happy early birthday present

nepenthe (m)

members: jeon jungkook, reader, a hint of jin on the side.

words: 5,261

summary: you’re jin’s soulmate. jungkook is an immoratal who’s been bound to you from the beginning of his existence. he’s helped you through everything in your past lives. this time is no different once you discover commitment isn’t your best friend.

a/n: this may or not be the start of a small series, idk depends on whether or not i finish my list by my birthday lmao. but anyway happy EARLY birthday @jinxkook​!! since this was meant to be posted on your birthday, and i prepared a sweet lil letter and all, i’m not gonna delete it, but i sincerely hope it’s a good day for you, you really deserve it dude. stay happy (and please take care of yourself) much love. ;]


Originally posted by jjks

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Cleopatra (Tom Holland)

Originally posted by j-murphy

Pairing: Tom Holland x Actor!Reader

Warning: Mention of death

Summary: Y/n writes letters to her ex-boyfriend, Tom when break up after he asks her to marry him. She writes all the letters in hope that he’ll come back to her. 

Author: Dizzy

A/N: Just a little fic I decided to write while listening to “Cleopatra” by The Lumineers.  Antony is the sequel with Tom’s responses to the letters Y/n writes.

Masterlist Request a Prompt


                                                                                                       May 30, 2017

Dear Tom,

It’s been two weeks since you left me and I really wish we hadn’t fallen apart. It’s been three weeks since we buried my father and I wish he was here to help me figure out how to move on.

But please, baby, you have to understand why I said no to your proposal. You asked on the first saddest day of my life, the second being your departure from my life, from our town. 

“No” just seemed to fall from my lips without warning that day. That makes sense though, believe me. I couldn’t get engaged the day my father was put to rest. 

Don’t you remember? I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep. Hell, you had to force me to take a shower by doing it with me, by washing my body for me. I was sobbing on the bed in my childhood room when you knelt beside me. When you kept the mascara that stained my face from staining those pink rose and white sheets. 

It was when my sobs subsided, when everyone stopped coming by to see how I was that you pressed that ring into my hand, the one my father gave you when you asked for his hand in marriage. The very ring he placed in my mother’s when he asked her to marry him. 

“Marry me.” was all you had said, so simple and effective. 

I was shocked, my face sticky and my mouth dry as it hung open and your lips pursed into a nervous smirk. 

“No.” fell from my lips and the tears once again began to flow, not from my eyes, but yours.

It was the first time I had seen you cry. The first time I had seen sobs take over your being as you repeated the question of “why?”

Yet, I couldn’t answer why I said no, why I allowed the answer to fall from my lips when I truly wanted to say “yes”, especially when you stained my bed sheets, the beautiful pink roses, with angry tears.

                                                                                                          Forgive me,

                                                                                                                       Y/n

p.s. Happy early birthday. I hid a present for you under the staircase.


                                                                                                        June 1, 2017

Dear Tom,

I’d hate to rain on your birthday parade, but I couldn’t get you off my mind. You’re welcome for the gift, it was the least I could do. I still love you, you know. Even if we aren’t friends or dating. 

I have some news. I will be playing Cleopatra in the movie adaption of Cleopatra and Antony. I know you probably don’t care, but I am very glad to have landed such a large role. 

That day still runs through my head. That Sunday. 

I remember how I left the mud stains on my father’s beautiful white carpet when you chased me out of the rain and into the warmth of that little house on the hill. I remember the sticky and sweet smell of the rain on our skin, the way you shook you head to dry off. 

I still remember how it took you all day to find out that the mud on the carpet couldn’t be removed because of how it hardened and cracked like my heart did when you announced you were leaving me. 

That day, Sunday, had gone by so slowly. The rain droned on overhead. The umbrellas were all black except for yours, with it’s bright and odd blue that seemed to make us stand out more than when I came crashing into you with loud and overwhelming sobs. The rain didn’t touch you, didn’t seem as if it ever would, like it was scared of the strength you had. 

I know you loved my father as much as I did and your lack of emotion, or should I say your perseverance of emotion, was all to protect me from the dark and dreariness of the day. I know when you discovered the mud stains on the carpet had cracked and dried, your eyes didn’t glazed over and your brows hadn’t furl because of what you thought people would think when they saw it. I know that they did that because you, yourself, were trying to keep from crying at the thought of how my father would’ve joined me in making those stains in the carpet he hated so much.  

