he was quiet in a haircut

anonymous asked:

Hey Darling!! I was just wondering if you would ever write something in Stiles's perspective about Derek's death....LOL I'm sorry for the Angsty askXDXD

Derek is dead.

It goes around in his head as he drives from Quantico to Washington.

Derek is dead. Derek is dead. Derek god damn Hale is god damn dead.

Stiles racks his brains for the last time he saw Derek; for a memory he can focus on instead of the god damn road leading him to Derek’s body.

It was June. Five months ago. When he first moved in to Quantico, Derek came down from Washington and they walked along the river, exchanging stories. Derek had been in New York, finally settling the Hale estate with a lawyer so far removed from Beacon Hills he felt that he could trust them. He’d been wearing a lilac t-shirt that Stiles couldn’t stop staring at him in, couldn’t stop wanting to pluck at the sleeve, touch Derek on the arm, brush his fingers against Derek’s. The two of them had nearly died together a dozen times, and Stiles still hadn’t been able to bring himself to touch him.

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Clingy Shawn

request: You should make one about Shawn coming home after a long day and he just comes and sits in between your legs with his back on your chest and you just releasing some of the tension he has by rubbing his shoulders and giving him kisses and playing with his hair.

request: A needy or clingy shawn? Like he wants to be held and the one taken care of

a/n: i couldn’t think of a title. i was staring at my computer for like, ten minutes just thinking (if anyone has a better title, tell me pls)


You were in the kitchen when you heard the door to your apartment close, and you turned around, smiling at your boyfriend. “Hey, hun.” He smiled, kissing you.

Frowning, you looked at him. “You look tired, go sit on the couch.” You shoved him out of the kitchen and put away the pasta salad you were making for your sister’s birthday party that weekend.

Shawn didn’t even hesitate, he fled to the couch before you even finished the sentence. You quickly followed him, and smiled when you saw Shawn sitting on the couch, flipping stations on the tv. He stopped it on some cooking show, and you snorted. “Cooking?”

“Yeah, these shows are growing on me.” He said, looking up at you. “Can you sit behind me?” He asked, smiling at you with puppy eyes.

Sighing, you nodded, climbin onto the couch and positioning yourself so your legs were on either side of Shawn, and he leaned back, smiling. “Your boobs are nice pillows.”

“I’m going to get up.”

“Sorry.”

You shook your head, and began massaging Shawn’s shoulders, and he sighed in content. You occasionally would comment something about the show you two were watching, but it was mostly quiet in the apartment, which meant Shawn was pretty beat from his day at the studio. You grew bored with massaging his shoulders, and moved to brush your fingers through his hair, elicting another sigh from your boyfriend. “Your amazing.”

“You’re not too bad yourself, sweets.” You replied, twirling a longer piece of hair he had. “You need a haircut.”

“Yeah,” Shawn agreed, playing with a loose string on your t-shirt. “Was this my shirt?” he asked, scooting down so his head was tucked in the space between your neck and collarbone. You thought he looked uncomfortable, but didn’t say that.

“Mhmm, stole it from you before you left for the last tour.” You murmured, enjoying this time.

“Looks better on you.” Shawn yawned. “‘M gonna take a nap.” He informed you, before falling asleep rather quickly.

You smiled to yourself, and continued to brush your fingers through Shawn’s hair. He wasn’t often in moods like this, when he wanted to be cuddled like this, but you loved it. It was a part of him only you saw, and you cherished each moment of times like those.


a/n: i’m not a fan of this but i’d still like feedback. (also i might open the requests up again soon, look for a post about that sometime this week- probably thursday because that’s the only day i don’t fucking work!!!)

but honestly tho

fob sounded SO G O O D tonight and they were all so smiley and excited…patrick was dancing around getting his signature White Boy Moves out full force. pete has a snazzy new haircut and when i yelled at him NICE HAIR PETE he yelled back THANKS and patted his own head. joe looked absolutely content being able to play that night like he was truly having a good time. andy did cute little waves at the crowd, which spent every quiet intermission yelling ANDY 愛してるよ!!!and the likes.
most of all they all looked healthy and generally in jolly good mood and i feel so thankful for them gahhhhh

Date that dark eyed boy you’ve known for 7 years. The quiet one with the strange, old-fashioned haircut and the shy smile, who always makes you laugh over the strangest things. The one who told you about the Industrial Revolution, British Rock music, how to make French Toast, and more recently that he loves you, through a note and a flower on your doorstep. You love him too, but you’re still not certain he really meant it that way. He wouldn’t want to date you of all people. The thought of confronting him, and having him confirm your fears makes you physically sick. You have no choice but to never see him again.You will fake your death. No, you will fake his death. No, you will change your name and move to Alabama. He will never find you there.

Do not do any of this. Date that dark eyed boy. Please.

A concept: kevin day sitting on his bed between classes, one leg is down and the other is up with a book balanced on his knee. He chews his fingernail as he reads, occasionally takes a drink of his green smoothie, and he has to brush his hair out of his eyes every now and then because he’s a bit overdue on a haircut, but he kind of likes it. The only sound is the air conditioner in the background and quiet classical music. He will graduate from PSU soon and join the pro team of his choosing. He will marry an amazing person who loves him. He will grow closer to his father and raise a beautiful daughter who won’t ever qualify for the foxes. He is happy. He is safe and content.

Take it Out on Me | 3

Summary: Yoongi/Reader/Hoseok. When your boyfriend neglects you one too many times, the only thing left for you to do is run to his best friend for comfort.
Genre: Angst
Words: 2,787
Warnings: Cheating

Disclaimer: The plot idea is not mine and the two first chapters were written by @btsfiles. I am merely continuing it, with her permission.

-Admin Mari

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 (by @btsfiles)

Originally posted by leojuseyo

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Burned at the Stake || Minghao || Oneshot

Originally posted by minghaeo

Word Count: 2108

Genre: witch!au, fluff

Summary: Minghao wasn’t usually one to meddle in other people’s businesses. But he also wasn’t going to stand by when someone was being innocently murdered.

Woozi // Mingyu //


You couldn’t place how you felt in this exact moment. Was it hatred? Terror? Anger? Sadness? Or perhaps it was betrayal. Whatever it was or however many mixes of negative emotions it was, there was one that that was clear–you were in pain. Of course, being tied to a stake and having your skin seared off did that to you.

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polymathema  asked:

♖: Soulmates can feel each other’s emotions

One night halfway through Sixth at Ilvermorny, Percival wakes up suddenly. Phantom pain prickles down his spine, a terrible hunger echoes through his bones, and an awful dizzy confusion blankets everything. It isn’t before the sun has risen and his room is dusted in gold that it all recedes, and he’s left with a whisper of contentment, a hot curl of happiness in his belly, and exhaustion that blankets him heavily. His soulmate has been born.

The rest of Sixth is hell, because he keeps falling asleep at the most inopportune moments and his mood swings between cranky and exhausted all the time. His dormmates find it hilarious, and someone gifts him a baby bottle and pacifier for Yule.

