i am sitting on the kitchen floor

I want a girlfriend who is down for staying up until weird hours of the night and sit in the kitchen with me at 3 AM with soft music playing in the background and we drink some tea. We’ll be sitting on the floor, looking out the window because if you pay close attention, the world is so damn beautiful in the middle of the night. It’ll be even prettier with a girl that I love by my side. And hopefully it’ll be prettier for her with me next to her. Hopefully she’ll love me just as much as I love her.

I am three months to twenty-three, daydreaming of when I was seventeen. I become obsessed with things I took for granted: bike rides with my sisters and the fine luxury of a backyard. I should have talked to more people in school. I should have written more, taken more pictures. Here: here is me out to breakfast with my dad. We’re at the diner, New Jersey bagels with taylor ham and cheese, and I paid the bill with babysitting money. Here: here are my best friends sitting with me on the kitchen floor. The dining room table is overrated and much too far from the fridge. In this picture, school is out for spring break and none of us quite know where we’re going yet. I should have absorbed every summer sun; said to myself, I am fifteen and survived my parents’ divorce. – I am sixteen and in love with a boy too good for me – I am seventeen and
 I am seventeen.
 And things won’t last, but they shouldn’t. That’s why they’re special. That’s why they’re worth saving.
 I am three months to twenty-three, and I promise to do more.
—  Schuyler Peck, Twenty-Three
WinterThunderIronShield (Quick Fic)

I just want you to know, I hate you guys for doing this to me. But I love this so (ugh) I reluctantly welcome another ship into the shenanigans that is my blog.

Enjoy :)

“We need to have a talk.” Tony ripped his sunglasses off his face, tossing them onto the couch and folded his arms over his chest.

Bucky, Thor and Steve all looked at each other guiltily, then up at Tony as innocently as possible.

“What’s wrong, Tony?” Steve asked, dropping the recliner foot rest and leaning forward with a concerned look on his face. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong?” Bucky quit stuffing his face with a sandwich and wiped his hands on his jeans.

“Anthony, surely you know you can tell us anything.” Thor offered, sitting up from where hed been lying on the floor.

“Don’t act innocent with me!” Tony snapped. “The three of you have been… conspiring against me and I am done with it.”

“I have no idea what you are referring—”

“Can it Rogers!” Tony pointed a finger at him. “You, Big and Blond, have been taking my t shirts and replacing them with ones that smell like you. I am starting to look homeless wearing your huge ass shirts all the time. And you, Dark and Scary–” he jabbed his finger at Bucky. “Have been moving everything in the kitchen up to the top shelves so I have to ask you for help every damn time I want to eat something.”

“That is disgraceful.” Thor said, frowning, and Tony whirled on him.

“Oh no. No no no Thunderhead, don’t get me started on you. You have been leaving Mjolnir places where I have to be just so I have to call for you to move her. And then usually you don’t even move her, you just pick me up like a fucking cat and move me!”

“Like a cat?” Bucky muttered and Thor shrugged sheepishly.

“Not entirely like a cat, Anthony. I don’t pick you up by your neck, I simply scoop you into–”

“Stuff it!” Tony yelled. “Now I don’t know why you guys are making life difficult for me, but it stops NOW.”

“Tony.” Steve coughed. “We aren’t trying to make things difficult for you, we just want–”

“Um, we are trying to make it seem like—” Bucky hesitated. “I mean, we are only trying to–”

“You need us.” Thor said simply. “And if you need us, then the transition into a romantic relationship will be much easier on us all.”

Tony stared at him for a full minute, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he ground his teeth. “My brain just broke.” He said finally. “It’s broken. I can’t process this right now. You are telling me, that you three giant dummies have been messing with me for weeks because you want to… you want to…. I can’t even say it. I literally can’t say it. My brain is broken. I’m going to go get a drink. You three stay away from me.” He turned and stomped away.