I took up his way of transportation, taking the subway instead of the cab. It’s better for me that way. The sounds of the conductor’s unintelligible voice and the rumbles of the train on the tracks keeps me distracted from all the strangers around me that remind me of you. 

Like now, for example. As I write this letter, there’s a little boy and his mother that sit across from me.

The little boy looks as if he could be your son, with the same tousled hair, the same big eyes and bright smile. He speaks of animals and the heroes in his little children’s novels with such intelligence, just as your mother said you had done at that age. 

Sadly, not the conductor nor the thunder like rumbles and crashes of the subway can keep me distracted from this child, this little boy who makes me wonder what would’ve happened if I kept you around. 

                                                                                                           I miss you,

                                                                                                                      Y/n

p.s. I hope you have a great birthday. Say hello to Harrison for me.


                                                                                                     June 4, 2017

Dear Tom,

I went to a church today. It was magnificent, open and stained with colorful streams of light that came from the windows. The tragic faces of Jesus and the saints seemed to make me feel comforted for the first time in a while.

Yet, it still made me feel empty, still made me miss you somehow. 

Maybe it was the speaking of how the church discouraged the lust for you that burns within me or the way they frowned upon my own beliefs that made me yearn for your comfort more than that of those red candles that burned around me. 

So, I left. I couldn’t stay much longer and I don’t know if I really want to go back because the only gifts from the Lord the church spoke of so highly were birth and my father and the Lord already took one of those gifts away. 

But maybe you were a gift as well. I may never know since we’re drawn apart, New York and London. Across the pond and worlds away.

Well, I feel like I should talk about, that I must admit it. I would marry you in an instant. Hell, I’d be your mistress if that meant I could have you around, in my world, on my side of the pond. 

The way your tears stained my bed sheets, the way your rosy cheeks turned a fiery red when your sobs subsided and you looked into my eyes is still a permanent image in my brain. 

To answer your question, no, I didn’t think of you that day. I didn’t think about how you felt when you had to pull me out of the rain, when you sobbed on my bedroom floor or how you felt when you left town. 

I guess I was late in figuring things out. I’m always late, Tom. Don’t you know? I’m always damn late. In getting out on time, in getting things done, in figuring out that you’re the love of my life. 

                                                                                                I’m sorry, my love,

                                                                                                                      Y/n

p.s. My new apartment has a master bed and a joint bathroom, a place for you. 


                                                                                                        June 7, 2017

Dear Tom, 

Yes, if the offer is still on the table. If you will let me.

                                                                                                             With love,

                                                                                                                       Y/n

From the Dining Table, Pt. 2 (Ethan)

Summary: Ethan finally comes across your letter after many years and begins his journey to find you.

Word Count: 2,181

Warnings: Vomiting, mentions of vomit

Author’s Note: I finally finished part 2! It ended a little differently than I had intended just because I was accumulating a large word count so quickly and I wanted to cut it short before I lost you guys… But, this means a part 3 will ensue! This is written from Ethan’s point of view, and it involves a couple flashbacks, so I hope you guys are able to follow along. Also, “Y/L/N” means “your last name.” Please let me know what you think and I hope you enjoy! Requests are open.

Part 1


“Breaking news coming out of Hollywood this morning… Ethan Dolan reportedly calls it quits in the middle of filming his latest movie after having what sources are calling a ‘nervous breakdown.’ The former YouTube sensation-turned-A-list-actor was said to have stormed off of set yesterday unprovoked and has not been seen or heard from by family and friends since. There has been no word on how long production on the movie has been stalled for, or if Dolan will be welcomed back to the cast should he choose to return to the film. We’ll continue to report the latest updates on this story as they come in.”

I shove my headphones into my ears and crank the volume up until the shrill voice of the E! News reporter disappears, disgusted that even in LAX, one of the world’s most famous and populated airports, celebrity gossip matters more than world affairs. Pulling the brim of my baseball cap down farther over my eyes, I shift in my seat and pray that no one is paying enough attention to their surroundings to recognize me. I’m sitting in the terminal completely alone and would like to keep it that way— no security guards, no screaming fans mobbing me, no soccer moms hesitantly walking up to me asking for a picture for their ‘daughter.’ Yeah, right. I know for a fact that some of those moms go out on movie dates with their girlfriends on Friday nights just to oodle over me and it’s absolutely disgusting. Don’t they have husbands waiting for them back home?