Still, the knowledge that his soulmate is just a baby lights a fire beneath him. He will look after them, he will take care of them. It drives him, this innocent child who feels soft emotions; he receives echoes of warmth, of quiet simple happiness, of the peaceful calm of an infant’s sleep. He wants to protect and cherish his soulmate’s gentle innocence, and it’s this drive to protect that turns him to Auror training.

The first time he grew angry, truly angry, after that was when he was nineteen and a brand-new Trainee Auror. Junior Auror Frye, to whom he’s assigned, refuses to listen to him when everything inside him is screaming that the warehouse they’re about to raid isn’t as empty as it seems. “What would you know?” Frye says with a sneer. He’s resentful, because Percival showed him up in front of Director Harkaway earlier that week. Despite Percival’s misgivings, they burst into the warehouse anyway. Trainee Auror Hardewicke is killed, and Junior Auror Frye loses his left eye.

Once the overwhelming fury subsides, he presses his hands into his stomach. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispers, as if his soulmate could hear him.

His soulmate’s emotions are indistinct still, childish half-formed things. Percival’s anger and impotent rage has frightened them; he can feel the trembling fear, like a shivering animal trying to hide.

Except this time, unlike the handful of times when his soulmate has felt afraid before, the fear doesn’t reside. It grows stronger. Fear, and confusion, and the very real feeling of loss that builds in his chest until he can’t breathe. He has to take two days leave before he can even get out of bed, and still the awful grief trails him. Something awful has happened to his soulmate, and the impotent rage threatens to consume him again, because he can’t do anything to help the little life he promised to protect.

His soulmate’s childhood passes in this way. The fear slowly gives way to dull acceptance, heavy melancholy, and above all, roiling self-hatred. It grows worse in the evenings, and every Sunday Percival is confined to his bed, hardly daring to breathe in case it nudges the awful knot of pain, terror, and loathing that has settled beneath his breastbone.

It is around this time that his soulmate disappears for hours on end. The first time it happens Percival nearly faints, thinking his soulmate is dead. He is alone in his emotions for the first time in six years. Some hours later, his soulmate returns, exhausted and angry. Percival weeps then, full of fear. Don’t go, don’t go, he tries to beg his soulmate. There is no answer but the habitual sorrow that blankets his soulmate’s every action. The episodes of blankness happen again, and again, and again. He has no idea what they could be.

Percival tries to compensate for his little love’s overwhelming misery. He works himself to the bone, solving case after case, chasing the sensation of righteous justice that flares inside him when the criminals he arrested are declared guilty. He graduates from Auror training with flying colours and fierce pride in his chest.

His soulmate’s tenth birthday arrives and he waits with baited breath for their joy when they receive their Ilvermorny letter. But there is nothing; the usual sadness, shame, and grief echo in the marrow of his bones. For the first time, Percival wonders if he soulmate is a Squib, but resolves that he doesn’t care. He will find his soulmate when they are old enough, and he will give them enough joy to drown out the echoes of this miserable childhood.

He is promoted from Junior Auror to Senior in a handful of years, and savage joy leaps in his chest every time he sits at his own desk to himself in a corner of the bullpen. He hopes his soulmate feels his positive emotions just as keenly as Percival can feel their misery, and so every morning he lingers over the sight of his badge that reads Senior Auror Graves, trying to conjure up the sensation of pride, of joy, of determination.

I am proud of you, he tries to tell his soulmate through his emotions. I will find you. I will make you happy.

The years pass. He doesn’t find his soulmate. The echoed emotions he feels become muted and dull. His soulmate turns seventeen but feels no joy. Percival wishes keenly that he could find them, pepper them with the love they’ve been so starved of their entire life save those blissful early years.

Although his soulmate is now of age, Percival can’t bring himself to partake in the amorous dalliances that are common in unmatched witches and wizards. Even though he no longer has any moral compunctions, he can’t bear to hurt them. He wakes up some nights flushed with a lust that isn’t his own, toes curling and belly clenching for a touch on his cock. The first time he tried to take himself in hand through that dizzying haze, his desire echoing his soulmate’s echoing his, there’s a sudden snap of emotion and clarity before he’s drowning in a sea of horror and disgust, the ever-present shame and loathing growing stronger.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispers, winding his arms around his ribs and thinking of love, of forgiveness, of safety. Slowly, his soulmate’s emotions recede, and they fall back to sleep.

Percival gains a reputation among the rest of the Aurors of being utterly unflappable. The truth is that he doesn’t want to make his poor soulmate feel any worse than they already do every day. His insatiable drive to protect, as well as his reputation of having nerves of steel aids him professionally, and at the age of thirty-four, he’s promoted to Director of Magical Security when Director Harkaway retires. He lingers on the feeling of joy for days. His soulmate’s life is devoid of it, otherwise.

He is beginning to lose hope he will ever find his soulmate. He’s not even sure if they’re in the same time zone as he is. Senior Auror Sunbowe’s soulmate was on the other side of the planet before they found one another, and she’s mentioned how she’d feel tired and ready to sleep halfway through the day, and wake up halfway through the night. Percival’s soulmate is weary at all hours.

The only good thing that comes of his imprisonment under Grindelwald is that there is something in his soulmate’s life causing them to feel hope for the first time since those handful of years when he was a teenager. It flutters weakly at his breast like a wounded bird, and Percival hopes fervently that, wherever they are, his soulmate’s awful life is about to get better.

It’s a stupid hope. Their entire life has been nothing but agony and misery. Why should this be any different?

The periods of blankness become longer and more frequent. One night, he is woken from sleep by all-consuming rage and terror so incandescently bright that he manages to break through the seven layers of wards Grindelwald’s wrapped him in, and apparate straight to the office of Seraphine Picquery, where he blessedly loses consciousness.

He wakes up three days later in hospital, Junior Auror Porpentina Goldstein wringing her hands nervously at the foot of his bed. He listens to her explanation with half an ear.

He is once again alone. There is no familiar echo of emotion in his bones, no whisper of sadness inside his skull. His soulmate doesn’t come back to him. Recovery is made longer by the crushing loneliness that dogs his steps and consumes him when the Healers turn the lights off each evening.

It is months before Percival wakes up in the middle of the night, back at his apartment. A steady thrum of quiet emotion trembles at his fingertips. Hope, uncertainty, weariness. He lurches out of bed and opens his front door.

A boy – young man – stands on his doorstep, thin and in need of a haircut, his face all sharp angles and liquid feline eyes. Hope blooms inside Percival’s chest, answered by a hushed thrill and a tremulous smile on the young man’s face.

“Hello,” the young man says.

“Hello,” Percival replies.

3

82. Do you ever talk to a person and your heart starts doing some dubstep shit.
+
89. Here’s a little song I like to call “I cherish our friendship so I won’t tell you I would totally have sex with you if you asked.”