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the kisses au

because there are so many types of kisses! have some affectionate widowtracer because i refuse to believe their relationship is purely sex and angst

  • lena oxton is a very affectionate person
  • she is all smiles and hugs and friendly hip-checks and cuddles and sharing space and, needless to say, widowmaker is not.
  • so when they start this… thing
  • widow is not prepared for what comes next
  • she wakes in the morning covered in ten blankets and a snoozing lena oxton, surrounded by a mess of pillows and teddy bears and textbooks on theoretical physics, and it is warm and the sunlight was made for basking in, and she jolts a little in surprise
  • her talon bunker is cold and dark and decorated with one purple gouge across the blank white walls and the cot is stiff and poky and she has nothing but nightmares
  • lena stirs at her movement, grumbles sleepily. widow freezes, unsure of the protocol. does she… touch her? move? does she stay there? oh god what should she do?
  • she settles for tentatively touching lena’s hair. it’s soft, fluffy, perpetually messy, and she pats her head with cold hands.
  • ‘lo,’ lena murmurs, throat creaking a little, and widow blinks, snatching her hand back.
  • ‘good morning,’ she says, a touch stiffly. lena doesn’t seem to notice, tipping her head slightly and shifting closer, burrowing her head into widow’s neck and pressing a kiss to her jaw. the whole motion is easy and careless and widow can’t help but smile.
  • lena whispers something groggily against her throat, and she frowns in confusion.
  • ‘quoi?’
  • lena lifts her head for a moment. ‘said you look cute.’
  • ‘cute?’
  • ‘ya know, mornings. hair down. ‘s cute.’
  • ‘so do you.’
  • ‘mm. thanks.’ 
  • she’s waking up slowly, sitting up, bending over amelie to blindly kiss her face, opening her eyes, the soft brown gentle in the rising sun, her nose bumping clumsily against amelie’s icy cheek.
  • ‘there’s a diner here somewhere,’ she mumbles between kisses, aiming for amelie’s nose and missing spectacularly. ‘you into coffee?’
  • ‘café au lait,’ is amelie’s response, and lena snorts, snuggling into her shoulder.
  • ‘you and your prissy french coffee.’
  • amelie sticks her tongue out at her and lena pouts exaggeratedly, spread-eagling herself over widow and clinging.
  • ‘get off,’ amelie says, without meaning it. lena just smiles at her knowingly, and clings tighter, dotting kisses over amelie’s collarbones and humming some pop song.
  • ‘i want food,’ amelie says abruptly and decisively, and clambers off the bed with lena still attached to her. ‘shoes on. am i carrying you there?’
  • ‘yeah,’ lena mumbles, and then blinks. ‘wait, are we going naked?’
  • ‘no,’ amelie says, rolling her eyes fondly, ‘put your clothes on.’
  • lena sings as she straps the accelerator to her chest and slings a leather jacket around her shoulders, dances up behind widow and spins her around and presses the spiderbites into her ear and widow snorts when she makes a pun, eyebrows waggling
  • they walk to the nearest cafe and lena buys four pastries and feeds amelie pieces of an apple turnover as she talks about a recent prototype of the plane that she and winston are developing and widow hums and listens and feels the soft brush of lena’s fingers against her lips and the way they skim over her jaw and down her arm to her hands, and then lena gets momentarily distracted in favour of kissing each of amelie’s fingertips
  • and amelie tells her about sombra’s embarrassing moments, hands dancing in the air (she’s wonderfully expressive when she wants to be), smiles a little when lena laughs so hard she almost snorts coffee out her nose
  • they’re the best mornings amelie’s had in a while.
  • late nights are good, too
  • they curl up on the couch, and amelie wears lena’s fuzzy koala socks, and they watch old movies and lena squishes in next to her so close that amelie can smell the faint traces of the lemon soap she uses (and amelie steals on a regular basis) and she wraps her arms loosely around lena’s midsection and lena hums and traces her tattoos and pecks kisses on her wrists
  • and sometimes, every so often, lena comes home to amelie sitting on the floor with a bottle of wine and hard eyes and lena talks her down with quiet words and soft desperate ‘i am here’ kisses and amelie cries and tangles her hands in lena’s hair and they sit together on lena’s kitchen floor and amelie mumbles about needles and gerard and monsters
  • at nights, they lie together, lena’s arms tight around amelie’s shoulders, quiet words of affection. lena learns a bit of frankly horrid french and takes a certain amount of delight in sneaking up behind amelie and whispering, ‘je t’aime’ into her ear
  • and her accent’s bad and the tones are wrong and she doesn’t quite say it like people in france
  • but it seems much more right than anything amelie’s ever heard
Little Ham Man (Small!Hamilsquad x Reader) 12

A/N: happy happy happy

Previous Chapter II Next Chapter

“Just push it, come on!”

“It’s hard, Jefferson is sitting right on top!”

“Stop getting so sweaty, it’s small and easy to get into.”

“How am I going to do that if I’m so big? I could barely fit through doorways.”

