i messed up the german so i had to fix the thing

anonymous asked:

If you're still taking prompts. What if Neil gets a concussion and starts mixing up his languages? I love your writing!

(thank you so much! I had so much fun writing this honestly also HEY apparently language based confusion post head trauma like.. doesn’t happen lmao but lets suspend our disbelief y'all)


It’s USC’s new “problem player” who does it.

There’s a scrimmage for the ball in the last quarter, and Neil ends up bodychecked into plexiglass head-first. His helmet goes loose and bounces away before he hits the floor.

Neil’s 5’3” against the backliner’s 6’5” is like pitting an axe against the base of a tree. Neil’s legs quiver like wind through leaves, and then he’s cut down.

Andrew watches the whole thing unravel, the wind-up and the swing and the bounce. Neil topples onto his back with the brutality of a drop from a moving car, and he doesn’t get back up. There’s an awkward minute of shouting and buzzers and repetitive shrugging from the backliner. Andrew leaves goal just as Jeremy crosses the court to jab a finger in his teammate’s chest.

“We do not fight dirty like that! Jesus Christ Trent, If we’d taken that point from them the win would mean what?”

“Nothing,” the backliner replies glumly, eyes down. Andrew takes it as a prime opportunity to punch him across the jaw with his whole weight behind it.

The guy goes reeling, holding his face and looking down at Andrew with slack jawed disbelief — doubtless surprised to find someone half his size had just loosened a few teeth.

Andrew feels Kevin at his back, and Jeremy steadies Trent by the shoulder as he levels eyes at him. “Can’t we be civil for one game?”

Kevin shrugs, sickeningly sheepish. “You’re in fox territory.”

“How could I forget,” Jeremy says, eyes rolling. He says something else but Andrew’s already turning to find Neil, his unchecked injury like an oven left on - the niggling, panicking doubt of it.

Jean’s crouched at Neil’s side, speaking quietly and firmly with his eyebrows yanked together like pursestrings.

“Get away from him,” Andrew says, dizzy with anger. All the times Neil has defended Jean and the things he’d let Riko do surface and clash in Andrew’s head.

Jean looks up, unconcerned with Andrew’s warning. “Something is wrong.”

Andrew puts himself between Jean and Neil, stepping right where Jean’s hands are splayed out on the floor so that he recoils. He leans over Neil and watches his open eyes, the frost of confusion on them.

“Get up.”

Neil finds him, like he’s squinting through smoke. “Je ne peux pas.”

Andrew grabs his shoulders, unamused. “Try again.”

“It was something else a minute ago. Something slavic?” Jean says. Andrew ignores him.

“Andrew,” Neil says urgently, eyes bloodshot and unfixed. “Je suis fatigué.”

“Don’t sleep,” Andrew warns. He pulls Neil to his chest and drags him upright by his armpits.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Trent calls from a few feet away, his team congregating behind him like disappointed parents.

“We’re benching him for the next couple of games,” Jeremy adds seriously. “You deserve better.”

“You touch what’s mine again and you lose a hand,” Andrew says airily.

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Mama’s Boy

Reader x Klaus

(NOT MY GIF)

Imagine: you had Klaus’ baby and now he’s all jealous of your relationship with his son. 

*Requested

Word Count: 1591

“I still can’t believe you’re a mum!” Elena said, as she watched a little boy ice skating. “And, God, he looks like Klaus.”

You let out a small giggle.

Four years ago your whole life changed. One minute you were an ordinary witch who often helped out her best friends and the other you were bearing a miraculous child. And it had to be your biggest enemie’s kid as well, so everybody think you were helping him all along.

You shook your head, not actually believing how unlucky you were back then.

[4 years ago]

Shit.” You cursed, looking at the small pregnancy test in your hand. “Shit. Shit. Shit!”

About a month ago you had gotten into a fight with your older sister and left the house, wanting to get really drunk and forget about everything that was going on. It was not enough to have a chaotic home, you had to deal with the whole Original family at town. Some sort of freak wanted to kill your best friend and, surely, you stepped up to find a way to stop him.

At the Mystic Grill, you ordered the finest whiskey there, neat and no ice. It was a good sensation, the alcohol making its way through your throat.

“Aren’t you a little young to be drinking this?” A stranger asked, his voice tone light.

“You should mind your own business and leave me alone.” You replied, annoyed by his presence.

“I like the attitude. May I know your name, darling?”

“I don’t see why do you want to know my name.”

“Don’t be rude, love.”

You finally bothered to look at him and, heck, he was handsome. The stranger had beautiful blond curls, the kind you would not mind losing your fingers in it, blue eyes, like the wide ocean, a badly shaved beard and a devilish smile. Just looking at him made you skip a breath.

“It’s Y/N.”

“Oh, well, can I have the same drink Y/N ordered?”

“Are you sure you want that?” You asked, not caring if he was an inconvenient stranger. Perhaps it was exactly what you were needing.

“Sure, love, I would love to taste the flavour that is in your mouth now.”

You bit your lower lip and sipped your own drink, looking directly to him.

“Are you new in town? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”

“You could say that. I lived here long ago and now I’m coming back.”

“Ah, that’s nice.”

“And you?”

“I’m actually not from here. My mum and I moved a few years ago.”

And, as you got to know that stranger, you realised how much you were alike. He had the same awful childhood, his father hated him much like yours did hate you and a whole other bunch of things. That connection was decisive for accepting his invitation to go back to his place and have a more private conversation.

“So are you up for more drinking or will pass?”

“I think I’ll pass, I like drinking, but being sober is better.”

“Okay, if you say so.”

“You know, I think I didn’t ask your name, huh?”

“No, you haven’t. But it’s Klaus.”

“German name.”

“Sort of, comes from Niklaus.”

“It’s, hum, a unique name.”

You relaxed in the couch and looked directly at him. So far it had been a wonderful night and all you wanted was a suitable end for it. The blond slowly touched your knee and you gave him a smile, encouraging him to move forward.

“There’s something you need to know.” Klaus whispered, between kisses.

“You’re a vampire. Yeah, I know, save it, I’m a witch.”

“At least I’m not the only one keeping secrets.”

“Will you shut up?”

Giggling, he ceased the talking and went for it. Leaving you with a great memory and a goofy smile. Only if you knew you would end up pregnant. What would people think? And how the hell you were so stupid not to connect the dots and understand that was Klaus Mikaelson? Oh, damn it. You could see in how much trouble you were in, realising your friends would think you were lying about not knowing who he was back then. Oh, and how  you were supposed to tell Niklaus about this baby?

“I’m screwed.”

{a few months later}

“Klaus, you don’t have to follow my every step.”

“I’m just making sure my daughter is okay.”

“It could be a boy, you know.”

You sat in a nursing chair, rocking back and forward. Your hands were placed in a small bump, showing your five completed months of pregnancy. Klaus approached and knelt before you, putting his own hands over yours. The baby kicked and you smiled, for it was the first time it had ever did that with his father around.

The Original’s eyes were surprised and you removed your hands, letting him free to touch and feel it as long as he wished for it.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“For what?”

“Giving me this amazing gift.”