Here you go, love! :)

Being an avenger was a huge responsibility and when Bucky was firstly introduced to the rest of you by Steve you were highly sceptical about it. For weeks you didn’t get him out of sight, turning into his new shadow. Your mission was to investigate whether he was actually a friend or a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

You weren’t exactly sure whether all of his confusement of this ‘new world’ as he said, was true or not. Truly, his manners, the way he used to construct his sentences, before he got used to the new ways of 21st century speech, the timidness of his gestures when he was presented in a ‘new’ situation, they all seemed to be real.

You weren’t sure when or how, but somehow - slowly, but surely he managed to earn your trust and even get under your skin. Was it his way of speaking, or was it the way he always doubted himself in social situations, or maybe it was his pure eyes, in which you often found yourself staring at.

You didn’t know, but it was a fact and now a year and a half after the first day you met, both of you were inseparable. You couldn’t wrap it around your mind how for such a short amount of time he proved you he was one of the most trustworthy and gentle people one could ever have the luck to know.

“You know –” - he turned his head to you and you looked up from your phone. “–I knew you didn’t like me at first” - your brows twitched for a second, unsure of what to answer back, you waited for him to continue “It was really obvious–” his deep chuckle had a hint of sadness to it. “–but I think I would have acted the same on your place. You were just doing what you felt was right for everyone.”

That was exactly what you were doing “I appreciate you told me this” - your smile melted his heart, but the sadness in his eyes didn’t go away. This wasn’t the only thing his heart desired to confess, but he was still so unsure.

Having his entire self wiped out as if someone had unleased a black hole in his body and mind, it was devastating and now that he started feeling the warmth of life again - remembering all these emotions, and especially when you were around, it made him so incredibly nervous.

You had no idea what was on his mind at this moment, you just wanted to help him clear his thoughts from the stormy clouds that were keeping him sad.

“What?”- he asked seeing a grin spreading across your face - “I think it’s time to get rid of the old James and help the new one come out under the lights and I know exactly how to do it, but you’ve to promise me you won’t protest or run!”

Bucky was confused, but adored your enthusiasm and agreed. He had no idea what he got himself into. You told him to wait and ran to find Steve who was in the gym. After talking with him for a while you finally managed to convince him.