I sigh and glance down at my jean pocket holding the piece of paper that brought me to the airport in the first place. Is the E! News reporter incorrect in saying that I stormed off of set of the movie I was contracted to film months ago? No, actually, but she is incorrect in saying that it was ‘unprovoked.’ For the last couple of years, my life has been a whirlwind of traveling, transitioning from YouTube to making movies, red carpets, parties, drugs, alcohol, girls, it never seemed to end. The life I have now is everything I could have ever wanted at eighteen years old, but as I learned over time, it didn’t come without sleepless nights and regret over losing the one person that unapologetically stood by my side since we were kids. The more opportunities I was presented with, the more fame I gained, the farther I pushed her away and for what reason, I don’t remember now. But no matter how hard I tried to rid myself of her, she never left me. She haunted my dreams and called out for me when I would least expect it. I could hear her whispering to me in the wind and I would feel her body up against mine in every bed I slept in. Time didn’t make it better; in fact, it was quite the opposite. I most recently have been plagued with images of her choosing to marry someone else, to carry someone else’s children, and in the middle of one of those visions, I decided I had had enough. That’s when I found the letter, and after spending hours reading it, re-reading it, kicking myself for putting her through so much pain, and bawling at the realization of what I had become, I dashed to the airport knowing exactly where I would find her.

A couple other people in the terminal begin to shift in their seats and look at their tickets. I rip one headphone out of my ear just in time to hear the airline employee call for the boarding of first class passengers. Grabbing my backpack and ticket, I fly to the front of the line, head down, hoping to create as little of a scene as possible.

“Welcome aboard, Mr. Dolan,” the employee coos as she scans my ticket and checks my I.D. all too slowly. “What business do you have flying to Newark today?”

What business do I have? What business does she have asking that question?

“I… um… I’m paying an overdue visit to an old friend,” I mumble, trying to keep the irritation in my voice at bay.

“Ah, I see. Well, I hope you have a safe and comfortable trip back home.” She flashes a toothy smile as I take off to find my seat in the aircraft. With so much pep in her voice, I wonder how many glasses of wine she drinks at night before being able to dull the aching emptiness in her chest.

Wait, did she just say, ‘back home?’ How the hell would she have known that I… Oh god, she’s a closeted fan, too. Yep, E! News is going to sink their teeth into that headline: “An AWOL Ethan Dolan was spotted by an LAX employee boarding a plane to New Jersey, seemingly desperate to get back to his home state. What could he possibly be trying to run away from in L.A.? Or, could he be running toward something instead?”

I settle into the cushioned seat, my mind trying struggling to remember the last time I flew on a commercial aircraft. I almost forgot how to even book a ticket in the first place; having done it on a computer last, trying to confirm one on my phone on the way here proved to be even more difficult. My brain continues to search, scanning over memories in reverse chronological order until it lands on the right one, forcing up a wave of nostalgia and nausea, too:


“Y/N!” I shouted, hunched over the Mac in the living room of our dingy apartment. “Come here! I want to show you something!”

“What is it, babe?” Her voice cascaded through the air and settled on my skin, giving me goosebumps. God, how I loved her voice.

“I can’t tell you! You’ll have to come see it.”

Her slippers dragged against the carpet as she approached me from her bedroom. I stood up to block the computer screen, not wanting to give the surprise away before I was ready.

“E, sweetheart, this better be super important,” she scolded, entering the room. “I was in the middle of my history mid-term paper and I had a groove going.”

I took in her beauty as she leaned against the door frame, crossing one leg over the other. Her hair was thrown into a ponytail at the top of her head, her reading glasses were falling down her nose, and the skin on her lips was peeling, most likely resulting from the way she constantly chewed on them when she was anxious or deep in thought. She was wearing an old hand-me-down t-shirt that she acquired from her older brother years ago, and because he was over a head taller than her, she was swimming in the fabric. Her legs were bare, but the shirt was so long on her body that she wasn’t revealing much. Her skin glowed in the light and the amused smirk on her face made my head spin.

Wow, I thought to myself in shock. This girl is all mine.

“E? Ethan? What was it you wanted to show me?” Her voice shook me from my thoughts and I broke out in a child-like grin.

“This paper is the last final you have to submit, right?”

“Yes…”

“And then you’re not only done for the semester but done with your college career, right?”

“Yes, Ethan, we’ve talked about this.”

“And your commencement ceremony is tomorrow at noon?”

“Ethan, did you get knocked over the head with something? We’ve been discussing my graduation for months now.”

“I know, I know we have. But, what we haven’t talked about is the fact that the ceremony isn’t the only place you—uh—I mean, we, have to be tomorrow.”

Y/N cocked her head to the side and walked over to me. “Ethan… what is going on?”