“You have given me this too, Nik.”

“I love when you call me Nik.”

You blushed a little.

“And also when I make you embarrassed.”

This time both of you giggled, being interrupted by a ridiculous phone, which was ringing at its fullest. It would probably be the gang, wanting you to fix something. They trusted you to convince Klaus to give up making hybrids, but, sadly. That was out of reach.

“Oh, hello, Elena!”

“Give me that phone, Klaus.”

“She’s here, yes.”

Niklaus!”

“Okay, I’m handing it over.”

He stayed in the room, though, stroking your belly and talking to it with funny voices. You could not help but smile. That man would make a great father. A messed up one, of course, but also a really caring and loving one.

[4 years later]

“Henrik? We need to get going!” You called out for your son.

“Already, mama?”

“Yes, daddy is waiting for us. Don’t you want to see daddy?”

His eyes lightened up.

“I wanna see daddy!”

“Then let’s go!” You kissed his cheek and send him to get his stuff. “Thank you for the afternoon, Elena.”

“You’re welcome. And don’t disappear again, ok? Give me a call every now and then.”

“I’ll do that.”

“So how’s Klaus?”

“Causing trouble in New Orleans. There’s nothing new at that.”

“Good luck, then.” Elena stated, her eyes showing her curiosity.”I still don’t know how you deal with him.”

“He’s complicated, I admit it. But there’s light in him, Elena, every time he kisses me I’m sure of that.”

She smiled, agreeing silently with you. 

“If you say so, I believe it.”

“Now I really have to go, Henrik needs to eat. Bye, Elena.”

“Bye, Y/N.”

You placed Henrik’s staff at the back of the car and put him in his baby car seat, buckling him up. In a couple of minutes you were in the way home. A loud music playing and your son’s laughs were enough to make you happy.

The Compound seemed empty when you arrived.

“Nik? Are you home?”

“Over here.” You heard his voice coming from the kitchen. 

“Daddy!” Henrik ran, to hug his father. “I went ice skating with mama.”

“That’s great!”

“Are you cooking, Mr. Mikaelson?” You raised an eyebrow.

Aside the mess he made, the room smelt delicious. You knew Klaus was trying to bribe his son. Apparently, he was jealous of you and him, because your child would always seek your help, instead of his. A complete mother’s boy.

“Yes, I made your favourite, Rik.”

“Thanks, daddy.”

He looked at his father, curious, then came to you, pulling your shirt for you lean over, allowing him to whisper in your ear:

“Mama, I think dad is trying to enter out team.”

A loud laugh escaped your lips.

“Yeah, I think he is.”

“What are you two talking about?”

“Henrik was saying…”

“Mum! Don’t tell him, please.” He blushed. 

“Can I please know what’s going on? You never tell me anything!”

“I’m sorry, daddy. I just… Mama gets me in a way you don’t.”

Klaus took a deep breath, trying to keep his cool. You bit your lip, trying to hold a laugh as the Mikaelson looked like he was about to explode.

“I’m your father! You are supposed to look up to me.”

“Nik, don’t push him too much. He’ll let you in our team.”

“You have a team?”

His accent made the whole situation even cuter. You glanced over Klaus and back to the beautiful four year old blond you called son, winking at him. It was fun, to mess with the Mikaelson man.

“We do.”

“How can I join?”

“Well, there’s only two conditions:” Henrik said, raising two of his little fingers. “First mama has to allow it and second, you have to love her very much, like I do.”

“Well, the second one it’s covered." 

A proud smile was in your lips.

"So mama, are you letting daddy in?”

“Of course I am, otherwise your dad would die!”

The three of you laughed.

“Now, go eat that yummy pasta.”

“Yeah!”

Klaus put an arm around your waist and you leant in, enjoying his warmth. It was good that, even with all the trouble you had to face, you could still be a happy family, enjoying little pleasures such as arguing on who is more loved by your son.

“And, so you know, he adores you. You’re like a superhero to him.”

Klaus smiled and squeezed you even more into his embrace.

“I know.”

anonymous asked:

for the milestone celebration -- dog park with sheith? let shiro have a dog 2k17 (and congrats on the milestone!! you deserve it <3)

Prompt fill for my Follower Celebration!

A short list of all the amazing people that contributed something to this: @melonbugg for beta, @teslatricity for dog names, @butteredonions for picking numbers and making me do this one. Also, I have learned that I really like AUs.


There were nicer, cleaner parks out there. There were parks that didn’t smell like dog all the time, with artificial green grass instead of dust and dirt, parks with drinking fountains that didn’t sit on the ground, flowing into a bowl, where you wouldn’t end up covered in slobber and dog hair; those parks were absolutely no fun.

Finn still had trouble with the dog park. He didn’t snap at the other dogs anymore but never knew how to approach them. Most of their time here consisted of Shiro, sitting alone on a bench, throwing a ball as Finn chased it down the field. They never did much socializing, but that was okay. They had each other, and most of the time, that was enough. Shiro could never put the joy he felt in this broken dog’s simple happiness into words. He felt like he was finally making up for some perceived slight against the world, bringing this one precious spot of life a little bit of something good.

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Wow, I apologize (Felix x FemReader) fluffy short

Originally posted by pewdiecringe

(( gif not mine ))

(A/n): would you look at that, I write for Felix too

Request:  Hallo! I’m sorry if my English is not good. Can you do German!Reader meeting PewDiePie for first time? And she gives him awkward handshake and feels really upset?

Warnings: cringe holy shit

_____

‘Ah, are conventions always this crowded?’ you thought excitably. If you were honest, having the area be packed full of other like minded people made you all the more happy.

You were really all here for the same reason. To meet the ones you hold close, and have a memorable time. It was simple, yet very dear to you.

On the plus side, there wasn’t much of a way you could mess anything up- you were confident in that hopeful fact.

So there you stood, in an eager line of people waiting to be allowed entrance into the PaxWest building.

Time went fast for you. It felt like an optimistic wave passing by your human politely.

The very first thing you did once through the main entrance, was check your timetable. There was a small panel you had been looking forward to- you certainly did not want to miss it.

That event was saved for later in the noon, it seemed, so you decided to instead take your own tour around the meet and greet booths- as a way to kill time. You might chance your luck in seeing some of your well liked idols.

To the location, you walked beside yourself with subtle joy.

You trailed around some tables for a bit, smiling brightly when you saw the faces of fans light up quite nicely as they came face to face with someone they have looked up to for so long.

Eventually, you found yourself stumbling upon a booth you recognized as Pewdiepie’s. You remembered briefly seeing many of the Swedish gamers videos and liking him instantly because he was quite funny.

And admittedly, a little cute.

Awfully surprised he didn’t yet have a girlfriend, you suddenly felt subconscious.

Stopping solidly on flat feet- you stared blankly at Felix as he interacted with his fans and friends. You might have loved to go up, and speak to him as well. But, you felt held back by your voice.

More specifically- your accent.

But, gradually something- you weren’t sure what- pulled a long smile onto your face. You let it sit.

It may have either been the way he so calmly conversed with his people, or the kind expression he held high. But regardless, you wished to talk to him.

