i am a drunk five year old

A Promise

Warnings: Nothin but fluffy fluff, Unbeta’d
Word Count: Almost 2k
Challenge: Jamie’s 21st Birthday Celebration
Prompt: Barista!Sam AU
A/N: @teamfreewill-imagine Thank you for letting me participate in your challenge this was fun to come up with, seeing as it was my first ever AU. I think it kind of drifted from the prompt but meh, I did alright I guess :)

Originally posted by misha-collins-angel-of-thursday

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My Mistake (Chris Evans x Reader)

Originally posted by futuresuperwoman

Prompt: Can you do a Chris Evans x reader fic where it’s really angsty but turns fluffy into smutty like they’re having a fight the night he planned to propose–maybe she thinks he was cheating or falling out of love with her or something–and the two of them come home to the place covered in rose petals and candles and Chris apologises and they get engaged and it just ends in fluff and she apologises profusely and Chris shows her how much he loves her all smutty like :-)

A/N: OK, so there’s not as much smut because you know me, I’m an angst kind of gal. I hope that that’s OK, for the anon who requested it. This was one was fun to do. Enjoy! 

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anonymous asked:

are you carmilla?

I am a 24-year-old trash fire who has yelled “suck it LeFanu” multiple times, in varying states of intoxication. I am bitterly single and pedantic as hell. I am not, as many people seem to believe, a vampire

Carmilla is a 25/322-year-old trash fire who probably gets drunk and writes all over library copies of Our Vampires, Ourselves. she has a girlfriend. she is definitely a vampire

so no, I am not Carmilla

(yes that is an actual book and yes I own it. it’s so dry that I never got past chapter five)

“Daddy…I can’t sleep. Can you tell me a story?”

FP sighs. He puts down his bottle of beer. He’s not drunk, yet. A little buzzed. Jughead stares at him from the hallway. His big blue eyes shine in the dim light. His favorite blanket drags behind him, clutched in a chubby five years old hand.

“Buddy, go back to bed.” FP asks. The digital clock next to the television glares: 2:30 AM. Jughead shakes his head. His lip quivers. FP sighs again. Gladys is out cold, so he can’t pass this one onto her. “Alright, come here.”

Jughead’s face lights up. He bounds across the living room and all but somersaults onto the couch next to his father. He climbs into FP’s lap and looks up at him expectantly, round little face beaming.


“What kind of story do you wanna hear, Jug?”

“A scary one.”

FP shakes his head. He reaches for his beer, but stops halfway there.

“Your mom will kill me if you have nightmares.”

“I won’t! I won’t!”

He sighs again.

“Alright, pal. A scary story it is.” FP clears his throat. “A long time ago, way back when Riverdale was new. Before the drive-in, before Pop’s Diner, before this country was founded, even…” Jughead’s mind whirls, trying to make sense of such ancient history. “The head of the Blossom family was a man named Armand.”

“Blossom?” Jughead questions. “Like Cheryl and Jason?”


The boy wrinkles his nose.

“They’re mean.”

FP laughs and ruffles his son’s hair.

“They always are, pal. And Armand Blossom was mean, too. He was greedy, and he didn’t care about poor people like us. But his children were worse. His son was a boy named Peter. Now, back in those days, the Blossoms were already rich, but they weren’t rich like they are now. They didn’t make syrup back then. They made their money off of furs. But Peter didn’t want to sell fur. He didn’t think there was any future in it. And he started to hate his father who wanted him to take over the business. He thought he was holding him back.”

“He hated his dad?” Jughead asks, excited.

“Yes, Jug. Come on, just listen. So, one day Peter was walking in the woods, thinking about how he was going to be stuck trading furs for the rest of his life. He wasn’t very happy, and he was getting to the end of his rope when he ran across a stranger. He’d never seen the stranger before, and back then Riverdale was even smaller than it is now, so that meant he wasn’t from around here.”

“You shouldn’t talk to strangers.” Jughead says, voice deep and solemn.

“That’s right, buddy.” FP replies, chuckling. “And you’ll find out why. So the stranger called to him, and asked him to stop and chat. And he did. And the stranger knew things about him a stranger shouldn’t know. And he got scared, but not scared enough. He stayed to talk. The stranger tapped one of the big maple trees with his walking stick, and he said: ‘I know you hate your father. I know you’re wise enough to see there’s no future in his business.’ Peter was arrogant and easily flattered. So he got curious. The stranger said: ‘I can make you rich beyond your imaginings.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means richer than he could even picture. And the stranger said: ‘I’ll make it so these trees give sap all seasons, even in the dead of winter. You will come and you will tap them, and you will sell their syrup, and you will be wealthier than your father ever was.’ At first Peter laughed, but then he remembered the things the stranger knew, and he realized this wasn’t an ordinary person. ‘All I would ask, is that you give me in return the blood of your firstborn child’. And it was then Peter knew he was speaking to the devil. But his greed got the better of him. Without a second thought, he made the deal. The devil pricked his finger and took a drop of his blood as a sign of their contract, and he was gone.”