“Guys, please, just pick it up and stop complaining. I told you I could do it on my own, but all of you wanted to come and help me. Right now, you’re not helping.” You said, looking at the boys struggling to carry the couch up the steps.

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It was requested, so here is a lil’ prequel to this oneshot I posted a few days back showing how Harry and Y/N met! It’s pure fluff and drunk Y/N laying on Nick Grimshaw’s kitchen floor with a few mentions of The Notebook because I love DEATH AND DYING. 


Harry must notice your presence and you realize your balance must be as off as you feel like it is, because the first thing Harry ever says to you is: “y’good there, love?” And you do your best to nod, giving him a dopey smile as you find your grip on the counter, steadying yourself in your drunken state as you look at him. 

The next thing you’re doing is practically diving for the sink.

You don’t even realize that there’s been someone taking care of you the entire time until you’ve finished and you feel a hand holding your hair back like it’s in a ponytail and another rubbing your back in slow circles. After a minute, you turn to see Harry standing right behind you, and you shouldn’t be surprised that he did it, considering he’s left the party to clean, but it doesn’t change the fact that you are. “Guess y’not so good, after all,” he says, finally, and you’d slap him for teasing you if you weren’t appreciative of the fact that he’s taking a glass from a cabinet and filling it with ice water for you.


Nick Grimshaw is Y/N’s bestie and she finally talks to Harry at one of his parties when she least expects it

2k+, fluff

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fr tho like…lance and hunk are best friends???

just think about the shenanigans they got up to in the garrison? like clearly hunk was used to lance dragging him out to do wild stuff at night but just

lets think about like??? lance helping hunk cook in the student kitchens? or in their shitty microwave if you don’t think the garrison would have student kitchens idk. and by helping i mean sitting there and like washing the dishes as hunk actually tries to make stuff and they’re joking and having fun and being happy

or think about like staying up all night even though there’s classes the next day just binge watching shitty tv shows until its four am and they’re both so exhausted hunk says something like “….i think that ants are spies from the government” and lance just?? looses it? and starts laughing hysterically until he rolls off the bed and just continues laughing on the floor?

Moving Out and Getting an Apartment, Part 2: Finding the Damn Apartment

Don’t even bother reading this post unless you’ve read the first one on preparing to move out. This is for those brave folks who faced your bank account and came out victorious. The rest of you need to step up your game or get the fuck out.

Step 1. Budget that Shit

Before you can do anything with an apartment, you need to figure out what you can afford. If you’re piss-poor, you’re going to be looking at shitty places. But at least you’ll know and can start with the shitty places instead of raising that bar too high and then having to rip out your heart when you can’t afford them. If you’re going to have a roommate, make sure to make a budget together, that way you know ahead of time if they’re a total deadbeat who will abandon you with most of the rent. Finding a good roommate is this whole other issue that I won’t even go into right now.

What you need to do is make a list of all your monthly costs, not even the stuff you’re going to start paying, but whatever you pay for right now. Gas, car insurance, health insurance (for the truly wealthy and privileged), phone bills, and whatever other shit you spend your money on. You might want to adjust your spending and stop buying so much crap. Remember, you need to pack and move that crap later. You’re not going to be so excited about your extensive Yu-Gi-Oh collection when that time comes. Now add in your estimated utilities. You can fucking google that on your own, because it’s going to be different for wherever you want to live. Absolutely do this if you plan on moving to a different town or state. If you plan on moving to Chicago, LA, or New York, I hope you’re a goddamned heiress otherwise you’re going to be living in a shelter three months from now.

I think this part is a little ridiculous, but this is how property managers are going to figure out whether or not you’re as rich as you say you are: divide your total monthly income by three. Hey, look at that, it’s my good friend Math again. Funny how he keeps showing up. Make sure the number of your expenses is less than the other 2/3rds, if it is, you can continue. If it’s not, get the fuck out of here.

Okay, now take another hundred or three out of that for play money or emergencies or whatever. This final low low number is what you can afford to spend on rent. If you see this number and think “I’m fucked,” you probably are and you should just stay in your parent’s basement for another couple of years.

Step 2. Stay Within the Budget

I’m so fucking annoyed that I have to put this step in here at all for all you shitheads who look at all these fancy-ass places and get turned down. You just figured out your MAXIMUM rent. Don’t go above that.

Go somewhere like apartments.com and before you do anything else, put your maximum into the maximum rent range. This shouldn’t be that hard. I’m sure even you can manage it.