Without much other memory, you were once again in a waiting lineup. Except, the situational difference was that this atmosphere didn’t convey a giddy excitement.

You were warm.

But again, just as easily, time went fast and so did the line.

Suddenly, what you heard was:

“Hello~! How are you?”

The words sounded funny and had an accent curled around them as well. You must have reached the front of the line already.

Your (e/c) eyes wandered up, until they were paired with two blue ones.

Smiles now cased both yours, and his face.

“Hello..?” he asked again, followed by a slow chuckle.

Ah shit. You didn’t think this through.

You didn’t want to speak until it was really necessary. That was okay? Right-? Yeahh, that was aloud.

So instead, you smiled wider- in a very sweet way and kindly offered your hand.

Felix chuckled again funnily and cocked his head a bit. He as well, reached up.

But he went for a bro fist and you, well you wanted just a handshake.

You both stopped- and so did everything else. Looks like you found a way to fuck up.

“Sorry,” you mumbled timidly, reshaping your hand into a fist to cater to the male’s request.

But of course, God twisted his will, and he changed himself to suit a handshake instead- accidentally bumping your head in the process. Your duo was stuck looking down, trying hard to fix some horrendous mistakes.

This shifting went back and forth for several long seconds. Awkward chuckles being tossed around making everything just a tad more cringy.

Alright, this seems necessary.

“Ahh,” you winced slightly before speaking, retracting your hand in a soft movement “I’m sorry.”

A thick German accent rolled clear from your mouth, given a gentle feminine touch from your features and tone.

“I didn’t mean to be this cringy- or, well, cringy at all.” you started to drabble a bit, looking up at Felix’s face with sad eyes.

“I know that you don’t like handshakes, sorry about that. I just didn’t want to talk much because, well, reasons. But sorry- for this I mean. And sorry for–”

Felix laughed once again, this time with a sweet twist. He sighed in a gentle exhale and reached to lightly grasp your hand.

He bowed smoothly, about as smooth as a swearing gamer could, and kissed your knuckles. There was an undertone of awkward hesitation, and you realized he probably had to tell himself to be bold.

But you found it oddly adorable.

“It’s alright.” he beamed at you.

“I find it cute- the way you are apologizing.” he went on, standing up right. The swede’s smile could put the full moon to shame.

You were starstruck.

For the last time, the man in front of you cocked his head and reached to cup your lower back. He pushed you forth, out of line so that he may talk to the next person.

“See you soon.” was the last line he spoke to you.

That was completely, and utterly, unexpected by you. You might have never imagined someone you barely knew would flirt with you and– give you a slip of paper? Yeah.

You were right. He slipped it into your palm as he grabbed your hand.

As you stumbled dumbly away from the Pewdiepie booth, you unscrambled the small paper and inspected it.

Certainly not for the last time today, you grinned brighter than ever before.

“ What a lovely voice you have. Please, I would love to hear it more. Meet me afterwards

- Felix  ♡ “

_____

(A/n): was that two hours? did I post it in two hours- I wan’t counting

Letters to Bucky (Part 11)

If you’re missing any updates, catch up HERE!
Hang on lovelies, because this one was rough.
******************

“Move.” Tony wove his way through the group of people in the lobby of the medical center. “Move!” he snapped louder, and the crowd started parting to make way.

“What can I do for you, sir?” the bored looking receptionist asked.

“Just directions to the elevator.” he said quickly. “I need to be up on the eighth floor right now.”

“I’m sorry sir, no one is allowed past the third floor without an appointment. Do you have an appointment, sir?” she didn’t look up once as she recited what she had doubtless said hundreds of times before.

“Are you serious? Do you know who I am?” Tony whipped off his sunglasses, and she glanced up then.

“Handsome and stressed?’ she shrugged. “Do you have an appointment?”

“I don’t need a fucking appointment!” he yelled. “You call Dr Persson and tell him that Tony fucking Stark is standing downstairs NOW!”

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anonymous asked:

So, based off of something I just ran into, companions react to walking into their's and Sole's house and seeing it's full of brahmin

Here, take this amazing prompt as an apology for my recent inactivity! Been real busy with boarding school and such. Anyway, enjoy!
——–
Cait: Cait was less than pleased and refused to step foot into the house until weeks afterwards. Those weeks she spent hunting down who had done it, and when it turned out to be Deacon - no surprise there - she quickly grabbed a pair of brass knuckles and promptly chased him halfway around the wasteland, swearing up a storm with enough rage to make a deathclaw turn and flee from the fiery redhead. Deacon returned with a black eye and a limp after five days, Cait with a smug smile.

Curie: She was absolutely thrilled, and it took several minutes to explain that this wasn’t normal nor a wasteland tradition, and several hours to explain why they couldn’t stay nor why they couldn’t keep them as pets. She still mentions it from time to time, and once Deacon even reported seeing her trying to lure one into the house again, although no one can be certain how true the spy’s words were.

Danse: Danse was not impressed, but even he couldn’t help laughing lightly at the situation, before realizing how troublesome getting them out and cleaning up would be. Especially since the brahmin seemed determined not to move, especially the two young ones who seemed to favor the now squished couches in the living room. They had to go find a new pair of couches and decided to let the brahmins keep the wrecked furniture. It was always hard to explain to visitors and new settles why there were two damaged couches in the brahmin pen.

Deacon/Dogmeat: Dogmeat wasn’t actually there to see Sole’s reaction. Deacon had decided to teach Dogmeat how to herd, but he misunderstood the commands, hence the herd of brahmin crammed into the house. Not just one of the empty ones, no, it just had to be Sole’s. The vault dweller and a few of the companions spent a few hours searching for the two afterwards. They couldn’t find Deacon, so the fatman was stored away - for now - but they did find Dogmeat.
Turns out, it wasn’t just the brahmin that were in odd places.
There, on the top of the roof of one of the settlers houses, was the German shepherd, sitting and barking joyfully. How he got up there, no one knew. How to get him down, no one knew. How to find Deacon, no one knew. No one knew anything anymore.
But hey, at least Danse got to use his new jet pack upgrade for his power armor! Not that it went particularly well, but hey, still counts. Upgrade tested, Dogmeat down, all brahmin out of the house. Now they only needed to find the spy and make him clean up the mess they left behind…

Hancock: The second Sole and Hancock noticed the sudden crowd in the house, the ghoul broke down into a hysterical laughter, rolling around on the floor clutching his stomach. If he could cry, he would’ve been sobbing in the beat of the waves of laughter escaping his mouth. His laughter was so loud and infectious that it attracted several of the settles and almost all companions, half of them and Sole joining Hancock in his amusement, the rest shaking their head and leaving.
Eventually they all stopped and dried their eyes and together they got the brahmin out, minimal amount of furniture damaged. They never found out who was to blame, but it didn’t matter, it had been a long time since they’d laughed so much.
That didn’t mean they found it as funny when it happened the fifth time, though.

