples over without any attempt to brace himself and lays on his side with one of his legs floating above the other. He truly seems not to mind this sudden rearrangement. Standing, lying prone, it’s all the same to him.

The baked bean brother is completely unaware of the unintentional bit of hilarity behind him and continues eating until at second eighteen the first notes of “Yankee Doodle” can be heard, presumably played by a passing ice cream truck.

The boy lights up and with a voice made viscous and gravelly from baked beans on toast he announces “The Ice Cream-!!!!!” Before he can finish he, too, topples off his chair with a satisfying crashing sound. In the background the youngest brother has gotten to his feet. Baked Bean Brother lies next to a soccer ball. And realizing what happened begins to wail.

This is at second 22. A mere 4 seconds after his brother’s fall and only 2 seconds after hearing “Yankee Doodle.”

The cameraperson - our surrogate - breathes the F word (I think) then begins to laugh. And then, for me, what is the icing on the cake moment of the video occurs:

Like a sonic boom after a jet plane, the reality of what has just happened AND what he has just captured on film catches up to the babysitting brother. He shouts “OH MY GO-” and the video stops.

Just twenty seven seconds. Sixteen of which are just kids eating snack.

Within the babysitting brothers “OH MY GO-” is everything that makes humans human. Shock at the events that had just occurred. Joy at witnessing it. Disbelief that he had captured it. And, I propose, a deeper recognition at the massive invisible machinations that some think of as the wheel of fortune, or fate, or karma.

Yes this video is twenty seven seconds long. It could have been only eleven. But what truly is the first event of this video? The toddler falling? The sound of the crunching of Toast? The moment the camera is turned on?

What about the unseen events? The placement of the long thin cardboard box on the kitchen floor. It seems like an Ikea HEMNES Shelf box, What about the recognition within the household that a new shelve was required? Or the purchasing of items that would lead to this storage impasse? You see where I am going - to the meeting of the parents of these children and their decision to begin and continue a family, the health of these babies, and the doctors and nurses that assisted them along the way etc. etc.

Furthermore: external to the events within their home, we have the wildcard of the ice cream truck driver. How long had he been driving that day, what events led him to turn on his music exactly two seconds after the toddler’s funny fall?

All of these possibilities and potentialities pass through the oldest brothers mind and he breathes the word “Fuck.” The “Fuck” moment is the exact moment this boy’s eyes are opened to the infinite magnitude of the world. He says “Fuck” to himself, but then he appeals to the universe, realizing his tiny tiny spot in it, and realizing too, how lucky he was to occupy his own tiny spot: a hearty “OH MY GO-”

Incidentally, this exclamation really puts an excellent button on the video. It cuts out at the moment of maximum energy. He is the only one who has seen all of the events and they slam into him with the force of an ice cream van.

When the tape ends, I imagine the babysitting brother setting down the camera. He checks on his fallen weeping brother. He hugs him. He helps him up. Maybe he soothes him by taking both brothers’ hands and walking outside to purchase some ice cream. He was going to spend the money on something else, does it even matter what, now? “Two Drumsticks, please,” he says. The baked beans on toast brothers wipes his eyes, and then his snotty and beany mouth. Back inside, the younger boys sit on the floor in the playroom, housing their Drumsticks. While in the kitchen the older boy cleans the beaked beans on toast off the floor. He sits at the kitchen table. He texts a girl he likes.

This is a very special time and maybe no one knows it. A great internet treasure lays waiting in his camera, like a killer shark at the bottom of the ocean. The young boys have forgotten by now - and were oblivious, anyway - to the gift they will give to the world. The older boy was distracted by his duties as caretaker.

Now he thinks. He sets down his smartphone and looks at the camera sitting across from him. The camera stares blankly ahead. He picks it up. He presses play. He watches it again. And again. He laughs. He puts his hand on his mouth. He finds the USB cord. He goes to the computer, sits down, and connects us with the fingerprint of the universe.