Step 3. Know What You Want

Okay, once you know all your limitations, you can pretend you’re the boss and focus on what you want. But here’s the shitty part: you’re probably going to have to compromise. Yeah, it’s nice to have a washer/dryer set in the apartment (especially if it’s included already, but that’s a damn fantasy), but you might need to settle for a laundromat nearby. If you’re rooming with someone, ask yourself, is this selfish bitch going to hog the bathroom for two hours every morning when you need to get ready? If so, maybe try to find somewhere with two bathrooms. Also, be prepared to fight over the bigger bedroom. Go in prepared for battle (and maybe be willing to pay a tiny bit over half if you get the bigger one, unless you’re a complete asshole). If you absolutely need your pet with you, narrow your search to pet-friendly places BEFORE you get kicked out of somewhere because your little pomeranian barks too much and gives you away. If you own a great dane or anything larger than a fucking breadbox, I am so so sorry. This search is going to be hell for you.

Okay. Go ahead and put all of that shit into an apartment search engine. Apartments.com is probably the least sketchy, but hey, maybe you’re looking for a place to house your meth lab and sketchy works for you. I don’t ask questions.

Step 4. Do Some Fucking Research

You’re going to live in this place. You’re going to be so poor you’re going to spend most of your time in this apartment, so you better fucking love it. Look at all the floor plans once you find places in your price range. Actually think about what’s on it. Will your oven and fridge open into each other? Do you need a hall closet to split up your enormous hoarder-like shoe collection? How big are the bedrooms? Is your bathroom basically one of those horrific bathroom stalls in stores where you have to stand on the toilet just to close the door? You’re not going to put up with that kind of shit every goddamned day for the next year.

Look at some maps of the area. Is the nearest grocery store two towns away? Is it near your work, or are you going to have to get up an extra hour earlier to avoid rush hour? Do yourself a favor and make a custom google map. Yeah, google has everything. It’s going to save your life someday. Probably in the form of some sentient, unforgiving android, but for today, we’ll stick to maps. Put all your potential apartments on there and put your work on there and whatever other terrible places you visit daily. If you have a roommate, share the map so they can see how selfish you’ve been by making sure your commute is short and theirs is two hours.

You should also check out the maps on crimereports.com so you know if you’re living next door to a sex offender or something. This is good for the meth lab owners, too, because you don’t want to move in next to someone who got caught for that kind of shit. You don’t need to deal with that kind of competition.

If you’re really dedicated, and I hope to God you are, you can google the hell out of that shit. Find out everything you can about this apartment you’ve found. Wikisearch the town, read reviews on yelp, figure out which pizza places deliver past midnight. 

Step 5. Narrow Down Your Choices

Focus on your top 10. Then your top 5. Then your top 3. Don’t go any farther than that (and don’t get rid of the research for the other 7 just yet). Create crazy complicated rating systems. Make an excel sheet or start putting stuff on your wall and connecting them with strings. Go full-on serial killer. Dedicate yourself.

Step 6. Visit

Don’t try to move in somewhere you’ve never even fucking seen. If you do, you deserve all the secret horrors that await you. Call or email the managers and try to pick a day to visit when they’re available. You don’t want to show up somewhere and find out they just sold their last place or they’re closed or something.

When you do visit, take pictures. Take enough pictures that you could use them to potentially break into the place in the future. But don’t actually do that unless you’re prepared to go to jail for it. But do take pictures, even of things you don’t think are important. Take pictures of the ceiling so you know if there’s any overhead light to illuminate all your past mistakes at 3 AM when you’re sitting on the kitchen floor eating a tube of cookie dough. You should also make note of how big the room is so you know if you can even fit what little you own. The same goes for the hallways or stairs or whatever exists outside the apartment on the way from your car. Could you get your mattress through all that shit?

You should ask millions of questions, by the way. I don’t care if you hate talking to people, you need to get over that and talk to this person. Apartments.com and My First Apartment both have lists of questions to ask. Or just google it like you do everything else. 

Step 7. Get the Goddamn Apartment

When you figure out what you want and have gone through all the previous steps, you can work on getting the apartment. Call the leasing office and let them know what you want. When you actually show up, pretend you’re showing up for a fucking job interview. Let them know that you’re the best goddamn tenant they could hope for and you’re the picture of perfection, even though we both know you’re a total fuckup. Don’t let the landlord know that yet. If you ace this secret interview, the office will ask for a security deposit. Better have that money ready! This is one of those rare times in your life that someone might require a physical check. We have a post on that if you’re one of those ignorant fucks who can’t write a check. Then they’re going to run a credit check and you better know that shit ahead of time and be prepared to defend yourself if necessary. After a few days, the manager will give you a call with either great news or to laugh at you because you done fucked up. This is either the end of your search or the beginning of a new one. Either way, we’re done here.