“Come on Buck, we’re gonna go for a walk”- Steve said to his friend to whom you gave an encouraging smile. “Isn’t this what people in the movies say when someone’s going to get murdered?” - Steve shrugged his soulders at his friend’s question and told him smugly “I guess you’ll have to wait and see”

~~~

“Where did you say they are ?”- Pietro asked you for like the third time today. “For someone who runs that fast your brain lacks some speed you know” - “Guys! You ready to see him? I think it turned out better than I anticipated”- Steve’s voice echoed in your ears. You and Pietro were the only one in the living room, but very soon the rest got there as well and then your heart stopped.

“Well, well, well, isn’t he a nice looking lad! Good job boy, chicks will dig it, I’m telling you!”- Tony pat his shoulder with a smitk. “Damn Bucky! You dont look like a homeless person anymore” - “Oh my God, Pietro!”- Wanda slapped her brother’s shoulder, excusing her brother and his ‘lack of manners’ as she said, and told Bucky that he looked fantastic.

All of them were head over heels his new look,showering him with superlatives , only you were sitting quiet on a chair, too stunned to say anything. “What do you think _____?” - Steve finally asked you, braking your trance. 

Do you ever talk to a person and your heart starts doing some dubstep shit? That’s what you felt like. Your heart was jumping up and down in your chest so loud you thought they could actually hear it.

Bucky was looking at you with a shy smile, “You’re definitely a living proof that it’s not ‘just a haircut’ “ - your little joke and laughter were the only way you thought would help reduce the electricity firing from your eyes. He looked absolutely astonishing, like a God on Earth.

And the black leather jacket on made the colour of his eyes pop so much. Honestly he could go and audition for the next James Bond or something.

Here my friend is a little song I like to call “I cherish our friendship so I won’t tell you I would totally have sex with you if you asked.” - Pietro’s snickering voice broke the silence. You just glared at him with red cheeks, but his amused and satisfied smile just grew bigger.

Why was this little prick always ready to embarrass everyone and why was he so smug about it? You just went to him poking his chest and removing his arm from Bucky’s shoulder, who at this point was looking so lost. Here was the time to feel relieved because he was still so pure and had no idea about the level that sarcasm had reached since the 1940s. 

“Don’t ever listen to a word this peacock says!” 

anonymous asked:

Why do I have the strangest feeling Walter wasn't always like this? Wilfrod in the old days was malicious, but I'm sure even he has lines that he wouldn't cross. So wouldn't Walter be the same? *glares at Dark's office* They did more than just talk, didn't they?

Dark retreats to his office after the meeting, after the others disappear to look for the Host. The scent of watermelon still lingers, and Dark is repulsed by the overly sweet odor. He moves to stand beside his window, looking down over the city and pushing his hair out of his face. What he wouldn’t give for Mark to get a haircut already.

With his other hand, however, Dark holds a long piece of wood, knotted but glossy and full of the Host’s quiet magic from the figment speaking to it fondly for so long. Dark twirls the cane through his fingers. It’s lighter than he remembers, but it’ll do the trick all the same.

Sue Klebold on Dylan

“By Dylan’s senior year, he had grown tall and thin. His hair was long and scraggly; under his baseball cap, it stuck out like a clown wig. He’d been accepted at four colleges and had decided to go to the University of Arizona, but he’d never regained his love of learning. He was quiet. He grew irritated when we critiqued his driving, asked him to help around the house, or suggested that he get a haircut. In the last few months of senior year, he was pensive, as if he were thinking about the challenges of growing older. 



One day in April I said, “You seem so quiet lately—are you okay?” He said he was “just tired.” Another time I asked if he wanted to talk about going away to college. I told him that if he didn’t feel ready, he could stay home and go to a community college. He said, “I definitely want to go away.” If that was a reference to anything more than leaving home for college, it never occurred to me.”
–Sue Klebold

The Montreal Canadiens a short Summary

Max Pacioretty

- Captain Patch / Patches / Patchy

- Deep but heart warming voice

- Always gets shit on by Therrien

- Deserves the world

- The face of loyalty 

Andrew Shaw

- Shawzy

- Mutt

- Will fight you anywhere any day

Paul Byron

- Pauly

- Zoom zoom he goes as he scores 

Tomas Plekanec

- Pleky

- Veteran 

- Loyal human being who tries to protect his children

Torrey Mitchell

- Will sometimes fight you

- Loyal 

Alex Galchenyuk

- Chucky

- Was born in America but Russian

- Gets angry at Gally for calling him Russian

- ½ of Gallys

- Will protect Gally at all cost

Brendan Gallagher 

- ½ of Gallys

- The most precious human being there is

- Always fights people bigger than him 

- Will always protect Chucky 

Jacob De La Rose

- Disappears at dawn

- Precious cinnamon roll

Phillip Danault

- Zoom zoom

- Great flow but he got a haircut 

Daniel Carr

- Works so hard its ridiculous

- Underappreciated 

- Deserves the world

Alexander Radulov

- RADU

- Well loved

- Precious Russian

- Loves his Captain Patch

Brian Flynn

- Zooooooooooooooooom zooooooom

- Overall great quiet human being

Sven Andrighetto

- Always getting sent back and forth 

- Hard worker

- Deserves the world 

Shea Weber

- Dad af

- Habs dad

- Will fight you if you mess with his children

- Slapshot will kill you

Alexei Emelin

- Emy

- Russian Tank

- Will destroy you for messing with his team mates / just because 

Zach Redmond

- Precious Cinnamon roll

- Works really hard 

David Desharnais

- Davey

- Smoll

- Great human being

- Sometimes struggles on the ice but he works super hard and deserves the world

Jeff Petry

- Best Flow

- Kind gentle human being

Greg Pateryn

- Lumberjack look

- Overall great human being

- Rugged beauty

Andrei Markov

- Marky

- Stealthy Russian

- Always serious

- Will kill you if you mess with his team

- LOYAL 

Nathan Beaulieu

- Nate

- Great human being 

- No seriously he is such a sweatheart

- Trying to get in between the Gallys

- Well loved by everyone


Al Montoya

- Underappreciated

- Honestly the kindest human being

- Deserves the world and more

Carey Price

- Jesus Price

- The Price is right

- Pricer / Pricey

- Innocent but deadly

- Cowboy

Artturi Lehkonen

- Leky

- Baby Hab

- Finnish Ken

- The most adorable and hard working human being ever

- Deserves the entire universe and more

Michael McCarron

- Mac Attack

- Very big

- Sweetest human being 

Mikhail Sergachev

- Sergy

- PRECIOUS RUSSIAN

- Puppy

- Deserves the entire world

- Seriously the most precious human being ever (yes i am still bitter they sent him back)

Nikita Scherbak

- Scherby

- Precious Russian

- Loyal

- Puppy

- Incredible human with a genuine heart

- Cute accent

Matt on Team Voltron

Part 2 for the Matt and Shiro/Matt headcanons @faerybound and I came up with! Part 1 is here

After Matt is rescued

  • Shiro and Matt just spending time together in Shiro’s room, talking and just kind of relearning everything about each other since they’re both different people now so both are going to have to come to terms things are different and can’t be exactly like it used to be
    • Matt has changed from his time in the labor camps and likely having to find ways to survive possibly on his own if Mr. Holt died or he couldn’t find him  
    • Matt also walks with a limp, has a streak of white in his hair and his hair is longer
    • Shiro is different from his imprisonment, being a gladiator and now from leading team Voltron
  • Hurt/comfort between Shiro, Matt and Pidge if Mr. Holt didn’t survive
  • The team would also do their best to be supportive but they didn’t know Mr. Holt like the three of them did
  • Team Voltron is very welcoming of Matt
    • Hunk makes him a nice proper meal and is supportive teddy bear big brother
    • Pidge tells him about all the adventures they were on to get to him
    • Shiro watches nearby protectively but happy everyone is welcoming Matt and would also be a person who offers some place when everything is too overwhelming
    • Lance just bombards him with puns and embarrassing things about Pidge. He also catches him up on all the pop culture references he’s missed
    • Keith is probably quiet and watching like Shiro until Pidge brings him up in a story and encourages him to say something about what happened eventually it turns into him making fun of Lance and the two would reenact battles for Matt
      • Bonus: Keith worries for Matt and teaches him a few basics to help keep him safe