Jughead flinches at the image.

“You okay? Should I keep going?”


“That very night, his father died of a heart attack. Peter became the patriarch of the Blossom family. He sent out a crew to examine the trees, and just as the devil had said, the trees gave more syrup than any natural tree. At all times of the year. Spring, summer, winter, and fall. And Peter became the wealthiest man in Riverdale and even beyond. The town got rich. The years passed, and finally Peter got married. He had almost forgotten about his pact when his children were born. Twins, of course. And the devil came to collect. But Peter refused to give him what he had promised. He didn’t want to lose his children. The devil was furious! He said: ‘You’ve refused to give me the blood of your line, so I will curse all those who trace you in theirs!’ And he was gone again.”

Jughead furrows his brow at the archaic language.

“What does that mean?”

“It meant that the devil cursed his children, and their children. So Peter got old, and his children grew up. They never learned about the curse the devil put on them, and Peter never talked about it. The town got richer and richer as Peter sold his syrup. Then one day, his daughter Faith and her brother William were fishing in the Sweetwater River. They caught an ugly, weird fish. It was more like an eel or a worm. It was long and white, with red eyes and big fangs.”

Jughead’s eyes light up again.

“It sounds like a lamprey! In science we learned about lampreys, they la-“

“Okay, okay. Calm down, let me tell the story. So the fish frightened them, and they went to show it to their father. When he saw the ugly thing, he knew immediately it wasn’t any normal fish. He knew it was the devil’s curse. He died of shock on the spot. They buried him, and his children tossed the thing back into the river.”

“You shouldn’t hurt animals.”

“This wasn’t a normal animal, Jughead. Everything went alright for a few years, then the white worm came back. It had grown. Huge. Bigger than a horse. Bigger than an alligator, even. It could eat up a man or woman in one bite. It started to terrorize the town. Everywhere it slithered it left stinking slime behind it that killed plants and animals. Soon, the forest around Riverdale started wilting. The trees wouldn’t give sap anymore. The Blossoms were going to lose their fortune, but more than that, the entire town was going to die.”

“I saw Cheryl step on a worm once.” Jughead says.

“Mhm. Anyway, the town tried to kill it. They gathered up all their hunting rifles and sent groups of men out into the woods to find it. It ate up the hunters or sent them running back to town. They tried to poison out. It wouldn’t die. When they tried to rope it down, it just slipped out of the ropes. When they tried to burn it, it wouldn’t burn. They sent letters to the big city, begging for help. But they laughed. They didn’t believe the townspeople. Soon, it even began to take children.”

“Like me?”

“Just like you. Finally, Peter’s children learned of the curse from their mother. They realized the town was paying for what their father had done. They remembered the devil’s blessing, and they came up with a plan. They called together tons of men and women from Riverdale, and they lured the worm into a clearing. When it came, they poured barrels and barrels of syrup over it, from the Blossom’s stock. The worm was stuck. It couldn’t move. While it was stuck, they chopped it to pieces. But it still wouldn’t die. It tried to come back together. They realized that maybe they could never kill it. So they dug a deep pit, and they dropped the worm inside. They buried it. And over the pit, a group of men and women swore to dedicate themselves to keeping the worm sealed away forever, so it could never hurt our town again. They called themselves the Brotherhood of the Serpent.”

“Is that like the Southside Serp-“

FP motions for silence.

He smiles. “You’re figuring out the story before I tell it. Over the decades and centuries, a lot of people forgot. The town grew. Wars happened. Businesses were built. New people came, and old people left. The town was divided into north and south. And the Brotherhood of the Serpent became the ‘Southside Serpents’. A lot of Serpents don’t know anything about this. But some of us.  We know that the Whyte Wyrm is still down there, buried underneath the bar that has its name. We know it’s waiting down there, for the day when it can resurface and destroy our town for good. But we won’t let it. That’s our job, Jughead. And if we fail, then Riverdale is doomed.”

Jughead’s eyes sparkle. His face fills with wonder.

“Wow. Is that true, daddy?”

FP looks out of the window. The autumn winds howl. Beneath the foundations of Riverdale, cold and timorous, something ancient and impossibly evil slithers. Shivers. Waits.

“No, pal. It’s just a silly story. Get to bed.”

iKON As Shit My Friends Have Said 2

B.I: “Will.i.am is just William with dots in the middle” 

Jinhwan: *old man voice* “Are the dinosaurs still alive?”