I took a couple of steps to the right to reveal the hotel reservations and flight confirmation number displayed on the computer screen, barely able to contain my excitement. “We have a 6:30 flight tomorrow from L.A. to Orlando. Happy graduation-slash-early-birthday-present, babe. I’m taking you to Disney World.”


I smile at the memory of Y/N’s disbelief as it melted into shock, the shock then morphing into elation. Disney World, while being one of the most cliché vacations a couple could take together, had always been a top vacation destination for her since she was a child. She was never able to visit when she was young because her parents struggled financially, but I had the ability to make one of her childhood dreams come true, something she never stopped thanking me for. Had I known the flight to Orlando wasn’t just going to be the last time I would fly on a commercial plane, but with Y/N in general, I would have cherished the moment more. She was always my favorite person to travel with. I would have gone anywhere in the world with her.

I begin to gag from vomit trying to force its way up my throat. For some reason, my regret is always paired with puke, but refusing to let it get the best of me, I fish in the front pocket of my backpack for my bottle of pills I was first prescribed after telling my doctor about my visions of Y/N. Opening the cap, I pour out four Ativan and wash them down with a bottle of water I bought after clearing security. I close my eyes and lean back in my seat, letting the medication run through my system and forcing the thought of Y/N away from my mind.

I just need five hours in the air to think about absolutely nothing. I just need five hours of darkness and silence in order to face what I have done.


“Ethan? Ethan Dolan in the flesh and blood?”

I look down at the concrete porch of Y/N’s childhood home, shamefully unable to meet the gaze of her mother standing on the threshold of her front door.

“Hi, Mrs. Y/L/N. Yes, it’s me.”

“Ethan, what business do you have showing up at my door after eight years of not speaking to my family?”

I pop my head up. Eight years? It’s been eight years since seeing Y/N last? I grab the letter out of my pocket and unfold it to see when it was dated, something that I stupidly didn’t think to pay attention to when I first found it.

Oh, my god… Y/N dated the letter six years ago; she waited on me for two and a half years in L.A. before moving back home, and it still took me another six years to find this thing. How despicable.

Disgusted with myself, I suddenly become dizzy and lean over the porch railing to vomit into the grass below. Mrs. Y/L/N steps out onto the porch and places her hand on my back, rubbing it gently until I stop dry heaving long enough to catch my breath.

“You’re being kind to me, Mrs. Y/L/N, even after everything I’ve done,” I observe.

“Holding anger and hatred for someone never does any good, no matter how much they’ve hurt you, Ethan. I see you found Y/N’s note. I’m assuming that’s why you’re here?”

I nod, gripping the piece of paper tighter. “Would you be able to tell me where to find her?”

“I can, but you might not like the answer.”

I raise an eyebrow, another wave of nausea washing over me.

“She bought the house, Ethan. The brick house on the corner of Oak Street, the one that–“

“The one that we talked about buying together since we were fourteen,” I finish for her.

Mrs. Y/L/N shrugs her shoulders. “Once your channel took off and she moved to L.A. with you, she started college out there and I thought maybe that dream became more of a fleeting thought for her. I don’t think she expected to ever come back to New Jersey; I certainly didn’t expect her to, at least because I knew that she would follow you wherever you went and I knew that you wouldn’t end up back here… You were destined for greater things than this town could offer you. But I suppose Y/N never forgot about it, after all.”

I press my lips into a hard line, working to keep my tears at bay. “You’re right, I don’t like that answer.”

“Well, then you should know one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“She doesn’t live there alone, Ethan.”

Fishing the keys of my rental car out of my other pocket, I glance sideways at Mrs. Y/L/N. “What do you mean?”

“I think it’s best that you find out for yourself, but be prepared. What you find might hurt you.” Mrs. Y/L/N places a peck on my cheek. “It was nice to finally see you again, Ethan.”

I close my eyes, desperately afraid that my visions of Y/N weren’t just visions after all.

“Thanks. You too. I just hope Y/N feels the same way.”

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @acnologically :D I hope you have an amazing day and like your little Acno present!

Everything

Connor McDavid x Reader

Team: Edmonton Oilers

Warnings: None I don’t think

POV: Second Person

NOTE: not requested, just an early birthday present for my friend Cam. Hbd and happy V-Day dude!


Originally posted by mttymrts

Your name: submit What is this?

It was a lazy day, a day just for you and Connor to enjoy. No practice, no drills, no diet, no media, just the two of you sprawled over each other on the couch, enjoying each other and the quiet. 