  • Coran practically adopts Matt, taking him under his wing and wants him to feel at home and a part of the team, he gives him a space uniform similar to his own but in orange for Matt to wear
    • Matt once asked Pidge to give him a haircut since he assumed Pidge knew what they were doing: “You did a good job with your hair! You can help me cut mine.” “…If you say so Matt.
    • This ends with Coran finding them and having to cut Matt’s hair short to salvage it from what Pidge had done
    • Matt also loves working with Coran and loves to listen to his stories and learning about Alteans because any information he would know of them would be other aliens saying they were a myth or negative things from the Galra
  • Allura is just as enthusiastic with Matt, she is space mom  she would be supportive and want to make sure Matt is adjusting well to his new room and with everyone, she’d make sure he knows where everything is and to avoid the cryochamber because that place is kinda creepy and could unsettle Matt
    • Bonus: Allura would also be like: “Okay so if you want to laugh at stuff, watch Keith and Lance in the maze” and if you want good food to to Hunk and if you’re looking for an intelligent conversation obviously go to Pidge and Hunk and sometimes Pidge is really sassy to Lance so if you want to listen to that, that usually happens around dinner
    • Also she tells Matt if you ever needs reassurance or if the rest of space squad is too much go to her or Shiro space parents can handle it
    • Allura is just really good at knowing all this stuff
  • Before Matt gets a haircut Lance would get him and Pidge confused all the time especially if he sees them from a distance since they look so much alike
    • As revenge Pidge and Matt mess with him and answer by each other’s names
    • They still do that after Matt gets a haircut

Matt on Team Voltron

  • Matt is likely a tech advisor, he could have a similar skill set to Pidge in engineering, though he could very well have learned in the fields of science as well since he and Mr. Holt were supposed to study the ice sample for signs of life I assume from the first episode
    • Because of this he often says: “For science!” this may or may be done right before he does something silly involving new tech or experiments he’s working on
  • Matt also learns to help with the Castle’s security system
  • Team bonding now includes Matt
    • Getting him to eat while attached to everyone else
    • He and Pidge just spending time together on top of Green, Pidge is telling him about all the stuff at the garrison and their trip to find the lions and the weird sloth thing they encountered
    • “I’m a pilot now, too”
    • Big brother Matt so proud of Pidge
  • At first Matt is the only one Pidge allows to call her Katie
    • Regardless of Pidge’s orientation Pidge prefers to be call Pidge and likes to be called Katie by Matt because it reminds her of good times when their family was together
    • Once Matt starts to feel comfortable on the team he calls her Pidge
    • He likes the name thinks it suits Pidge nicely
  • Matt sneezes really loudly, once Matt sneezed in the room with the crystal and the noise traveled through the vents and he startled Shiro all the way in the training room

Language/Culture Lessons

  • Coran teaches Matt how to read and write the Altean language so he can operate the ship with ease though Allura and Coran decide to give everyone a crash course of Alteans
    • Shiro is model student
    • Lance and Keith occasionally disrupt the class because Lance keeps throwing stuff at Keith
    • Hunk does his best to take notes but is slowly losing his sanity due to Lance and Keith’s antics
    • Allura just facepalms while Coran is talking away not noticing a thing
    • Matt and Pidge take notes and listen well (Pidge also doodles Voltron) though both end up getting distracted, asking lot of questions to the point they were veer the lecture off topic because they’re just so curious they want to learn so much, they also pass notes and doodles during the lesson

And done! I just really love Matt so much and want him to reunite with Pidge. I WANT MATT TO BE HAPPY.

Morning (Barry Allen x Reader)

Word count: 587

Requested by @teachingpanda (I hope you like it! If not, let me know and I’ll change it)

Tagging: @insideoflit @speedypan @the-shadow-of-atlantis


Revolved sheets and tangled legs puts you out of the cozy unconsciouness of sleeping, and his fingers wraped around yours are what wakes you up entirely.

The lazy morning clarity that passes through the curtains surrounds the both of you, but it feels like he absorbs all of it. You blink at the sight of Barry’s face snuggled close to yours.

He’s almost shining.

His skin reflects the light like water and a part of you screams that you might still be dreaming, so you surrender to the need of touching him to confirm it is real.

He needs a haircut.

You run your fingers through the soft, silky texture of Barry’s hair, longer than usual, his strands fall over the pillow, making you think about sunshine rays and dispersing the quiet fragance of his shampoo. The tips of your fingers brush against his hair roots and you retreat it back to your chest.

It is real. You’re actually waking up next to Barry Allen, not that that is unexpected, given that you’ve been living together for the past month.

You’ve always liked Barry’s hair, and the way his strands are ticker than yours, and its color and smell. On tranquil afternoons, when the both of you get home from work, Barry would lie his head on your lap and guide your hand to stroke it while watching some tv show on the couch.

A smile pushes your lips up and you cup the cheek of his that is not touching the pillow. The tender, warm skin of his face receives you with Barry snuggling closer your touch and you can feel his breath hitting your nose.
His aroma surrounds you, mint, soap and chocolate. That’s when you realize he’s awake.

You let your thumb trace slow figures on his cheek and notice the grin that he’s trying to pull back. You slide your fingers to his long eyelashes and to his closed eyes, making a little stop at his eyebrows to clear and comb them for a couple seconds.
Then you move your finger to his forehead and to the base of his hair, and all the way down to his tensed lips.

You let out sigh. Barry’s mouth is pretty, it has a pink tone that makes you think of delicate things and flowers; but right after you’ve kiss him, the pink gets slighty darker and his lips swell up a little, on those moments, all you can think about are strawberries and of how much you want to kiss him again.

So you press a soft peck on his nose instead, giving a light squeeze to his hand and moving your other hand to rest it on his chest as you lean even closer. His pulse is faster than usual.

 Now you have a close-up of Barry’s jaw and you leave a kiss there too, in the corner, right where his ear conects with his neck.

“Barry” You whisper, kissing his cheek.

“Barry” Your lips are on his temple. You move down to his chin and you can tell the exact moment when he starts holding his breath. You smile, leaving another kiss on the corner of his mouth “Stop pretending. I know you’re awake”

He murmurs your name, and your heart gets lighter when he moves his hand to hold your waist, too fast all you can see is a blurr. You’re on top of him with your legs around his stomach and he smiles at you, all eyes and teeth.

“Good morning”

I am trying to get back into the writing thing and today I was watching baseball and moved to write. So, yay! 

I mean, it’s nothing much, but it is something. So, have some quick, fluffy Darcy/Bucky, sort of baseball related fic. 

Thanks for being patient with me during this dreadful writing dry spell. I really appreciate it. 


Autumn was starting to creep into the city. The weather was still mostly warm and green, but there’d been a couple of blustery, rainy days, and a new little chill in the air in the mornings. Darcy wasn’t sure she’d ever quite get used to Fall starting in September, but, it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Because, for real, east coast summers were the worst.

Bucky’s apartment was not the best place to spend a summer. There was no cross breeze, it got stuffy as hell, and had no central air or anything. A couple fans by the windows, and mostly they just pushed around the sticky, grimy air from the outside.

Today was one of those slightly blustery days, though, and there was a hint of cool and damp and a definite breeze that rattled his blinds. And the apartment was quiet, nobody constantly demanding her attention for this thing or that. She could maybe get some things done. Maybe. Truthfully, it was just nice to hang out quietly with him.

“I think the bar oughta be a Dodgers bar,” Bucky said decisively from his spot on the couch.

On the other side of the couch, curled up, her back to the arm rest, feet braced on his thigh, Darcy was spending her Saturday afternoon reluctantly reading reports from Phil. She didn’t even bother glare. “Over my dead body.”