MacCready: MacCready had the day of his life. After staring openmouthed at them for a few minutes, he stole Prestons cowboy hat, opened the door and startled the herd so they’d run out the door, leaping onto the front one as it passed. More people joined - even Preston after he had stolen his hat back with a less than pleased expression - and even Sole had to join when they noticed how much fun they were having and how few injuries they were getting. Herding the brahmi back into their pen was more troublesome and not as fun, but in the end it was worth it.

Nick: Nick could do little more than sigh and shake his head. If anyone pointed out the light smile on his face, he’d quickly deny it with a mocking scoff and a quick shake of it head. Nothing funny about a herd of brahmin stuffed into a tiny house, especially not the one brahmin who was laying in the bed like it belonged there. Nothing. At. All.

Piper: “I’m not getting down before they’re gone!”

“Piper, get down from the tree!”

“Make me!”

It took half an hour, all brahmin out of sight and the promise of an exclusive interview from a Railroad member himself to get the journalist down, much to Deacon’s annoyance once he discovered that his joking offer had been taken serious, and that she was as stubborn as the brahmin’s themselves.

Preston: Preston had no words whatsoever. He stood for three minutes straight, staring at the chaos within the house he usually claimed as his own along with a few other settles. Shaking his head, the minuteman walked away, mumbling ‘no no no, nope, no, absolutely not, no’

He had done many strange things in the wasteland. But this, this was too much.

X6-88: X6 was already heating up his laser rifle when Sole reached him, tugging away his weapon before he could fry them all. To say that the synth was pissed was an understatement, and the reason for his anger was obvious when one of the brahmin’s stuck it’s head out of a window, a laser rifle suspiciously similar to one that one would find at the institute in its mouth, slowly being gnawed on.

The whole settlement was dead silent, allowing the synth’s words to echo lightly and cause shivers to run down the backs of them all, Deacon as well even though he’d later deny it.

“These creatures better be out before I get back, or else I’m going to prove how I don’t need the institute to make all your lives hell”

They never really found out who did it, but everyone without exception helped rush the animals out of the house, the damaged items quickly but thoroughly cleaned and repaired. Just in time as well, as the last settler scrambled out of the window as X6 stormed inside - mood as black as his coat - and slammed the newly fixed door.

No one dared approach him for weeks afterwards, much to his approval. But sadly Sole was amongst those fearful of him, and he had to figure out how to get them to trust him again before this strange heavy feeling in his chest damaged something.

Maxson: Maxson had a tendency to reject the idea of heading down to the wasteland from the safety of his flying home more often than not, but this incident definitely sealed the deal. Maxson was not to be lured down to that awful place full of raiders, mutated beasts and a freaking house full of brahmin any longer, no matter the different promises and offers Sole came up with. Apparently someone (Deacon and MacCready, probably, judging by the smug look on their faces in the weeks afterwards) had thought it would be funny to see the Elder’s reaction to the brahmin, and although it was funny and Sole had to stifle a laugh, they also sighed deeply with the realization that they’d have to make more journeys to the aircraft as the chances of getting the bearded man down to their settlement were currently below zero and would probably remain there for at least a few months.
How Deacon got a brahmin up into the Prydwen a month afterwards, no one knows.

All the Things Left Unsaid

Originally posted by sebastianstahp

**NOT MY GIF**

Bucky Barnes X Reader

A/N: This was better in my head idk what happened but here. I also don’t know if I’ll make this multi-part…we’ll see how this one is received… Also I have like 50 sex headcanons requests…thanks a lot fam 

Words: approx. 2K

Prompt: All the things he wanted to say…all the things he never said. 

Warnings: feelz, angst, just the slightest bit of fluff, death, sad Borky

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky vaguely remembers everything being red.

He sees the cherry red of her painted lips. He sees the promiscuous red of the dress that clings to the frame of the beautiful woman in his arms as he danced with her slowly, a promising smile on his face mirroring her own.

He sees the red fullness of her cheeks as he kissed them softly, holding her close as they swayed to the music of her favorite song. He can hear her singing softly in his ear, a wide grin on her face, her posture relaxed despite her disguise having been for a mission.

He hears the soft, calming red of the singer’s voice. He hears the bloodthirsty red of her controlled voice as she whispered that she had spotted their target. He hears the alarming red in her panicked shout as she warns him to get out of the building.

He feels the sweet, sticky red of her blood as he cradles her frame in his arms, begging for her to keep her eyes open.

He feels the red fade to grey as he sees her eyes darken, a small smile on her face.

He feels the tang of the crimson red now flowing freely from his side from the shrapnel lodged in his upper abdomen.

He hears the angry red of his own cry.

And then, everything is black.

It’s one of the few times that they’d been able to spend some time together, despite the dance having been for an undercover mission. It was the one time they’d both been able to be happy, in the midst of danger. In each other’s arms.

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@two-stomach I was going to write you fluff but then I thought of an au where Danny is on a colony on the moon and it just kinda went from there,,,,,, my bad?


“Commander, requesting permission to chase after the meteor to look for a fucking cool rock.”

Commander Para signed into her mic, before shifting her stance against the bulky space suit designed for doing EVAs on the rocky surface. “Request denied, Fenton. Orders from Houston to stop chasing the goddamn rocks.”

“They’re just mad that they can’t stop me.” Para rolled her eyes as Fenton transformed, his already lightweight spacesuit turning invisible as he flew off. The cloud of meteors could tear through his suit and his oxygen tank if he wasn’t careful.

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Hello Detective Chapter 49

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5   Part 6   Part 7   Part 8   Part 9   Part 10   Part 11   Part 12   Part 13   Part 14   Part 15   Part 16   Part 17   Part 18   Part 19   Part 20   Part 21   Part 22   Part 23   Part 24   Part 25   Part 26  Part 27  Part 28  Part 29 Part 30  Part 31  Part 32  Part 33   Part 34   Part 35   Part 36   Part 37   Part 38   Part 39   Part 40      Part 41   Part 42   Part 43   Part 44   Part 45   Part 46   Part 47   Part 48   Part 49  Part 50  Part 51  Part 52  Part 53  Part 54  Part 55   Part 56  Part 57 Part 58 Part 59 Part 60

You had no clue how you had made it back to your apartment that day. You sat on your couch, knees hugging your chest, rocking there. You heard a knock at the door, and you stood to answer it. All your movements were forced, and everything was in slow motion.

You pulled open the door to see Mycroft standing there. He frowned upon seeing the state you were in. Hair disheveled, eyes red and raw, your knees were scraped up, robe burns around your wrists and ankles, and there was a drizzle of dried blood on your neck from where the needle was forced in.

You wrapped your arms around him, still shaking as you hugged him. He held you, a broken girl who was all cried out. You let go of him and moved back to your place on the couch. He took off his suit jacket and hung it on your coat rack. This was the most ‘casual’ you had ever seen him, and he looked almost vulnerable.

“You look like you need a drink.” Mycroft said.

“I can’t, I’m pregnant.” You said, it was as if he had forgotten.

He moved to sit next to you.

“Y/N, I know this is going to be hard for you, but I promise I will help you and your baby in away way I can.” Mycroft said.

“I can’t stay here, everything reminds me of him. And I can’t go to Baker Street because–” You began to breathe heavily again.