Yunhyeong: “I tripped and face planted and when I got up I was in a two year relationship”

Bobby: “I’m gonna fake up at five and leave at four”

Donghyuk: *drunk and crying* “I don’t know where I live!”

Junhoe: “I wonder what that old couple is like when they’re drunk”

Chanwoo: “It’s probably gonna be a rainy day today” *already raining*


Day #12 / 30 days of writings list

Copyright © btswritingsforyou. All Rights Reserved.

Genre: Kinda angsty ; mostly fluffy

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x reader

Length: 1,821 words

Synopsis: In which Hoseok gets pissed drunk at 3am in the morning and still remembers your number and calls you—his ex girlfriend—to pick him up. What could possibly go wrong?

A/N: I know, I know, this is really cheesy, but gotta push myself to write. Honestly have no idea that 1am writing me had it to write something like this.. Enjoy anyway! -jacy x

One thing about you is that you were always sentimental. You were sentimental about everything. You kept little trinkets and different sorts of things because of the meaning behind them. Then you couldn’t ever let them go because of the one meaning.

The perfect example would’ve been the stuffed bear sitting in the middle of your bed. Even if it had been five months since the break up, you kept it. Hoseok had won it for you on your fourth date at the arcade. Sure it had taken him about seven tries and fifteen dollars wasted on a claw machine, but you took it with open arms and wide smile because that was the one you wanted and he didn’t give up on getting it. You’d never be able to bring yourself to throw it away.

Every time you took a glance at it, the moment would be bittersweet. You’d smile thinking about the effort he put into winning it, into winning your heart. The smile would slowly drain at the thought that your relationship was no longer existent.

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Temeraire Characters as Texts From Last Night
  • Laurence: This is a mass text. Does anyone know where I am?
  • Tharkay: I need you there. I need someone to glance at when other people inevitably annoy me.
  • Hammond: sober me hid the cigs from drunk me. sober me is a tricky bitch.
  • St Germain: girls only wine night turned into sloppy drunk lesbian orgy again
  • Granby: gonna spend my cab money on more shots and just take the ambulance home again.
  • Demane: my ten year old brother handed me a pack of condoms and said "here, i dont wanna be an uncle yet"
  • Emily: yeah my parents were ten feet away and we somehow managed to do it in five different positions without them noticing
  • Iskierka: you were saying "i am the vodka queen!" and then in a different voice replying to yourself "all hail the vodka queen! you are beautiful!"
  • Jane Roland: he was rambling on about life and dignity and happiness. but all i kept thinking was PENIS. YOU HAVE A PENIS. I CAN SHOW YOU WHERE TO PUT THAT PENIS.
  • Granby: also, i may or may not be wearing a cape right now. hint: i am.
  • Little: Not only did i hold your hair back as you puked, i French braided it. I am such a good friend.
  • Harcourt: i learned a valuable lesson last night. sometimes nice girls finish first. twice.
  • Temeraire: You said that we had to leave the party together and proceeded to repeat the "ducks fly together" speech from The Mighty Ducks word for word. Soon the whole party was quiet and started chanting quack...quack...quack


Indians love fireworks.

We make millions selling illegal ones to white folks.

Well, not millions for each of us, but you know what I mean.

A working definition of tolerance: When Indians make money from white
folks celebrating their independence.

Ever have a bottle rocket fight? I’ve got a burn scar on my left thumb.

Reservation rumor: an M-80 firecracker was as powerful as a ¼ stick
of dynamite. Wasn’t true, but we pretended it was true when we
threw them into ant piles.


White eggs come from white chickens; brown eggs come from
brown chickens.

Have you ever hidden an egg in your home for the Easter hunt, and
then been unable to find it for days or even weeks afterward?
A few years ago, we hid an ostrich egg (an ostrich egg!) in our living
room and never found it. It still hasn’t gone bad enough to find it
by smell. Every so often, I look for it.

When I was a child, I cracked open a bright green painted egg
and discovered a chicken fetus inside.

My high school girlfriend raised chickens. “About every fifty eggs or so,”
she said, “you drop a fetus into the frying pan.”

Sunnyside up, with lots of Tabasco, and four triangles of buttered toast.
White Jesus comes from white people; brown Jesus comes from
brown people.


Pine trees, pine trees, pine trees.

My family didn’t have indoor plumbing until I was seven years old.

We lived in an epic, and gorgeous, pine forest.

Therefore, pine tree = poverty.

Therefore, poverty = epic and gorgeous.

There is some sort of bad logic in this, but I don’t remember the name for it.


I am asked this question at least a dozen times every year: “Do Indians
celebrate Thanksgiving?”

That’s like asking: “Do Jewish people celebrate Oktoberfest?”
The answer is: “Yes, Indians celebrate Thanksgiving.”