“It’s my bar.”

“That I’m paying for.” Darcy glanced up from her work and considered the screen. “How about the Mets? I have no strong feelings, they’re local, and they’re not the Yankees.”

“I don’t know,” he grumbled. “What the hell’s a Met?”

“Metropolitans.” She rolled her eyes and nudged his knee with her foot. “Oh my God, don’t be like that.”

His lips lifted into a little smile and he shrugged. “I’ll consider it.”

Darcy braced her elbow on the back of the couch and set her chin in her hand, watching the game for a minute. “I know a guy on the Mets.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, know.” She shrugged. “His mom’s my lawyer, and his grandpa was my lawyer before that. We sort of knew each other as kids. Kind of. Like, Memorial Day cookouts at his grandpa’s house kind of thing.”

Bucky jerked his chin at the tv. “He playing?”

She squinted at the field and counted the numbers. “I don’t see him. I think he’s mostly a bench guy this year. Second base, some shortstop. Good defense, quick on his feet. So-so hitter. Though, he had a good year in triple-A last year. Rick Carmine.”

“I’ll look out for him,” Bucky said and turned his attention back to the game. “Miami Marlins. Sounds like a double-A team,” he grumbled and fell silent for a long moment. “That guy needs a haircut. His hair’s longer than yours.”

“Says you, Mr. Lucious Locks down to your manly shoulders,” Darcy laughed, with a roll of her eyes, turning her own attention back to her tablet. So, okay, it wasn’t entirely quiet at Bucky’s, especially when he was in a ‘kids these days’ mood. Hilarious as that usually was. “Besides, baseball — it’s a long season, what else are they going to do other than grow weirdass beards and bad mullets? Not that there’s a good mullet.”

He let out a long breath through his nose. “I don’t like the long pants, either.”

Darcy stared at him for a second, looked at the screen, then back at him. “Are they playing baseball?”

“More or less.”

Exasperated, she waved a hand at him, the tv, the universe. “Then, just, whatever, okay?”

He snorted and slumped down on the couch, kicking up his feet onto his coffee table. “Okay, so if some guys have their pants long, and other guys have their socks high, I’ll pretend I don’t mind. But, if the socks are high, shouldn’t they all be the same? It’s a uniform. How come that guy’s got stripes on his socks, and that guy’s are just black? They’re on the same team, it oughta look the same.”

Darcy rubbed at her forehead and tried to pretend she was focusing on blackmarket weapon sales in Ukraine, and not her partner’s old man griping. “Let me get you the commissioner’s email. You can send him a letter.”

“Yeah, I’ll send him a letter,” he said, his tone dark with menace.

Darcy nudged his leg again. “Why are you all grumpy cat? You’ve been watching games all season.”

“Yeah, but by myself mostly.” He gave her a sad little look, like she’d abandoned him through the baseball season. “A couple times with Barton.”

“But you don’t bitch to Barton.” Aww, he wanted to save his bitching for when she could hear it. That was both annoying and sweet.

“I don’t know. I guess not.” Bucky watched the game and then slapped his hand on his thigh. “Where the hell was that pitch, ump? Geez. That was right across the letters. Ball, what a crock.”

Darcy laughed at his outrage. It was so normal, and those moments where he was just a regular guy were always such delight. “I’m pretty sure the proper nickname for every baseball umpire is 'bum’. So, like, that was a lousy call, you bum.”

“I agree. And he is a bum. Look at that strike zone. Or don’t, because I can’t tell where the hell it is.” He pointed at the TV. “I like the strike zone box they put up on the screen. Bet the umps don’t.”

“Some people want robo-umps,” she informed him. “I’m on the fence. I don’t entirely hate that, you know, each ump can have his own sort of unique strike zone, but that’s only okay so long as they’re consistent, you know.”

“Robo-ump?”

“Basically that strike zone box. A computer would call balls and strikes. I don’t know. I still like the human element. And you get to yell at the bums, which is part of the fun. Some people, though…”

He kept his face pointed at the TV, but his eyes slid over to her. “Yeah, well some people like the DH.”

Darcy scowled at him. “I am not arguing about the DH with you. Again.”

“Ruining the game,” he said, his voice rising.

“Oh my God, shut up about the DH.”

Bucky slapped his metal fist in his palm and glowered at the world. “Glad I was on the ice when it was instituted or I woulda burned the league down.”

“For real, stop.”

“What a waste of the bench,” he barked, his voice heating and he was waving his hands at the TV. “So, you carry an extra guy who’s only job is to—” Darcy lurched up and lunged at him, clapping her hand across his mouth.

“No,” she said, begging, demanding, insisting, pleading. “You’re a National League guy, it’s fine, I accept it. I like you for who you are, this critical personality flaw included. But, please, no more.”

They stared each other down for a long moment before he finally nodded and she let him go. She sat back cautiously, watching him warily like he might start in again.

There’d been a very, very long flight from Argentina where he talked about the designated hitter rule the whole time. She’d been tempted to jump out of the quinjet, except her suit’s arc reactor was offline and she was having a hard time getting it back. Even then, though, she was still tempted to jump. She worked great under pressure, and nothing beat the pressure of gravity and a quickly approaching planet.

He turned his attention back to the game. “Mets are okay, I guess. For the bar, I mean.”

“Good, great,” she told him, relieved to have escaped that dangerous, dangerous DH moment.

“But, I don’t want a bunch of tvs in the bar,” he said, pointing a finger at her. “Most places, they’ve always got 'em up too loud. I’m not going to the bar to have some sports jock shout at me while I’m trying to drink a beer.”

“A couple, just for games, turn them off the rest of the time.”

“'Kay.”

They were silent for a moment and then she laughed. “You’re like a million years old.”

“I like what I like,” he grumped. “I don’t like the DH, though, because it takes away from strategy—”

“NO!” She dropped her tablet listlessly onto her lap, threw her head back, and let her body go limp in utter and complete defeat. “Call Steve. You guys can go do your old fogey thing about it. Rarr, kids these days and their designated hitter. God. Leave me in peace,” she groaned, so much pain, so much anguish. Minor anguish, but still, shut up Bucky.

The room fell quiet after her cri de coeur, except for the quiet rumble of traffic, the voice of the play by play man, and Bucky’s laughter. The big asshole.

“Jerk,” she muttered and petulantly shoved at his leg with her foot.

“I love riling you up.”

“Biggest jerk.”

He let out an amused sigh and grabbed her foot before she could kick him again. “Okay, so the Dodgers are in LA. The Athletics are in Oakland. The Giants are in San Francisco. Weird.”

“The east coast needs to stop hoarding all the teams,” she shot back, her tone sour, still annoyed.

“I guess, or California will steal them all.” He gave her a look and then returned his attention to the game. “Oh, and the Braves are in Atlanta. And I don’t know what happened to the Senators except now they’re the Nationals?”

“I think they’re the Twins now, and the Nationals moved from Montreal.”

His brows drew down in a confused frown. “Montreal. Canada?”

Darcy shrugged and picked up her tablet again. Work was not really getting done, but she could try to pretend. “Toronto Blue Jays.”

“I can’t keep up with all this.”

“Don’t try to see the then, live with the now,” she advised.

“What?”

“Half the league are teams after your day. Just, you know, embrace the league as it is now.”

“Except the DH.”

“Mother fu—” Darcy thumped her forehead with the palm of her hand. “I walked into that one.”

“Yeah, you did,” he told her, sounding almost gleeful.

“See if I let you use the company seats at the ballpark of your choice. Ever,” she told him, glaring darkly.

“You’ve got seats at all the parks?”

“Ok, well, no, not really. The places we have major offices. For, you know, schmoozing clients, or rewarding employees, and like that. I’d have to check where all. But I’m pretty sure I  could get really awesome tickets anywhere. Not that I will for you. So, know what you’re missing and suffer. Nosebleed seats for you, buddy.”

Bucky snickered and rubbed a hand down her shin, squeezing her ankle lightly. “Yeah, 'cause I can’t buy my own tickets.”

“Boo to you,” she whined and huddled over her tablet. “Ruin every scrap of fun I have.”

He drew a meep of surprise from her when he pulled on her leg, drawing her down the couch. Flailing a little at the sudden move, she found herself flat on her back under a looming and impressive assassin. He had one hand braced on the back of the couch, and the other on the arm above her head. It was … a breathtaking view.