“Come with me,” Mycroft said and you looked up to him to see if he was serious, “I’ll have someone fetch some of your things tomorrow.”

You looked around the room before nodding. You stood slowly and Mycroft wrapped a coat around you and lead you into his car that was waiting outside.

The whole car ride was silent, as you looked out the window with a dead stare. You rested your head on Mycroft’s shoulder, your actions surprising him.

You didn’t know how long you had been driving, but you felt the car pull to a stop. You were ushered out of the car and into Mycroft’s house. It was large, and very sophisticated. Most of it looked like it was never even touched. Mycroft showed you to a spare bedroom.

“You can stay here. I’ll have to go to work early in the morning so you’ll most likely be asleep. Make yourself at home. Anything you need just ask.” He said, trying to be supportive. This was his brother, and he didn’t seem nearly as upset as you were.

“I’m afraid the one thing I need, is the one thing even you can’t give me.” you said quietly, before he left.

You crawled into the unfamiliar bed, in the unfamiliar house, and began your new unfamiliar life.

The next morning you woke up early– does it count as waking up if you never really slept? You wondered the house absentmindedly, replaying the events of yesterday in your head. You thought about your last words to him, and his last words.

His last words were to John… he called John before he– you know…

The thought of not knowing what he said was eating you alive, you had to know. Maybe he left some sort of message or riddle. This was Sherlock, this couldn’t be it, there had to be something. John was in no state to talk to you, and you didn’t trust him to remember every work.

It had to be a message, a skip code or cipher. You knew there was only one person you could ask who would have access to that kind of information, and he had just walked through the door. You hadn’t realized you had spent the whole day wandering around the house and thinking.

“Oh, hello Y/N, do you need anything?” Mycroft asked when you had rushed to him unknowingly now standing in front of him.

“I need a favor.” You said.

“What is it?” He asked, wanting to do anything to help you through this.

“I want to hear it. The call. He called John before it happened and I want to hear it, is there a way you can let me hear it?” You spoke quickly and nervously.

“Phone calls aren’t recorded.” Mycroft said, but you knew he was lying.

“By the government? I find that hard to believe. Mycroft I need to know what he said… for closure or whatever. Can you make it happen?” You asked again, more forcefully. You were now obsessed with the possibility that there could have been a message left for you, a sign that he was somehow still out there, and you wouldn’t stop until you found it.

“Yes,” Mycroft sighed, “I can get it to you tomorrow morning.”

When Mycroft came back the next day with that flashdrive, you were waiting impatiently for him. You sat on the couch and plugged the drive into the laptop in front of you. You pressed play and sat back on the couch, tucking your knees up to your chest.

“Hello?…John… Hey, Sherlock, you okay?… Turn around and walk back the way you came… No, I’m coming in… Just do as I ask! Please… Where?… Stop there… Sherlock?… Okay, look up, I’m on the rooftop…Oh, God… I can’t come down, so we’ll just have to do it like this…What’s going on?…An apology. It’s all true… What?… Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty… Why are you saying this?… I’m a fake… Sherlock… The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade. I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson. And Y/N. In fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes… Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met, you knew all about my sister. Right?… Nobody could be that clever… You could… I researched you. Before we met, I discovered everything that I could to impress you. It’s a trick. Just a magic trick… No, all right, stop it now… No, stay exactly where you are. Don’t move… All right… Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please will you do this for me?… Do what?… This phone call. It’s my note. It’s what people do, don’t they? Leave a note?… Leave a note when?… Goodbye John, tell Y/N I love her.”

The recording ended with a crack, when the phone shattered against the roof when Sherlock had thrown it back. Mycroft turned to you, but you began gathering pieces of paper and moved the laptop to the dining room table and sat down.

You listened to it again, and you began dictating it onto the paper.

“What are you doing?” Mycroft asked.

“There has to be some sort of code or message.” You told him, once the whole thing was written out on your paper.

“Why?” Mycroft asked, crossing his arms.

“Because I refuse to believe that he left without so much as a word, a clue. What if the game isn’t over Mycroft?” You yelled. He raised his hands in defeat, and left you alone.

You were up all night trying to decipher the call. You finally fell asleep around 4am with the laptop open in front of you and piles of crumpled white paper around you.

Mycroft woke you when he entered in the morning on his way to work, he was disappointed with your new obsession. He grabbed the last paper you had been working on before you fell asleep. The message was written out again, but in large print, 221 was circled at the top.

“221.” He muttered, reading it.

“Yes, 221,” you ripped the paper from his hand, standing, “There are exactly 221 words in this conversation. He must have left the next clue there! At 221B!”

You threw on a jacket, still looking a mess, and rushing out the door to 221B, much to Mycroft’s protests.

Once you were there, you picked the lock and rushed up to Sherlock’s room. You opened every drawer, craving a clue. You hadn’t realized how loud you were being when you heard footsteps coming towards the room.

“Sherlock?” John’s broken voice asked. You turned to face him, you saw the disappointment on his face when it was just you.

“Y/N? Where the hell have you been? Mrs. Hudson and I tried to go to your flat to see you, but your landlady said some government officials had taken you away.” John said, rushing to you and pulling you into a hug.

“She does love to be dramatic. I’ve been staying with Mycroft.” You told him.

“He said he was a fake.” John told you, not knowing you knew exactly what Sherlock had said.

“Surely you don’t believe that John. You of all people must know he wasn’t. And I can prove it! Rich Brook, it means Reichenbach in German. The case that made Sherlock’s name, and the man who destroyed him. And there were things that Moriarty knew about me that even Sherlock didn’t, so there’s no way he could have hired him to play the villain. He knew about my uncle and he knew I was pregnant.” You told John frantically, your lack of sleep showing.

You began searching through his room again, before John grabbed your arm, stopping you.

“What are you doing?” He asked, you pushed the note into his hand, and began searching again.

“How did you get this? How could you know?” He asked, knowing exactly what it was.

“I’m living with a government official, you think I don’t have access to this kind of information?” You said harshly, he was distracting you from your search.

“Why is 221 circled at the top, what does that mean.” John asked, holding it up to you.

“This phone call,” You pointed up to the paper in his hand, “has exactly 221 words, a clue, he must have left something here, in 221B. What if he isn’t dead, John!”

You opened his dresser where the necklace he got you for Christmas sat. You looked at it quizzically. This was in your flat in your jewelry box last time you saw it, how could it be here? You opened the Harry Winston box slowly, only to find a folded white note over the necklace. Your breath hitched. You grabbed it and sat on the floor with your back against his bed. You opened the note slowly and read.

Y/N,

If you’ve found this, it means I’m gone, and you were just as brilliant as I always knew you could be. I knew Moriarty’s plan once we left the journalist’s house. To complete his story, I had to die. To protect you, I had to die. And for this, I am sorry. I am sorry for leaving you, for the pain I know you’re in right now, and for not being the man you deserve. I am sorry for so many things, but I am not sorry for loving you. I know I’ve said that love is a disadvantage, but you were the exception. I don’t want you to give up now that I’m gone. You have a chance now, to have the normal life I know you’ve always wanted. You were meant for bigger and better things than loving a sociopath like me, and I pity anyone who stands in your way. You have a chance. I was foolish to think that things could end well for me, that I deserved someone like you. I did the most dangerous thing I could when I said I love you, and it was worth it. People don’t forget girls like you. They try, but they won’t ever forget what your love felt like.