I just emailed a Jewish friend to ask about her feelings on Oktoberfest,
and she wrote, “Never thought about it. No way I’d buy
a BMW, though.”

The best thing about humans: Our ability to forgive. The second
best thing: Grudges.

About 70% white meat and 30% dark, with canned cranberry sauce. And
no, I don’t care how good your homemade cranberry sauce is.


On a New Year’s Eve when I was five or six, my mother, drunk
for the very last time, punched an older Indian woman in the face.

My mother hates it when I write about this.

Once a friend told me, “I heard your mother singing in church today. It
sounded like the river at night.” A nine-year-old Indian boy said
that about my mother! Where is that Indian boy? Did the poet
in him survive?

I am vaguely Catholic, so for the rest of this poem I will fast.

My wife, two sons, and I celebrate the New Year by drinking root beer
floats. I hereby establish the root beer float as the official Native
American New Year’s Eve drink. It should be the only drink
allowed for Indians on New Year’s.

Ain’t gonna happen.

I want to combine Catholic Lent and the Jewish Day of Atonement,
and begin each year with six weeks of apologies.


Dear Ants that I slaughtered with M-80 fireworks, I am sorry for my rage.

Dear Chickens-to-Be that I dropped into frying pans, I am sorry for my hunger.

Dear Family Outhouse, I am sorry that I failed to recognize your primitive beauty.

Dear Enemies, real and imagined, I am sorry for my grudges.

Dear Mother, For having written so many poems and stories about you,
I am sorry.

Dear Universe, I am sorry for all the times that I believed myself to be
the sun around which all of these planets whirl.

—  “Happy Holidays!” by Sherman Alexie

[Based on fankcastle’s amazing gif because it’s sooo beautiful. I hope you like it!]


“It’s a great opportunity.” Derek says. He doesn’t even bother faking a smile, Stiles will know he’s lying anyway.

“I know.” Stiles sighs, reaches out for the screen as if he could actually touch Derek. “Two more months without having sex, though.”

Derek snorts. “I think we will manage.”

Stiles pulls a face. “I don’t want to.” He whines. “I miss your body.”

“Stiles,” Derek admonishes, “if you don’t want to stay then come home, but don’t make excuses. Please.”

“I know, I know.” Stiles concedes, waving his hand around. “I just – England sucks without you.”

Derek feels his walls begin crumble. “Beacon Hills sucks without you, too. But it’s just two more months and then you won’t have to go out of the country ever again.” He thinks about their plans to spend their honeymoon in Paris and adds, “If you don’t want to, that is.”

Stiles looks away, expression distant and Derek knows he’s thinking about their last night together too. “Just two months,” he promises, “and then I’ll be yours again.”

“You still are mine.”

“Yeah.” Stiles smiles fondly. “Yeah, I am.”

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Tastes Like Freedom (Steve Rogers/Reader)

{One Shot in honor of Cap’s birthday 

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Reader, Sam Wilson/Reader (platonic), Bucky Barnes/Reader (platonic), Natasha Romanoff/Reader (platonic)

Warnings: Slight sexual innuendos, Reader likes to embarrass Steve

A/N: Gif not mine}


 “So, Cap, the Fourth of July is coming up,” You nudged Steve with your elbow excitedly. “The birth of freedom! The birth of equality! The birth of men in tights!” 

 “You seem awfully excited for someone who isn’t even American,” Sam chuckled. 

 “Of course I am. It’s the perfect excuse to A.) Get drunk B.) Set off explosives whilst drunk and C.) It’s Cap’s 239th birthday,” Bucky choked on his sip of beer when you said that.

 “(Y/N), I’m not that old,” Steve was giving you a softer version of the “cut the bullshit” look he used on Tony.

 “Fine, fine. Anyway, Steve. It is your birthday in two days. No arguments this year, we’re throwing you a birthday party and you’re gonna show u-”

 Steve interrupted you with a sigh.

 “Don’t worry, it won’t be a Stark party. Just the five of us- You, Sam, Buck, Nat, and I- some sparklers, illegal fireworks, beer. It’ll be great!” You were seriously excited for this. You loved Steve. Steve loved America- well what it’s supposed to be- And Steve loved you and had a hard time saying ‘no’. 

 “C’mon Steve, let your girlfriend do this for ya. I’m curious to see what she comes up with.” Bucky wasn’t normally one for parties, but he made an exception for Steve. And he honestly was curious to see what you’d do. 

  You had known Steve for a few years now, but this would be your first birthday with him as your boyfriend, you wanted to do something special for him. He deserved it.  

 “She’s not going to take ‘no’ for an answer, you might as well agree,” Natasha reasoned. 