“Yep,” he said, smirking. “Ruining your fun, that’s me.”

Letting out a long breath, she poked at his chest; not hard, only just enough to appreciate the closeness and solidness of his pecs. He wasn’t the biggest guy she knew, but wow, he really knew how to work the upper body. And, she was free to grope at will. In a not creepy way. Hooray dating.

“You are in an interesting mood today,” she murmured, still examining his chest. The gray henley was really well fitting. And probably brought out the blue in his eyes, but she was focused elsewhere.

“Nobody’s shooting at us,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Nobody is torturing us.” Another kiss on the other side of her mouth. “Nobody is trying to blow us up.” His lips landed solidly on hers, but before she could make it a real kiss he drew back with a smile. “Nobody is—”

Her phone rang and he turned his head towards the device with a growl. A real, deep, animal growl. Darcy couldn’t help it, she laughed.

“Of course.” Grabbing his chin, she turned his face back to her and captured his lips with hers. She was getting her kiss, interruptions be damned. But, the phone kept ringing and it was Phil’s ringtone and there was only so long they could ignore the Director.

“I hate Coulson,” Bucky grumbled against her cheek. “I hate him a lot.”

“But, he’s such a big fan of yours.” She shoved at his chest, but regretfully this time it was less about feeling him up and more about moving him out of the way.

He didn’t move far, just slid to the side, squeezing between her and the back of the couch. Shoving his bristly chin against the side of her neck, he grumbled darkly, swearing in Russian, while she fumbled for the phone.

“This better be a planet-wide emergency, Phil,” Darcy greeted with a groan.

“I need you to go to Japan,” he greeted. “I’m sending you the file.”

“Bucky wants you to know that he hates you.”

“That’s too bad,” Phil said, his voice bland and unbothered by the fact that one of his childhood heroes hated him. “I’d like to do a video brief in half an hour.”

“You’re interrupting his baseball day,” Darcy pressed.

“Baseball lasts for a half the year. Did you know I played second in little league?”

“No.”

“Read the file, briefing in thirty.” Phil hung up and Darcy dropped her phone on the floor and patted the side of Bucky’s head.

“I hate him,” Bucky muttered.

“Me, too. Briefing in thirty.” She squirmed away from her partner and rubbed a hand over her eyes, trying to shake off the haze of 'attractive man and his kissing and attractiveness and such’. “I think we need to sweep your apartment for cameras.”

“Why?” Bucky shoved himself up and flopped back over to his side of the couch.

“His timing is too … suspicious.” She glared up at a likely corner of the room. “I bet he’s colluding with my dad.”

“I think you’re paranoid.”

“Is it paranoid when we work for a spy agency? And my dad is a big nosy, nudnik?”

“Probably,” he said with a dry chuckle. “So, briefing? Where are we going?”

Darcy glared sourly and pulled her tablet out from where it got stuck between the couch cushions. “Japan.”

“Sounds fun. I like Japan.”

Darcy closed her eyes and shook her head slowly. “And now you’ve cursed it.”

So much for a quiet Saturday. Boo.

Off Limits | CHANYEOL

Pairing: Chanyeol (EXO) x Reader

Word Count: 743

Summary: Sisters before misters can hurt. 

** THIS IS A SERIES IN WHICH I WILL RANDOMLY PICK A SONG IN MY PLAYLIST AND WRITE WHATEVER IT INSPIRES ME TO WRITE **

Originally posted by dazzlingkai


Keep reading

The Stromes and McDavids - Part IV

(1) (2) (3)

Word Count: 1603

Player: Connor McDavid (Edmonton Oilers/Erie Otters)

Warning/s: mild swearing

A/n: I’m so sorry for everyone that had to wait but I’m proud to finally finish this!

Originally posted by nugent-hopkinks

“I can’t believe this is happening.”, you giggled, trying not to burst out into laughter. 

You had never seen your twin brother likes this. He was a wreck! His hands were shaking as he was gripping onto the armrest tightly. Like the seat was his last lifeline. 

“Don’t laugh at him, Y/n. You don’t know how nervous he is right now.”, Ryan scolded you from your other side.

“Your hands weren’t shaking though.”, you smirked before you turned back around to Dylan.

“Calm down, Dyl. It’s going to be fine, okay? You already know you’re getting drafted.”, you said, putting your hand on his arm. 

If looks could kill, Dylan wouldn’t be drafted but put into jail. He knew you were just mocking him, but the nervousness was too much for him. He was more nervous than ever before. He would trip on the way to the stage. He wouldn’t be able to put the jersey on or accidentally punch someone in the face. What if there was a mistake and he wouldn’t be drafted?

“Dyl? Oh my gosh, look at Mom.”, you grinned. 

Dylan followed your gaze to your Mom. She was waving with both of her hands, and on the other end of the arena, you could see someone do the same. That someone, turned out to be Connor’s Mom.

“Looks like she found the McDavids.”, Matt chuckled. 

Dylan and Connor made eye contact through the room and started to do the same wave making you laugh even harder. But it was distracting Dylan, so why not? That moment of quiet was good for him, although it didn’t take long. Soon the lights were out and Gary Bettman (damn you hated that guy) made his usual speech. You were basically counting the seconds until it was over, just wanting everything to start already. And it did. 

The first pick, made by the Edmonton Oilers.

You were aware that Jack Eichel was a great player. But you just hoped that Connor would be drafted as first overall. You had known him for years, watched him give his best countless times. That guy that had a Justin Bieber haircut when he was 15? You weren’t sure of many things, but you were sure that he deserved to be drafted first. 

And he did, setting everything in motion.


The Draft day had been exhausting for everyone involved. After photos that were taken, numerous hugs for people that you knew, and having to calm Dylan down multiple times while simultaneously handling all three of your brothers at the same time - it was fair to say you were tired. 

You needed sleep. Everyone would’ve agreed on that.

Everyone but the person denting your door with their continuous knocks.

“What the fuck.”, you muttered to yourself as you turned on the light on the nightstand. 

The clock next to your bed made you groan in frustration. 2 AM. Who would do this to you?
Was it one of your brothers trying to mess with you? Maybe an emergency occurred or someone mixed up room numbers. Actually, you didn’t care about that, you just wanted to slip back into your dreams. But the knocking wouldn’t stop.

“Just a second.”, you groaned, wiping your eyes. 

You pulled your shorts and Dylan’s T-Shirt back into their rightful place, trying to fix your hair a little. You didn’t want to move, but you dragged yourself to the door.

But it wasn’t one of your brothers. Instead, it was Connor. He was wearing comfortable clothes that looked like he had hastily thrown them on and his hair was a fluffy mess on top of his head. He was nervously bouncing on his feet while he was waiting, his eyes snapping to yours the second you opened.
You hadn’t seen him since you congratulated him. You’d shared a tight hug, but all you managed to say was how proud you were until both of you were ushered into different directions.

“I forgot.”, he said hurriedly.

“The time?”, you questioned in confusion.

“I forgot Edmonton. Oh, my goodness- I don’t know how I forgot but I forgot that I was drafted by the Oilers.”

“Huh?”

“I’m going to Edmonton. You’re going to Edmonton.”, he explained hurriedly, the words he was blurting out lifting your confusion a little. 

What did he mean? You were going to Edmonton because of UAlberta and Connor would play hockey in… Edmonton. 

The realization hit you like a truck. How did you not notice this?

“We’re both going to Edmonton!”, you blurted out, eyes going wide. 

Connor chuckled, taking a big step towards you. You didn’t even have time to say anything else. He wrapped his arms around your waist and crashed his lips to yours.
After that first kiss at the party, you thought you would never get to kiss him again. But here you were, kissing Connor McDavid. Your childhood friend, best friend of your twin brother, your continuous crush since you were even interested in boys. Connor’s own mind was whirling as much as yours. He didn’t even process the draft yet, the start of his career. But there was no one he would want to know at his side more than you. 

Both of you didn’t want to end the kiss, but you were surely running out of air. Gasping when you pulled away, you rested your heads against each other, trying to catch your breath.

“I love you. Damn, I’m so in love with you.”, Connor admitted. Words, that he never thought he would tell you.