What is the meaning of it, Y/N? What is the object of this circle of misery, violence and fear? It must have a purpose, or our universe has no meaning. And that is unthinkable. But what purpose? That is humanity’s great problem to which reason so far has no answer.

This is not a goodbye, my darling, it is a thank you. Thank you for coming into my life and giving me joy, thank you for loving me and receiving my love in return. Thank you for the memories I will cherish forever. We could have been happy. I know that, and it is perhaps the hardest thing to know.

Sherlock

You clutched the letter against your chest a broke down, you hadn’t cried in two days, but everything just hit you. He was really gone and there was nothing you could do about it.

Paradise

Summary: Written for @torn-and-frayed Songs of Supernatural Season 1 Challenge. The reader gets into a car crash after a fight with Dean. Song is Paradise by Sharif

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Words: 1964

Warnings: angst, language, character death

A/N: Every semicolon I used is a shot in the dark. Also this is my first fic ever so feedback is welcome/ wanted!

A giant that you to @blacktithe7 for the amazing help!!

Flashback is in italics (also labeled)

Masterlist

Originally posted by superuunatural


You start to wake up not really remembering where you were. There’s a pain in your abdomen and you have no idea where that came from. You smell gasoline and it starts to feel really hot. Is that smoke? Then you hear the screams of a few people calling for help. ‘Am I on a hunt?’  You hear a familiar song playing.

Creepin’ into my head

Your body’s breathin’ me in again.

No more mistaken me as a friend.

My body’s achin

Hold me again and again and again

You slowly start to blink your eyes open, fighting the urge to leave them closed as you take in your surroundings. You’re hanging upside-down in your cherry red, 1972, Chevy Nova. You struggle to find a position that is less painful since the seatbelt is cutting deep into your shoulder. You can’t move your body as your seatbelt is locked and the buckle is jammed. You start to see small flames coming from your car and you become frantic, trying everything you can to escape. You try honking your horn, but it wont work. Terrified you will die in this car, you start crying for help, hoping someone can hear you over the chaos and loud traffic. You try everything you can to break free but the pain in your abdomen overtakes you as you drift off again listening to that memorable song.

 Take me away to paradise,

Feed me again with your love.

Take me back to where I was,

Fill me again with your love. 

Keep reading

Patton’s Speech to the Third Army, June 5th, 1944

Gentlemen, be seated,

Men, all this stuff you hear about America not wanting to fight, wanting to stay out of the war, is a lot of bullshit. Americans love to fight. All real Americans love the sting and clash of battle. When you were kids, you all admired the champion marble shooter, the fastest runner, the big-league ball players and the toughest boxers. Americans love a winner and will not tolerate a loser. Americans play to win all the time. That’s why Americans have never lost and will never lose a war. The very thought of losing is hateful to Americans. Battle is the most significant competition in which a man can indulge. It brings out all that is best and it removes all that is base.

You are not all going to die. Only two percent of you right here today would be killed in a major battle. Every man is scared in his first action. If he says he’s not, he’s a goddamn liar. But the real hero is the man who fights even though he’s scared. Some men will get over their fright in a minute under fire, some take an hour, and for some it takes days. But the real man never lets his fear of death overpower his honor, his sense of duty to his country, and his innate manhood.

All through your army career you men have bitched about what you call ‘this chicken-shit drilling.’ That is all for a purpose—to ensure instant obedience to orders and to create constant alertness. This must be bred into every soldier. I don’t give a fuck for a man who is not always on his toes. But the drilling has made veterans of all you men. You are ready! A man has to be alert all the time if he expects to keep on breathing. If not, some German son-of-a-bitch will sneak up behind him and beat him to death with a sock full of shit. There are four hundred neatly marked graves in Sicily, all because one man went to sleep on the job—but they are German graves, because we caught the bastard asleep before his officer did.

An army is a team. It lives, eats, sleeps, and fights as a team. This individual hero stuff is bullshit. The bilious bastards who write that stuff for the Saturday Evening Post don’t know any more about real battle than they do about fucking. And we have the best team—we have the finest food and equipment, the best spirit and the best men in the world. Why, by God, I actually pity these poor bastards we’re going up against.

All the real heroes are not storybook combat fighters. Every single man in the army plays a vital role. So don’t ever let up. Don’t ever think that your job is unimportant. What if every truck driver decided that he didn’t like the whine of the shells and turned yellow and jumped headlong into a ditch? That cowardly bastard could say to himself, 'Hell, they won’t miss me, just one man in thousands.’ What if every man said that? Where in the hell would we be then? No, thank God, Americans don’t say that. Every man does his job. Every man is important. The ordnance men are needed to supply the guns, the quartermaster is needed to bring up the food and clothes for us because where we are going there isn’t a hell of a lot to steal. Every last damn man in the mess hall, even the one who boils the water to keep us from getting the GI shits, has a job to do.

Each man must think not only of himself, but think of his buddy fighting alongside him. We don’t want yellow cowards in the army. They should be killed off like flies. If not, they will go back home after the war, goddamn cowards, and breed more cowards. The brave men will breed more brave men. Kill off the goddamn cowards and we’ll have a nation of brave men.

One of the bravest men I saw in the African campaign was on a telegraph pole in the midst of furious fire while we were moving toward Tunis. I stopped and asked him what the hell he was doing up there. He answered, 'Fixing the wire, sir.’ 'Isn’t it a little unhealthy up there right now?’ I asked. 'Yes sir, but this goddamn wire has got to be fixed.’ I asked, 'Don’t those planes strafing the road bother you?’ And he answered, 'No sir, but you sure as hell do.’ Now, there was a real soldier. A real man. A man who devoted all he had to his duty, no matter how great the odds, no matter how seemingly insignificant his duty appeared at the time.

And you should have seen the trucks on the road to Gabès. Those drivers were magnificent. All day and all night they crawled along those son-of-a-bitch roads, never stopping, never deviating from their course with shells bursting all around them. Many of the men drove over 40 consecutive hours. We got through on good old American guts. These were not combat men. But they were soldiers with a job to do. They were part of a team. Without them the fight would have been lost.

Sure, we all want to go home. We want to get this war over with. But you can’t win a war lying down. The quickest way to get it over with is to get the bastards who started it. We want to get the hell over there and clean the goddamn thing up, and then get at those purple-pissing Japs. The quicker they are whipped, the quicker we go home. The shortest way home is through Berlin and Tokyo. So keep moving. And when we get to Berlin, I am personally going to shoot that paper-hanging son-of-a-bitch Hitler.

When a man is lying in a shell hole, if he just stays there all day, a Boche will get him eventually. The hell with that. My men don’t dig foxholes. Foxholes only slow up an offensive. Keep moving. We’ll win this war, but we’ll win it only by fighting and showing the Germans that we’ve got more guts than they have or ever will have. We’re not just going to shoot the bastards, we’re going to rip out their living goddamned guts and use them to grease the treads of our tanks. We’re going to murder those lousy Hun cocksuckers by the bushel-fucking-basket.