 Steve knew they all of them were right, and honestly didn’t mind much. If it was a small party, and it meant so much to you, he would do it. “Alright, (Y/N), I’ll let you plan a little party.”

 You squealed in delight and planted a nice kiss on his cheek. “Oh goodness me! I have so much to do! I have to get some decorations, and some beer, and some food- what do you guys even eat?- Oh! And sparklers and some other little things! STEVE!” 

The super soldier jumped. “What?!”

 “What dessert do you want?! It’s your birthday and you need something special!” You had two hands planted firmly on the table looking down at Steve.

 “I can think of ‘something special’ he’d want,” Bucky smirked. Steve gave the “cut the bullshit” look to him. 

 “Well that’s a given, but not until after you guys leave, soo….”  You couldn’t stop a giggle escaping your lips when you said that. 

 Pretending he wasn’t blushing, Steve had to think for a moment. “Well, I’m a big fan of ice cream,” he said, making a cute little face. 

 “Ice cream? Okay, I can do that…. Nat, Sam.. Bucky, if you guys think of something just text me. I’m going to be very busy for the next two days- Love you, Spangles!” You gave Steve another kiss on the cheek before running out of the room. You needed to start planning immediately. 

Oh this is so exciting!!


 Two days later…

 It was the Fourth of July. You had spent the past two days planning, and planning, and planning. This day had to be absolutely perfect. And it was going to be. You had everything planned out. Your spacious apartment was covered from wall to ceiling with decorations, but it was still surprisingly tasteful- at least that’s what Sam said. Maybe there was a little too much glitter. Just maybe. Everyone (meaning Bucky, Sam, Nat, and Yourself) seemed to be enjoying themselves, eating and drinking and waiting for the Birthday Boy. 

 A knock on the door made you eagerly jump off of your couch and run to the door. When you opened the door you were greeted with the sight of a  very smile-y Steve. “Hello, Darling,” You gave him a quick kiss. 

 “You really weren’t  kidding about this party,” He chuckled as he walked inside. 

 “I had to make it absolutely perfect for a National Treasure. We’ve got to watch out or Nicolas Cage is going to try to steal you,” You giggled at him. Natasha made a teasing “awww” sound from behind you. 

“Happy birthday, Steve,” Bucky raised a beer in Steve’s direction. 

“Thanks, Buck… Are you wearing a “Captain America” shirt?” Steve raised an eyebrow at his friend.

“Yes, yes he is!” Sam piped up from the couch.

This was going to be a fun night.


 Dinner had been served (Sam had assisted you with grilling up  American classics- hamburgers and hot dogs), beers had been drank, sparklers and a few fireworks had been shot off the balcony, a few rounds of cards had been played, until it was time for dessert- family friendly version, of course.

 “Okay, Steve, you said you liked ice cream… So I took the liberty of making homemade ice cream. Strawberry, blueberry, and vanilla.” You were very proud of yourself. 

 “That actually looks really good,” Natasha sounded surprised. 

You gave her a look of mock-hurt. “Hey, don’t doubt my culinary ability before you try it.”

“And what exactly does it taste like?” She questioned you, an eyebrow raised.

You took a spoonful into your mouth, pondering your wording for a moment, “Tastes like freedom.”

“I thought that’s what you said Steve’s d-” Bucky didn’t get to finish that sentence. Steve practically tackled the ex-assassin out of his chair. 

“Yeah, but it’s a different side of freedom. See, this ice cream is the sweet side. Steve’s… Cap jr. … is a more mature taste.” You sent a dramatic wink towards the wrestling men on the floor.

 “(Y/N), please stop talking,” Steve was redder than the red on his his shield.

“I think (Y/N), should keep talking.” Nat and Sam were having too much fun with the exchange. 


Another few hours passed, but finally Steve and you were alone in your apartment. You two were cuddled up on your couch, enjoying a little peace and quiet. 

“I’ll help you clean up, (Y/N),” Steve offered. 

You groaned as you looked around in the state your living room had been left in.  “Let’s do it tomorrow. I still haven’t given you your last present,” you smiled at him suggestively.

That made him grin. “Oh? And where is it?”

“It’s right here,” you sat yourself sideways in his lap and combed your fingers through his hair. Just as he seemed to be expecting a “special” surprise, you began. “WHEN CAPTAIN AMERICA THROWS HIS MIGHTY SHIELD!”

“What the hell, (Y/N)?!” 

You had fallen on the floor you were laughing so hard. “ALL WHO CHOOSE TO OPPOSE HIS SHIELD MUST YIELD!” 

Steve was shaking with laughter. “This is the best birthday I’ve had in a long time,” he thought to himself.

3 AM

3 AM

It was 3AM when Elsa was abruptly shaken awake by her sister.

“Anna, the snow will still be there in the morning.”