“I love you too, Con. I really do.”, you replied, putting your lips back to his.


“Y/n, where have you been? Mom is driving everyone insane looking for you.”, Matt groaned, obviously still tired. 

You would bet your ass he got more sleep than you last night, but that boy could sleep a solid 9 hours a night and be tired. Maybe he would end up like Dylan, looking dead inside all the time. 

“I just got up, relax. I’m here now.”, you grinned with a roll of your eyes.

“Where’s that smile coming from?”, Matt asked, thinking it was a little suspicious.  

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”, you lied, trying to stop smiling like an idiot.

“Uh whatever, come over to the table so Mom stops bugging everyone.”, he muttered, basically dragging you over to the table. 

You were squeezed in between him and Ryan, with Dylan giving you curious looks the whole time, as he was seated on Ryan’s other side.

“What?”, you muttered under your breath.

“Nothing.”

“Then quit staring.”

Dylan opened his mouth but he closed it again, your whole family falling into the usual breakfast chat. You were nervous the whole time, waiting to be released into your room so you could pack up your suitcase. What if someone knew that you didn’t stay alone in your room? That you had a visitor that snuck back into his own room at 4 in the morning to get some sleep?

You hoped that Connor did manage to sleep a little, but you couldn’t see the McDavids anywhere in the breakfast area. And if they were, your mother probably already invited them to the table next to you, so you couldn’t miss them either. Maybe they were done already? You were longing to see Connor again, the smile on your face still there since when you had first woken up.

“Ok, so you three got time to pack your suitcases. You, Dylan, have some interviews to finish up. We meet in the lobby at 5 PM to catch our fight, alright?”

All of your siblings nodded, seeing it as the sign that you could get up. All four of you used that chance, Dylan, right next to you.

“Ok, so did anything else happen yesterday?”, he asked, trying to sound casual.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… with Connor.”, Dylan clarified. 

He knew that there was something you didn’t tell him, but you just loved to tease him. He was really annoying sometimes. To frustrate him was one of the things you did best.

“Dylan, you left your phone.”, your Mom said, cutting off every potential answer you could’ve given.

“Wait here.”, Dylan ordered. 

You stopped in the large doorway and watched Matt and Ryan file out into the general direction of the elevators. Dylan went back to the table, snatching his phone, right as the elevator dinged and a very familiar group of people came out, making their way through the doorway. 

The McDavid’s all greeted you as they passed, Connor’s Mom immediately locking eyes with yours. But they stopped when they realized that their youngest one wasn’t there anymore. Maybe it wasn’t the ideal moment because both your families were looking the two of you, but Connor stopped next to you, a smile similar to your’s on his face.

“Morning.”, he greeted.

“Morning. You sleep well?”, you teased.

Connor nodded.

“Very.”, he murmured, before slowly leaning in to peck your lips. 

You could basically feel everyone’s jaw dropping, and Dylan’s shit eating grin in your back. But you didn’t give a damn.
You would go to Edmonton. With him. So your thought of you might never being his girlfriend was proven wrong, but the circumstances never changed.

Where a Strome is, a McDavid is not far away.

A Concept #5

Have a request? Ask away!! - Look at her little fingers" he cooed as Caroline squeezed her daddy’s index finger. “Beautiful” you whispered tiredly. You watched as your husband held onto your happiness in his strong arms. He looked so calm and so in love, Harry couldn’t wait to be a father and looking at him be a daddy couldn’t make you happier because you have him a child. A gorgeous, healthy baby girl. You cliched your chest and let out a weak breath- still recovering from the eight hour labor. “Mummy’s tired my sweet, sweet girl” Harry whispered. “Very much so” you whispered back. Harry smiled and carefully handed you Caroline. She was half awake and delightfully she quiet and calm. Harry moved your haircut if your have and caressed you forehead making you close your eyes and let out a small whimper. “What’s the matter petal?” He panicked thinking you were in extreme pain. “I- I’m a mother” you said opening your eyes to look up at him with tears streaming down your face. “We made the most precious baby girl in the world” you cried out. Harry sniffled as he sunk down back to his chair and pulled it even closer to the bed. He pressed his salty lips onto yours making you kiss him back with as much strength that you could while he let out shaky breaths to make his cries softer. He put his hand on Caroline and his other hand on your flushed cheek, rubbing his finger against your warm skin. “Mummy and daddy” he pressed. “I love you so much y/n” “I love you so much” your voice cracked as he kissed your tears away. “We love you little Caroline. Always” “Mummy and daddy will always cherish you” he sighed “Little Caroline” he whispered.

Originally posted by babyphotography1

Creepypasta #1163: Not Your Average Babysitting Story

Length: Super long

Or maybe it is. Who knows.

Anyway… my name is Santana. It’s not my real name, but hey, it works. I’m 28 years old, single, living alone in a studio apartment downtown. I have three cats. I am the personification of lonely cat lady, but it’s not because of bad luck or anything. I choose to live my life like this. I don’t want kids, and almost every guy I have met wants to start a family; it’s not for me. The last guy I was ever close to asked me why I never wanted kids, but I didn’t have to heart - or metaphorical balls - to tell him why.

I like you guys. You all share your stories, experiences, etc. with an open imagination and witty comments. Allow me to share you my story; the story as to why I never want kids.

It was the summer of 2003; I was your normal 14 year old girl with not a care in the world besides wondering if Jason liked the new perfume I tried on that day. Much like every other teenage girl in the 9th grade, my first true job was a babysitter. My two friends, Ashley and Samantha, were babysitters and they told me about how much money they’d make during the summer. I guess the key is to look for the nicest house/family that was inquiring about a babysitter. They told me they made upwards of 200 dollars a week solely by watching their kids and whatnot. 

Everything seemed far too good to be true, but Samantha told me about a family about two miles from my house that was inquiring about a babysitter. The house was in a gated community - you know, those community of houses that look as if they were from the 1950s where the grass was always mowed; the yard had white picket fences, and there was an apple pie cooling in the window. Granted, it wasn't just like that, but my comparison remains the same.

The home was owned by Mr. and Mrs. Peterson and their baby boy Cedric. When I knocked on their door, I was greeted by Mrs. Peterson herself with a warm smile and a hello. She wore a floral sundress with white heels and her hair up in a bun. She gave me a hug and welcomed me into her home. I remember the home vividly, even after 14 years since this happened. 

The main hallway had a giant chandelier that hung from the top; a spiral staircase was to the left as soon as I walked in. To the right was the living room, which had two white leather couches, two white leather chairs, a table in the center, a fireplace off to the side, as well as a big television in a catty-corner. The entire house was a grand marvel that I couldn’t help but bask in its glory. Mrs. Peterson sat me down on the couch and offered me something to drink, but I declined.

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A Small Flame || Jungkook || Pt. 3

Pt. 1 // Pt. 2 // Pt. 3 // Pt. 4 // Pt. 5 // Pt. 6 // 

Word Count: 5859

Genre: dystopian/utopian!au, angst, drama

Summary: In this colorless world, her vision was painted with streaks of the rainbow whenever she saw him and that was enough to start a rebellion.


A figure was pressed against the wall, seemingly struggling to get the sleepiness out of his eyes, though the brittle, harsh air stung every exposed part of his body and nipped until it seemed red. His lips were puckered as he purposely blew air out to watch it curl into a mist before his eyes. He let out a shudder and zipped up his black jacket with strange blue shapes. He thought about pulling his hood up but hesitated. However, a moment later, he quickly pulled his hands from his back pockets, flung his hood over his red ears, and shoved his hands back into his pockets before his fingers froze off. He was cold.

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