Some of you men are wondering whether or not you’ll chicken out under fire. Don’t worry about it. I can assure you that you’ll all do your duty. War is a bloody business, a killing business. The Nazis are the enemy. Wade into them, spill their blood or they will spill yours. Shoot them in the guts. Rip open their belly. When shells are hitting all around you and you wipe the dirt from your face and you realize that it’s not dirt, it’s the blood and gut of what was once your best friend, you’ll know what to do.

I don’t want any messages saying 'I’m holding my position.’ We’re not holding a goddamned thing. We’re advancing constantly and we’re not interested in holding anything except the enemy’s balls. We’re going to hold him by his balls and we’re going to kick him in the ass; twist his balls and kick the living shit out of him all the time. Our plan of operation is to advance and keep on advancing. We’re going to go through the enemy like shit through a tinhorn.

There will be some complaints that we’re pushing our people too hard. I don’t give a damn about such complaints. I believe that an ounce of sweat will save a gallon of blood. The harder we push, the more Germans we kill. The more Germans we kill, the fewer of our men will be killed. Pushing harder means fewer casualties. I want you all to remember that. My men don’t surrender. I don’t want to hear of any soldier under my command being captured unless he is hit. Even if you are hit, you can still fight. That’s not just bullshit either. I want men like the lieutenant in Libya who, with a Luger against his chest, swept aside the gun with his hand, jerked his helmet off with the other and busted the hell out of the Boche with the helmet. Then he picked up the gun and he killed another German. All this time the man had a bullet through his lung. That’s a man for you!

Don’t forget, you don’t know I’m here at all. No word of that fact is to be mentioned in any letters. The world is not supposed to know what the hell they did with me. I’m not supposed to be commanding this army. I’m not even supposed to be in England. Let the first bastards to find out be the goddamned Germans. Some day, I want them to rise up on their piss-soaked hind legs and howl 'Ach! It’s the goddamned Third Army and that son-of-a-bitch Patton again!’

Then there’s one thing you men will be able to say when this war is over and you get back home. Thirty years from now when you’re sitting by your fireside with your grandson on your knee and he asks, 'What did you do in the great World War Two?’ You won’t have to cough and say, 'Well, your granddaddy shoveled shit in Louisiana.’ No sir, you can look him straight in the eye and say 'Son, your granddaddy rode with the great Third Army and a son-of-a-goddamned-bitch named George Patton!’

All right, you sons of bitches. You know how I feel. I’ll be proud to lead you wonderful guys in battle anytime, anywhere. That’s all.

Happy Birthday, Sparky

Avengers x Stark! Teenager! Reader

a/n: one of my little ideas. I promise that soon i will be getting wifi and that after i do i will reopen requests. Please be patient.

Genre: Humor, Family, Friendship

Rated: Everyone

Warnings: Swearing, crude humor, and others you may see.

Author: Chris-Evans-Imagines

Being the daughter of Tony Stark really had its perks. No chores could do what I wanted as long as I stayed out of trouble (which is almost impossible if you’re a Stark.) and I had a lot of fun. Being with the Avengers was really something else. I got to kick ass, wreak havoc with some of them, then teach them that genius overlooks strength. Everyone always said that I take after my father. I’m a genius like him. I have his eyes and his personality. Under his though, mom’s personality underlines it. My mother is Pepper Potts but she walked out on dad and me. I don’t care really. I like it being just us two. I have her very curvy body and her patience. Though, dad says I get that from him. I have Dads hair, his tallness and his smile. Another plus, I got his eye roll and the smolder to get what I want. I’m also an Avenger, but daddy usually tries to get me to stay at the tower. I have my own suit like dad but mines black and grey. A while back, I was kidnapped by some weirdo that hated Dad and ripped my heart from my chest. Dad was able to save me by installing an arc reactor into my chest. Steve, aka Captain America, was with me every day of recovery. Did I mention that he’s my godfather? Yeah, pretty weird considering the fact that those two constantly argue. My arc reactor was Dads first reactor he had. He made sure to fix it and kept it in a case for remembrance but after the guy did what he did; dad was like ‘fuck it, Pietro. Fetch.’. Not only did my heart get ripped out, but I also have the super soldier serum inside me. Some scientist finally found the formula and I became their guinea pig. Steve is still helping me get used to my strength. My life is pretty rad, when I’m not busy saving the world. I have a good group of friends, I got my own fan club, and I do a lot of travelling. Today, I was at the tower with my friend Lou. She was a curvy girl, with long pink hair and emo. That was something everyone always got shocked with. Just because I’m the daughter of a billionaire (and playboy, philanthropist, genius. Cue Steve’s ridiculous eye roll.) Doesn’t mean I can’t be friendly with lower class people. I love meeting everyone. Anyways, she has got a rocking taste in music and she’s shorter than me. We were sitting in a circle with the Avengers, me sitting across from my dad and Lou on my left, Thor on my right. Clint was in between Natasha and Thor and Pietro sat beside Natasha. Wanda was sitting in between Steve and her brother. Lou stated, setting a jar with purple slips of paper inside. 

“Ok. Today is your 15th birthday-" 

”-no duh. I feel 51 but that could be-“ 

”-Shut up Stark, let me finish.” 

I looked at the girl and replied sarcastic.  

“Dude, you didn’t even start." 

"Yes I did!" 

"Really? Stating the obvious is starting a game of basically embarrassing me in front of my family? Oh yeah, great starter. You could have gone with 'Good Morning America’ or something. " 

She gave me an incredulous look, the Avengers chuckling at me. Oh yeah, definitely a stark. Boo yah. 

"It’s not even morning!" 

I sang, smirking. 

"It’s 5 o'clock somewhere!" 

"You’re such an ass." 

"Perk of being a Stark, sweetheart!” 

She glared at me and I smirked, crossing my arms. Steve rolled his eyes but smiled. Dad….he was covering his laughter by coughing.  

"Anyways, you got in your lap the Dare Jar. One Avenger is on each slip of paper, though you might get all. You must do what each slip of paper says-" 

”-basically an intervention from hell.“ 

”-would you stop? God. Anyways, answer truthfully! You must read aloud. Go ahead.“ 

I rolled my eyes and picked out a slip. 

"This totally feels like a damn intervention a five year old made. Ok. What is one thing you really like or love about Hawkass…did you seriously write out Hawkass?" 

She just grinned and I shook my head. I looked at Clint and said. 

"I love how Clint is so funny and really knows how to brighten up my day. Plus he taught me how to climb into the vents." 

He smiled wide and I picked another slip. 

"What is one name you secretly call Pietro. Jesus Christ, Lou. If you wanted to know my secrets, you should have asked. I call Pietro in my head Energizer Bunny from hell." 

Pietro grinned while everyone laughed out loud. I grinned and Lou rolled her blue eyes.  

"What is your favorite…oh my god, seriously? Body part?" 

"I had to do it." 