“I’m not five anymore, Elsa. And I don’t think this ‘snow’ man can wait till morning.”

“Elsa! I need to talk to you!” cried a voice from the main floor.

When Elsa rolled out of bed, she found her twenty-three-year-old, white-haired, best friend very drunk.

“Jack, what is wrong with you, it’s freaking three in the morning –”

“I need to tell you that–” Jack hiccupped.

“Can’t it wait?”


“Tell me what then.”

I love you.”

Found on bohememusings.blogspot.com


things my younger brother has done since getting home tipsy approx. 45 mins ago
  • acted like he was totally sober and failed miserably for my parents
  • (they don’t believe him)
  • (he thinks they do)
  • told me i should hug him
  • followed by “no wait im fucking sweaty and gross don’t”
  • “u are a princess” (this happened twice)
  • then snapchatted some people before telling me “i think i sent some embarrassing snapchats oops”
  • i went downstairs and then he called me back up 10 mins later saying “i feel sick you’re the eighteen year old what do i do fuck”
  • i said drink water, take a shower, why are u so sweaty
  • “i ran one km to the tube station because i fucking hate buses”
  • me: why
  • him: “didn’t want dad to pick me up in case he saw me drinking”
  • (…mate…im pretty sure they know ur drunk)
  • it took 10 mins to get him into the shower in which time he told me that he thought i was really short (for reference, i am five foot tall. everyone knows im short)
  • he also said “do u think i can shower with one sock on” and “you know i don’t think i actually like drinking…you could die”
  • and i said “pls take a shower before mum and dad get pissy” to which he proceeded to giggle because “hahah pissy…because im pissed geddit”
  • him: “i don’t think i was supposed to drink straight pimms???” me: “you fucking idiot pimms is crap unless u have it with lemonade”
  • him: *burp* that was so beer-y eww
  • “hey!! u know the school play auditions are next week” “yes, u told me before u went out” “w h a t…oh wow u are a…what do u call it…a clairvoyant”
  • after his very short shower in which he did not wash properly at all because he still smells of beer he came upstairs and did a dramatic rendition of imagine dragons’ demons in my bed im not kidding (”THIS. is my kingdom come. this is my kingdom come” “when you FEEL my hEAT look into my EYES”)
  • i sang a harmony ofc
  • he also hugged me before saying “my nipple itches” and then “eyebrow itch”
  • “fUCK there’s another party next week…u know i don’t think i like parties much”
  • i have sent him to bed now but tldr im fucking crying if i’d known he was this hilarious drunk it would have happened a while ago lmao

a03minyard  asked:

LOLM I'll go first. Caskett: called the wrong number while drunk au. i'll wait for it

Richard Castle had just put his ten-year-old daughter to bed when his cell phone started to ring. He pulled it out of his pocket as he quickly made his way down the stairs, careful not to disturb his sleeping child.

“Hello?” he said into the receiver as he entered his office, dead set on writing for the night.

“Hey,” a slurred female voice answered, “I’m calling for a cab to–hic–140 Franklin stre–”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Castle answered, “but you have the wrong number.”

“Fuck,” the voice groaned, “I’m all out of–hic–change." 

"How about I call you a cab, then?” Castle suggested, pulling out his wallet and checking through the dozen or so business cards he’d been given over the past couple of weeks, searching for the correct one. Thank God he hadn’t cleaned out his wallet in nearly a year.

“Seriously?” the woman asked, sounding as if he’d just offered her a million dollars. “That’d be–hic–great, man. Thanks.”

Castle chuckled. “No problem. Just give me a minute; I’m gonna use my house phone.”

He reached for the phone as he placed his cell on the desktop, knowing that his bill was going to be sky high, but not willing to let anything bad happen to this girl if he hung up. 

He got through and realized that he had no idea where she needed to be picked up. He picked up the cell phone once again and put it to his ear.

“Hey, where are you?” he asked. “The cab needs to know.”

“I’m um…at this pub on Broome,” she answered, still slurring. Castle’s eyes widened.

“On Broome?” he asked, walking over to his window, both phones in his hands. “That’s where I live. Why don’t you come over to my building and you can’t wait for the cab here?”

“I dunno…how do I know you won’t just try and take–hic–advantage of me?” She giggled, which completely belayed her suspicion.

“Because I’ve got a ten-year-old daughter sleeping upstairs,” Castle replied, “oh, and I’m not a pig. Besides, I would think a quiet apartment is better than a noisy pub any day, am I right?”

There was silence, then: “Do you have coffee?”

“I can make a pot.”

“Okay, where do you live?” she asked, sighing.

“425 Broome,” Castle replied, “apartment five; the intercom code is 147. Got it?”

“Got it!” the woman replied, before hanging up. Castle sighed, hoping she wasn’t to drunk to remember the number, although she had apparently been too drunk to remember how to call a cab.