This is by no means a complete guide, so if you have any specific questions, please let us know and I’ll do my best to answer them for you.


They’d made camp, cutting away a little patch of undergrowth to the dirt which had caused Effie to panic about their environmental footprint. “It’s six feet,” he had reasoned, and after the debate had turned into an argument she’d relented and allowed him to hack up the shrubbery to make a small fire, enough to boil some water but not so big that it made the already hot evening unbearable.

Effie was rummaging through their things. “Don’t you think I should learn to shoot a gun?”

Sully looked up from the stick he was whittling with his penknife. “What the fuck, Evelyn!?” He yelped, and lunged forward to snatch his pistol out of her hand. “Don’t touch that!”

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anonymous asked:

Tim fic prompts: just let him be happy please. tim deserves all the happiness. If you want something specific, maybe him being the annoying little sibling that he is (he's the second youngest batkid and is a snarky little shit he's probably incredibly irritating no matter how 'mature' he's supposed to be okay) or getting into silly teenage shenanigans. Or bruce being like. a good dad and not ignoring him that would be nice. hugs. THIS WAS VERY LONG AND IM SORRY AND I LOVE YOUR FICS! Bye! :D

Okay I know this was supposed to just be a happy, silly, fluffy Tim fic. And I promise that’s all it was supposed to be especially the silly bit. But then the idea of Bruce thinking back on his happiest memories of/with Tim after he “died” hit me out of freakin’ nowhere and the end scene happened… I’m sorry, I don’t know why I can’t just write happy things :(

There is giggling coming from the kitchen. Bruce pauses to listen some more. Another peal of giggles. He frowns. Odd. Alfred doesn’t giggle. Damian certainly doesn’t giggle so publicly. And Dick isn’t due home for at least two more days. Proceeding with caution, he slides forward on polka-dot-sock clad feet and peaks around the doorframe.

Bruce blinks.

Blinks again.

Turns away to stare at the painting of a young girl with a dog watching him from the opposite wall. "Am I hallucinating?“ he wonders.

“You are if you’re talking to paintings,” Alfred intones from beside him and Bruce refuses to admit that he jumps. Just a little bit. Mostly on the inside. The butler raises an eyebrow, very pointedly not smiling at him as he offers, “Would you like some afternoon tea, sir?”

Bruce follows him into the kitchen, staring openly at where his daughter and second youngest son are still sitting on floor amid a settling cloud of flour. “Hey B!” Tim grins, tears of mirth cutting a path through the white powder dusting his cheeks. He shakes his head and more flour falls out of his hair. Cass is leaning against his side, still giggling uncontrollably as she slaps a hand against her brother’s chest, leaving a perfect flour handprint that only makes her laugh harder.

“What-” Bruce starts, then realises he has no idea how to start asking questions about such a ridiculous situation.

“Master Tim and Miss Cassandra were trying to bake cookies, sir,” Alfred explains with a completely straight face. His pants are dusted from ankle to knee in the same mess that’s coating his floor. White footprints show his path from the bench to the door and back again.

“B!” Tim exclaims a second time. He tries to stand but the slippery floor and Cass’s grip on his ankle make him topple forward, arms pinwheeling. The movement sends him stumbling into Bruce, who automatically wraps his arms around him in an awkward hug so that he doesn’t end up on the floor again.

“Yes, Tim?” he replies, unable to hide the smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

“I had an idea,” his second youngest tells him, rubbing his cheek against Bruce’s shoulder a little and grinning up at him, eyes bright and cheeks flushed red from laughing. Looking every inch his sixteen years of age.

“Oh?” Bruce prompts when Tim doesn’t continue.

His son nods, the action getting flour from his hair on Bruce’s neck and chin. “It was a very good idea.”

Bruce opens his mouth to ask what exactly this very good idea was when he hears a muffled giggle from behind him, the only warning he gets before Cass launches herself at his back. He stumbles a little under the added weight but manages to stay upright, Tim clinging to his front, Cass hanging off his back. Suddenly, he has a suspicion about what Tim’s idea was.

“Tim.” The teen blinks innocently up at him. “This was your idea, wasn’t it?”

Tim’s grin widens. “White’s a good colour on you, B,” he says seriously. “Really shows off the grey in your hair.”