“Wish we could stay like this forever,” Connor mumbled in the crook of your neck. 

You giggled a bit, the vibrations tickling your skin and making you shiver. “I do too,” You kissed the side of his head. “But you, my boy, are ‘The Next One’, gotta go out there and win stuff or something.”

He snorted, “Thanks for the tip, (Y/n),” He shuffled a bit, making you groan underneath him. 

“You are really heavy,” You mumbled, feeling his weight shift to a different part on your body. 

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I spent the past few days going back and binge reading the entire blog. ^^; It’s such an amazing story though - huge kudos to Sam for being such a wonderful storyteller. Thanks for the journey, can’t wait to see how it ends.

(Oh, and happy early birthday!)

((submitted by: aivarobinson ))

((aw, thank you! what a lovely birthday present. I love the way you used the different blue-eyes to separate them, and my what cute sans(es) <3))

Arin can tell Dan is starting to get sleepy somewhere around midnight. By two am he’s devolved into murmured ramblings and bizarre non-sequiturs. As the session wears on he slowly starts to tilt over onto Arin’s side of the couch, until eventually he’s leaning his head on Arin’s shoulder and watching the TV through half-open eyes.

“Okay, I’m calling it,” Arin declares, putting down his controller. “You’re barely coherent.”

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Preference #23: Festivals

Nate: You couldn’t help but to admire Nate do his thing up on stage. He was always so passionate about his music and watching him perform in front hundreds of people was amazing. The starting sounds of “Take A Puff” started to play and you watched Nate light up and took a hit of a blunt at the lyrics: Roll it up, light up, take a puff. The crowd started to cheer as he kept rapping and you began to dance along to the music. You could remember the exact day Nate was told he’d be performing at the festival. Ever since then he’s been figuring out which songs he’ll be doing and raving on over how excited he was. Now that the time has come you could tell Nate was meant to do this. 

Sammy: Sam’s arm draped around your shoulder and you smiled as the two of you posed for a picture. Before the picture could even be taken you felt Sam’s tongue land on your cheek. “EW!” you exclaimed, moving away from him. His laughter rang out around the terrace and you pushed him in the side. “Aw you love me,” Sam said, grabbing his phone from Dillon to look at the picture. “Come on before we miss Lorde’s set,” you said, grabbing his wrist and yanking him out. The whole gang was at Coachella and you were excited to see all the artists performing this year. 

Johnson: Jack stared at the food in your hands and you could practically see the drool falling from his mouth. “Do you want some?” you asked, he looked at you dazed, but still nodded his head. Jack had a weak spot for when it came to food from a food truck. He claims they make the best food ever. You handed over the small tray full of food and grabbed your water bottle. Today had to be one of the hottest days during the festival and the heat from everyone else wasn’t helping. “Mac Miller is going to perform soon, we should start heading over to his stage,” Jack said through a mouthful of fried pickles. You nodded at his words, noticing that he’s already eaten half your food. “Yeah just let me get something else to eat,” you chuckled, nodding your head down to the plate you just handed him. Jack gave you a sheepish smile and mumbled an apology for eating all your food.

Gilinsky: “Oooo look at my girl looking fresh,” Jack said, making a video for Instagram. You smiled at the camera and your attention went back to Wiz Khalifa, who was on stage performing. You and Jack had flew out to Chicago to attend Lollapalooza. You had always wanted to go and as an early birthday present Jack bought you tickets. “Happy birthday to this one! If you’re out here at Lolla come search for us!” he last said, posting the video up Instagram. You shook your head at his last words, knowing good and well that his fans would take up the challenge. “I hope you’re ready for a crazy day,” you shouted over the crowd, giving him a smile. Your boyfriend was insane, but you knew he enjoyed meeting is fans.  

Swazz: “You know I don’t really do music festivals,” you shouted loud enough for John to hear. “Concerts I’m down for, but festivals nah.” John had a tight grip on your wrist and you were practically running to keep up with his fast steps. “Why not? Festivals are fun,” he questioned, eyes locked on the back of Tez’s head. “Because it’s like people have no home training…Look! Some girl is pissing in a bottle when there’s a port-a-potty less than ten feet away from her,” you grimaced. John had stopped abruptly and you ended up running into his back. “You got a point, but festivals are better because you get to see all your favorite artists perform in one spot,” he replied. That was a perk to it all, but being in a crowd of this many people made you feel claustrophobic, You were going to suck it up for now, only here because your boyfriend wanted to go.