Deciding that it might be a good idea to go outside and wait for her, he checked on Alexis once more, confirmed that the cab would be there in fifteen minutes, and grabbed his keys on his way out.

By the time he got to the lobby, he could see a young woman, about ten years his junior, stumbling across the street; it was a miracle nobody ran her over.

He opened the door when she entered the lobby, smiling in greeting. Her smile was beautiful, too; as was the rest of her. The incredibly high heels gave her a slight boost but without them, Castle figured she would probably be about 5'5 and her hair, which was a beautiful chestnut color, fell in waves over her shoulders, somewhere between bedhead and supermodel-style. Her body was amazing, too; with legs that went for miles and a shape that he knew most women would kill for, encased in a slinky black dress that didn’t reveal too much, but enough to get one interested. And her eyes…the most beautiful shade of green that sparkled in the dim lighting of the lobby.

Said eyes widened when she saw him. “No freaking way,” she gasped. “You live here too?!”

Castle laughed; it was definitely the girl from the phone. “Yeah,” he said, nodding. Her eyes widened even further when she heard his voice.

“And it was you on the phone?” she asked in disbelief. Castle nodded.

“Once again, yes,” he replied, offering his hand. “Richard Castle. Nice to meet you…?”

“Beckett! Uh, Kate! Hi…” she replied, shaking his hand. “Mister Cassel I am a huge fan!”

Castle laughed. “I can see that. It’s nice to meet you, Kate. Would you like to come upstairs?” Kate nodded her head, mutely and he laughed again, offering his arm this time. “Well come on, then.”

She took it almost reverently, smiling like a fool as her favorite author guided her to his apartment, via the elevator.

When Castle opened the door, he was relieved that his daughter wasn’t standing there with tears in her eyes, wondering where he’d gone. He guided Kate to the kitchen island, insisting that she kick off her heels.

“They look very uncomfortable,” he commented as he set to making her coffee. Kate nodded, kicking them off under the island and resting her head in her hands as she watched him move around.

“Richard freaking Castle,” she breathed, shaking her head. “Shouldn't you be out partying or something?”

Castle grinned, shaking his head. “It’s a school night,” he said, “besides, there’s no good parties out there tonight.”

“I dunno,” Kate said, “Cal’s was having a nice little get-together tonight, right across the way.”

“Yeah, well…like I said; school night. I’ve gotta be the responsible one for my kid–or, well, more responsible than her mother, anyway.”

Kate’s eyes suddenly widened. “Oh, right,” she said, “so you’re wife doesn’t mind you bringing a strange girl into your house this late at night, while your kid’s sleeping.”

“I’m divorced,” Castle replied, easily. “Have been for seven years now.”

“Oh, sorry,” Kate said, half-heartedly. She was quiet for a moment, before: “So, hey, can I have an autograph?”

Castle barked out a laugh. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” he asked, his eyes crinkling. “Yeah, sure; you got something to sign?”

Kate nodded, reaching into her oversized purse and pulling out an old tattered copy of ‘Flowers for your Grave’, handing it to him.

Castle’s eyebrows lifted. “Whoa,” he said. “You carry this around with you?”

Kate nodded. “It was my mother’s,” she said, quietly. Castle wanted to ask her about the story behind that but the look in her eyes told him that it was a painful subject and he wasn’t about to bring it up right now. So he just nodded and grabbed a pen, sketching down a quick note and signing his name with a flourish, before handing it back, along with a to go cup of coffee.

Kate thanked him with a brilliant smile and he responded with one of his own. He was about to ask her a little more about herself when his phone rang in his pocket. Holding up one finger, he answered it.

“Hello? Uh huh…okay, she’ll be right down.” He hung up and turned to her. “Your cab’s here,” he informed her. He could have sworn that her face fell, just a little, but she hid in expertly, behind a sip of coffee, and stood, slipping her shoes back on and tossing her book into her purse. Making her way towards him, she leaned up, kissing his cheek.

“Thank you, Mr. Castle,” she said, huskily, in his ear, before pulling away. “I hope I see you again,” she said, winking at him, and then strutting–no longer stumbling–out.

All Castle could do was stand there, rooted to the spot, and watch her hips sway all the way out the door.

“Bye,” he murmured, long after she was gone.

As Kate sat in the back of the taxi on her way to her apartment, she fished around for the book in her bag, opening the front cover and grinning.

In neat script, Castle had written her a personal message:


I’m glad you called the wrong number. I hope you call the right one next time, though.”

Below that he’d written what Kate assumed was his number and the words, 'Call Me’ and his signature. She smiled to herself, holding the book to her chest and taking a deep breath.