Cass hums in amused agreement, ruffling Bruce’s hair to spread the fine powder through it. Bruce rolls his eyes but he can’t find it in himself to be exasperated or annoyed, not when his usually serious children are so gleeful.

 And a bonus scene for anyone who wants their heart shattered like mine was writing it

“Master Bruce?!”

Bruce doesn’t even realise he’s crying until Alfred’s alarmed voice has his head snapping up to stare at the butler through tear-blurred vision. He wipes at his eyes hastily, doing little to stop the tears streaking down his cheeks, only succeeding in smudging more flour across his face.

“I was just grabbing the cereal,” he begins, hating the way his voice cracks. “I knocked over the flour, I meant to clean it up, I just-” His breath catches and he has to stop and compose himself. 

Alfred is watching him with sad eyes, the pain etched into his wrinkled face making it clear that the scene had reminded him of the same thing it reminded Bruce of. He steps forward, skirts around the powder and its shattered ceramic container to wet a cloth. “Why don’t you clean yourself up?” he suggests, handing Bruce the cloth and gently pushing him toward a seat at the kitchen table. “I’ll deal with this mess.”

Bruce wipes the flour off his face and arm, dabbing at where it’s caught on his clothing, silent while Alfred gets a dustpan and brush and sweeps up the spilled flour. He’d done it last time as well, he remembers, sending them off to shower and change while he cleaned up. He doesn’t remember whether Cass and Tim ended up making the cookies or whether Alfred did it after they were banished from his kitchen, but he remembers eating them after they came back from patrol. Sitting at the Cave’s computer with Tim leaning over his shoulder, excitedly explaining how he’d put together the evidence to solve their latest case. 

He’d taken it for granted at the time, having Tim there, hadn’t even thanked him for his help, and now he’ll never get the chance.

All Work and No Play

Pairings:Tony Stark X Reader

Requested By: @cajunlizard


Permanent Tag List:@sybil-howlett @palaiasaurus64 @sherlockholmesisbae @redroomproperty@alwaysoutoftheordinary @withouthannah @metaphysicalmisha@andybubblebath @secretninjachild @whatshernamemaria               @ pou-noikiazeis-to-oneiro @alwaysenjoythelifeyoulive@niallandsebastianaremylife @raindancer2004  @v-esperteen  @purpledolphin-f  @sour-kangaroo1998 @princeffreeshgoddessofgreatbooty

Author’s Note: I am not really happy with how this turned out to be. And I think I kinda dragged it a lot. So meh,I decided to post it anyway.


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anonymous asked:

I need to know how long they sat there holding each other. Did Robert have a lil cry bc omg he didn't ruin everything? Did Aaron let him cry until he was tired and they went to bed? Did they sleep downstairs bc they didn't want to be where she had been? Like I need answers

anon….. anon…. don’t

don’t think about the two of them sitting there all night because they don’t know what to say, or do, or how to move on from what’s happened

definitely don’t think about aaron easing himself up off the floor at like six am, going to make a cup of tea to try and ease his headache and robert waking up convinced aarons left him

and definitely don’t think about how the two of them would sit at their kitchen table the next morning, surrounded by all their unpacked boxes, wondering where they even begin to start sorting out their life, their relationship

and don’t think about robert just breaking down as he attempts to unpack some of their books and dvds because it’s HIS fault, he’s the one who ruined their first night in their new home together

and don’t think about aaron just hugging him close and not knowing what to say or do because while he hasn’t fully forgiven robert just yet, he still loves him, still loves every inch of his husband, and he wishes he could just fast forward time and have them get to a place where this is all behind them and they’re h a p p y

You get in a fight and he scares you

Bjorn x reader

Requested by Anon

“Come on, Bjorn,” you groaned as you felt his hands grip your waist and attempt to tug you out of the kitchen, “Not tonight.” You were angry that Bjorn had gotten home three hours later than he had promised, and he had come home tipsy. 

Not full out drunk, but just intoxicated enough to piss you off and make his judgement cloudy. “C’mon, beautiful,” he slurred, biting at your neck a little too harshly. “Bjorn!” You jumped a little bit, trying to shrug him off, “Stop it, that hurts.” 

Bjorn’s eyes flashed a darker shade, his grip tightened on your waist before shoving you away from him. “FUCK IT, [Y/N],” he suddenly roared, his complexion totally changing into an angry rage, sending chills down your spine. “YOU’RE BEING SUCH A BITCH!” He was yelling at the top of his lungs, turning around and knocking pots full of food, with a resounding cacophony of noise. 

You shrunk back in fear, burrowing yourself into the corner and starting to cry. There was a few seconds of silence, and you took a shaky breath and turned around, finding Bjorn sitting on the floor of the kitchen, head in his hands. You decided to take the opportunity to try and retreat, but he stopped you. “[Y/N],” his voice croaked, “Please… please don’t go, angel. I am… I am so sorry.” You stood in the entryway to the bedroom , “You scared me.” Bjorn stood up slowly, extending a hand out to you, “I know I did. And that was bloody awful, I should never be the man to do that,” he teared up a bit, “Please. Please don’t hate me.” There were a few seconds of silence before you nodded, “I don’t hate you.” Bjorn moved closer to you, and when you didn’t move back, pulled you into a tight embrace. “I love you,” he murmured out, “Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

Originally posted by lagerthalothrok

Waiting (Part 2)

@stories-from-stark-tower @allofthesearetakendafuq  @mewsiex@flightofthefantasies @emilyevanston @cassiopeiassky @buckyywiththegoodhair @beccaanne814-blog @avengerofyourheart @thewife101cevans  @lilasiannerd @brittanymcsharry @misshyen @hunters-from-stark-tower  @callmebucky-doll @learisa @hellomissmabel @avenger-nerd-mom @soymikael @always-an-evans-addict @justreadingfics 

Waiting (2/2)

Word Count: 718

Characters: Bucky/Reader

Summary: You and Bucky are dating and you’re waiting for him to return from a long mission. You have to deal with something changes to your relationship.

Warnings: Swearing (cuz it’s me)

Author’s Note: I’ve had this idea for a very long time now, though I’m not sure I’ve done it justice. It’s kind of fluffy, with a little bit of angst (maybe?)
Also, oh my, I cannot believe the response I’ve received on this. It’s been mind blowing! My heart is so full! Thank you to everyone who read it, enjoyed it, and commented on it!

The next morning, you felt physically awful - your eyes were puffy and bloodshot, they felt like sandpaper, your face was blotchy and red, and you ached all over. As much as you had wanted to stay in bed all day and pretend that yesterday didn’t happen, you had too much to do. You hadn’t done anything to prepare for this baby, waiting until Bucky returned home. Now it was moot and you had resolved yourself to do this alone.

The first thing you decided to do was to find an apartment of your own. There was no way you could live under the same roof as Bucky while having his baby. You didn’t want anyone to know what you were planning but Wanda, bless her heart, knew everything about everyone at all times.

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Meet me in my room - Part 2 (Sirius x reader)

Originally posted by nellaey

Meet me in my room - Part 1   Part 3    Part 4

A/N: So this is the second part of the request. I hope you like it. 🖤

“Can we talk?”, Sirius asks you, his face looks calm, but you know that he is nervous. You do not know what to do, how to react. Surely you imagined the moment meeting Sirius again, before, but it was always imagination. Now seeing him standing in front of you is weird. His hair lost volume and he lost weight, but what makes you the most curious is the fact that his eyes looked sad. The grey eyes that always seemed to shine as bright as a star are now cheerless.

“Okay”, that is the only thing you can say as a response right now.

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Forever | 21: Decisions

Summary: You and Sebastian Stan became best friends years ago, on the set of the first Captain America movie, and you couldn’t be happier that you had found someone just as witty and caring as you - but will feelings wiggle their way in and get in between your friendship and happiness?

Word Count: 1695

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Reader

Warnings: (Throughout) Language, Gun Violence, mentions of death, Angst

Characters (in order of appearance): Chadwick Boseman, Sebastian Stan, Reader

A/N: Only 4 chapters left!!!! I’m gonna cry when this fic ends, but I hope y’all enjoy!!! today was a great day so I decided to update earlier than planned lol; ALSO PD means present day but y’all smart anyways please read


Forever | 20 // Forever | 22

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My Own Worst Enemy

Originally posted by spn-spam

SUMMARY: Dean wakes up not sure what happened last night, you aren’t home and he can’t remember anything.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester x Reader (mentioned)

Word Count: 790

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: This was written for @atc74‘s 1K celebration and I am soooo late posting it. I am so sorry between writer’s block that is kicking my ass to somehow suddenly developing a life (lol) I had the hardest time. I picked the song “My Own Worst Enemy” by Lit. Congratulations again on the 1K!!!