“Hey,” the cabbie said, “you a Richard Castle fan? You know he lives in that buildin’ we just left; how about that, huh?”

Extreme Questions Tag

Rules: Once you’ve been tagged, you’re supposed to answer these 92 truths about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you.

I was tagged by that-writer-with-scarves

What was your:

Last drink—A glass of water

Last phone call—oh jeez idk. Probably to sing happy birthday to someone

Last text message—”Groovy!”

Last song you listened to—”A Good Man? (Twelve’s Theme)” by Murray Gold

Last time you cried—Last night, while watching Interstellar

Have you ever:

Dated someone twice—Kind of but she ended up hurting me more because of it

Been cheated on—No

Kissed someone and regretted it—Not at the time but now i do

Lost someone special—Five someones, actually

Been depressed—Am currently

Been drunk and thrown up—Nope

List 3 favourite colours:




In the last year have you:

Made a new friend—Yep!

Fallen out of love—Unfortunately, yes.

Laughed until you cried—No, not since my old friends

Met someone who changed you—I think so, yeah

Found out who your true friends are—Yep. This year’s shown me a lot.

Found out someone was talking about you—Yes

Kissed anyone on your FB list—Nope :(


How many people on your FB friends do you know IRL—Almost all of them

Do you have any pets—A cat named Emma

Do you want to change your name—Nope! I like “Ethan!”

What did you do for your last birthday party—ate desserts and talked about life

What time did you wake up today—11:30 am

Name something you CANNOT wait for—Finishing the fantasy film trilogy I’ve been working on for six and a half years

Last time you saw your mother—Last night

What is one thing you wish you could change about your life—I wish things had gone differently with my old friend group.

What are you listening to right now—Nothing currently, but the Jurassic World soundtrack has been my main album for a while

Have you ever talked to a person named Tom—Yes! My grandpa, for one!

Blood type—I actually have no idea, shit.

Nicknames—“Smackapreteen,” “Etnah,” “Cogsworth,” “Asshole”

Relationship status—Single

Zodiac Sign—Virgo


Favourite TV show—Doctor Who, Firefly, Sherlock

Long or short—Is this about my hair? If it is, then it’s short.


Do you have a crush on someone—Yes but it’s never gonna go anywhere

What do you like about yourself—I’m super creative, I’m intelligent, I’m kind, I’m exceptionally talented (I was nominated for an award for my role as Cogsworth recently), and I’m starting to beat my depression

Tattoos—I have none

Righty or lefty—Righty

First surgery—Haven’t had any yet

First piercing—Haven’t had any of those yet either

First best friend—I think it was a guy named Brandon

First sport you joined—I write movies, do you think I have much time for sportsing?

First vacation—I think I went to a wedding in Rhode Island? The first one I remember is a trip to Ireland when I was 3, though.

First pair of trainers (sneakers)—No clue. Probably just black or something.

Right Now:


Waiting for—Someone to like me in a romantic way

Want kids—Absolutely! One of my dreams is reading The Hobbit (my favorite book ever) to my kids as a bedtime story!

Get married—Yes!

Career—I’d love to be a film director

Which is better:

Lips or eyes—Eyes. I think they can be very sexy

Hugs or kisses—Hugs

Shorter or taller—Taller

Romantic or spontaneous—How about spontaneously romantic? But if I had to choose, then I’d choose romantic.

Sensitive or loud—Sensitive

Hookup or relationship—Relationship

Troublemaker or hesitant—Both, depending on the situation

Have you ever:
Kissed a stranger—No

Drank Hard liquor—Nope

Lost glasses/contacts—Probably at least once

Sex on first date—I wouldn’t say no to it

Broke someone’s heart—I have no idea. I don’t think so, though.

Been arrested—Not yet, and hopefully that trend will continue!

Turned someone down—Yep

Cried when someone died—Of course!

Fallen for a friend—Yes and it wasn’t good

Do you Believe:

In yourself—I’m trying to, but it’s hard sometimes

Miracles—I guess, yeah

Love at first sight—Absolutely not. It’s impossible to just look at someone and fall in love with them. Thinking they’re hot? Yes. But love? No. That’s ridiculous.


Santa Claus—I wish I did

Kiss at first date—Depends on how well the date went!


I tag: ceirus, stans-evil-twin-sister, lucifers-lil-angel, ethanwoopdedoo, bbydiv, sydneybarney, punkboyfriend, vintage-princessxx, noahkoeller, natashaaromanofff, bearhugsandcatnaps, i-willchurn-thybutter, whimsicaljordan, saraheloise1901, jellycatz, alexxturnerss, i–miss-my-wings, i-lovemanyboys-sexuallygoddangit, and I really can’t think of anyone else to tag

This was fun! Thanks again, that-writer-with-scarves, for tagging me!