Tagging: @ellen-reincarnated1967 @demondean-for-kingofhell @winchesterprincessbride @jotink78 @winchestersnco @iamdeanfknwinchester @skybinx-blog @16wiishes @s4m-w1nch3st3r5287 @chaoticevilanddowntofuck @pizzarollpatrol @mizzzpink @cliffordevious @atc74 @14readwritedraw96 @anokhi07 @theangstyunicorn

The thumping noise that was reverberating through his skull brought him to consciousness slowly, it was the loud braying of the smoke alarm that finally rose him from the dead. He didn’t even need to open his eyes, he could see the bright morning light already, it felt like the sun was burning his retinas. ‘What the fuck happened last night?’ he thought miserably. “Babe,” he flinched with how loud his voice sounded as it echoed in the room.

 Slowly, Dean opened one eye and looked around.. ‘Where the hell am I? Wait…am I on the floor?’ Groaning, he managed to push himself up from the living room floor. Sitting on his knees, he shook his head trying to determine if he were still drunk or not. “Damn, we really tied one on last night,” he muttered. “Y/N? Where are you? Why is the window open?”

 He stood up, chuckling to himself, he scratched his stomach as he walked toward the kitchen where the smoke alarm was still beeping loudly. “Sweetheart, did you try to cook….again?” Dean looked confused when he noticed that there was nothing on the stove, the only smoke he could see was from a cigarette that had managed to singe some receipts in the decorative dish that sat on the counter. “What the hell? She only smokes when she’s pissed at me, what the fuck happened?” Quickly he sat the smoking dish into the sink, turning the faucet on. While the water took care of that, he grabbed the broom and knocked the smoke detector down, which thank god finally silenced as the batteries popped out.

“Alright, dumbass think! What happened last night?” he said. The whole night was a blur, he knew that the reason you all had went out was to blow off steam. Some jag off at your work had been giving you a hard time about being female. Dean shook his head, trying desperately to remember the events of the night. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, then headed for the bathroom, he needed a shower and hoped that everything would become clear after that. Once, he made it to the bedroom he paused, the bed hadn’t been slept in. He quickly patted his pockets looking for his cell phone, finding it he hurriedly unlocked and found your number. He stood there repeating over and over to please just pick up the phone, when it went to voicemail, he knew had messed up bad, that and the message itself told him how bad he had fucked up.

“Hey, it’s Y/N, I can’t take your call right now, so do your thing and I’ll get back to you as soon as i can. If, however this is Dean, please go straight to hell!”

Dean threw his phone on the bed, he debated on just heading out to find you, seeing as how he slept in his clothes last night. No, he thought it was better to try and remember what he had done, before he found you. Quickly, he grabbed some clean clothes and headed towards the bathroom, as he walked past the front window, he paused and took two steps back as he stared in confusion, “Why the hell is my car in the yard?”

 “Okay, remember!!!” He made it into the bathroom, stripping of his shirt, he started the water and let his mind think about last night. He remembered going to the bar, ordering shot after shot, at first everything was clear and then things started getting murky. Stepping under the spray, he closed his eyes.

Flashes of the night started appearing before his eyes, he remembered crawling in the window, cause he couldn’t get his key to work, next it was a flash of pulling into the yard because he had said something wrong at the bar.  What the hell had he said????

 Frustrated, he punched the shower wall, he saw Sam for just a minute, grabbing his arm to pull him out of the way of something, ‘FUCK! I can’t remember what was said, or what she threw at me!’

He rinsed himself off then got out of the shower, he shut the water off and as he was toweling off, he finally remembered what he had said, rolling his eyes, he couldn’t believe how dumb he was let alone how he was his own worst enemy. He pulled his jeans on and walked out of the bathroom, he returned to the bedroom and grabbed his phone. Pressing call, he stood tensely, this time though you picked up and he felt his heart start beating again, “Y/N?  Can we forget about the things I said when I was drunk?”

my pupper grew out of a lot of harnesses and collars etc. so i’m sitting on the kitchen floor making a package of various goodies for the local animal shelter and crying like a doofus over these pups

i am too emotional for this i wanna be stupid rich so i can donate and/or adopt all the strays

help out your local shelters if you have the ability please sob

Anon Request: “You’ve been out all night. Where have you been?” Title: Maybe This is Christmas Now.

A/N: I decided to make this a continuation of ‘Meeting John Wick for the First Time’. Off to work on Part Three now, hope it’ll feel less repetitive than this! But anyway, I hope Mr/Ms/Dr. Anony likes this :D

Part One

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