"I’m going to throw you out the window. Ugh. What’s your favorite body part from Natasha? Uh…I like her curves. Curvy women all the way." 

She nodded and I sighed. 

"What do you really hate about Tony…well-?" 

I ripped up the paper and said to Lou. 

"I can’t answer that question.” 

"Why not?" 

"Because there’s no possible answer to it." 

Dad smiled at me and I picked up another slip.  

"If Steve was your age would you date him? Well, he did come from the forties and people were such sweethearts then so I guess." 

I blushed a bit but not much. Lou went 'aw!’ And I glared at her. 

"Do you think Bruce is an over reactor? To be honest…I don’t think he reacts enough." 

We all smiled and Bruce cracked a small smile. 

"If Thor wasn’t the god of thunder, what do you think he’d be the god of? FREAKIN POPTARTS. He eats like seven boxes a day!" 

Thor laughed and I patted his back. 

"Who gives the best hugs? Steve. No doubt. I love it when he lifts me up and spins me but at the same time I want to fight him because he can reach the top shelf." 

Everyone grinned. Dad rolled his eyes while crossing his arms and mumbling.  

"What one thing about Wanda do you laugh about sometimes? I guess how she can read minds because I bet there are some things she wants to unread…" 

I gave her an apologetic smile and she nodded. 

"It’s so true." 

"What is your favorite thing about Bucky? His metal arm. Kind of like his own mirror. Oh, got to check to make sure I didn’t mess up my gorgeous face." 

I said the last part with a German accent and Bucky looked, saying. 

"Nein. It’s still savvy. " 

I grinned. 

"What is your favorite thing about Pietro? Hmmm. His accent. I literally try my hardest to keep you to keep talking because your accent is sooo sexy. Like seriously, what’s it with British accents? Brits are so snobby and are jerks, no offense JARVIS. " 

The AI replied. 

"None taken, Ms. Stark." 

I gave a thumb up and Pietro said, winking.  

"I’ll keep that in mind, Mini Me." 

I did the smolder and said. 

"Ooo is that a sexual innuendo I hear, Mr. Maximoff?" 

"Maybe." 

I rolled my eyes and said, gesturing to myself. 

"You can’t afford this." 

Dad laughed and Pietro just rolled his azure eyes. 

"If you could take one of the Avengers power for a day, which would you take? Thor. I would taze the hell out of so many people. Just for fun." 

Thor replied, patting my back. 

"Lady Stark, that is why only I have the power of lightning and am worthy of Mjonir." 

I said, lifting his hammer. 

"You forget, Thor." 

I waved the hammer in his face. I put his hammer down and reached into the jar. Bucky said, making me throw my shoe at him. 

"To think a Stark was worthy." 

"Watch it, Bucksicle!" 

Steve bit his lip and laughed silently. Bucky caught my shoe and rolled his eyes. I grabbed a slip of paper.  

"From greatest to least, who has the best butt? Well…..Steve, Pietro, Clint, Natasha, Thor, Wanda, Bucky, Bruce, Daddy." 

Steve blushed and Clint went. 

"Aw yeah! Third place!" 

Pietro asked. 

"Oh really? I have second to first?" 

I blushed hard behind the jar and flipped him off. Bruce gasped. 

"Oh my god, she’s blushing." 

"Shut up, Banner!" 

I squeaked. Lou laughed and I glared at her. 

"Fuck, Marry, Kill: Thor, Tony, Steve. Oh my god. Marry daddy because I would totally if he wasn’t my daddy. Ughhhhh. Fuck Steve, sorry Spangles but I can’t kill ya. Try to but epically fail kill Thor. Oh god, I couldn’t hurt ya either. You give awesome hugs too." 

I hugged Thor and he tightly hugged back. 

"As long as you are a challenge, Lady Stark." 

I blinked and pursed my lips. 

"Am I not a challenge now? I mean, I am irresistibly sexy, a genius, and undeniably awesome." 

Thor laughed.  

"Seduction is not my weakness, Lady Stark." 

"Well, damn." 

I snapped my fingers and everyone chuckled. I picked another slip. 

"What scene do you think could describe Clint’s life?" 

I got up, stood under a vent and said, clapping my hands together. 

"Considering the venting nature of the predator, I hereby state that this describes Clint’s life." 

I climbed into the vent, waited, and then fell onto my back while screaming 

"Budapest!" 

Dad cracked up laughing with everyone else and Natasha covered her face, her shoulders shaking with laughter. Clint just said with a sorry look on his face. 

"Wow….what a great movie I would make." 

I grinned and got up, dusting myself off. Sitting back in my spot, I picked up another slip. 

"Imagine you are a HYDRA agent. Who kills you? Jesus Lou. What goes on through that head of yours?" 

"Don’t you mean brain?" 

"You have a brain? Wow….and to think all those times I heard a hollow sound come from you." 

"Oh fuck you." 

"No thanks, but I appreciate the offer. Anyways, I think being killed by Steve would be the way to go." 

I looked at him and he shook his head. 

"Which label of four would you think your father obtained first? Philanthropist, Playboy, Billionaire, Iron Man….iron man? Don’t you mean genius? No. Don’t answer that. Philanthropist." 

I gave Dad an 'air high five’.  

"If one of the Avengers wanted to kidnap you, who would be your kidnapper?" 

I tapped my chin and shrugged. 

"I think Clint would be my kidnapper. I can imagine him going 'cu-CAW!!!’ then electrocuting me with his arrow." 

Everyone chuckled while Steve replied, shaking his head. 

"I don’t think that would be an ideal vacation, Ms. Stark." 

I looked at him. 

"Who the fu-" 

Steve immediately cut me off. 

”-Language, Sparky.“ 

I replied, crossing my arms. 

"What you going to do about it, Spangles? Make me pay a dollar? " 

Steve pursed his lips and replied, giving me a challenging look. 

"I have my ways. Remember that." 

"Remember what, Capsicle? That you have absolutely no authority over me? Already noted, Uncle Sam." 

Steve looked over at me, an eyebrow quirked up and I said, grinning.  

"You look like you want to say something." 

"You know, I really do-" 

”-but you won’t because you know I got like 700 comebacks memorized.“ 

Steve crossed his arms and gave me an annoyed look.  

Aw shit…he’s going to do something. He never crosses his arms like that.’ 

I thought. I grinned again and stated under my breath. 

"Pansy." 

Steve looked taken back and asked. 

"What’d you call me? I am not a pansy." 

"Ok, wuss sound better?" 

He narrowed his eyes and I replied.  

"Do something; I dare you Spangles because I promise you I will knock you back to the forties." 

Lou whispered.  

"Dude, you are so asking for it." 

I replied. 

"Don’t worry, I and he do this all the time. Because we usually rough house afterwards." 

Steve got up and I immediately said. 

"Oh shit." 

And ran to the vents. Steve ran after me, yelling. 

"You better get your butt back down here, Stark or so help me Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I will drag you out of there myself!" 

“Kiss my Stark, white ass!”

I flipped him off before climbing away. I took a left and looked down at the next vent for the next floor down. Steve’s floor (That he really never uses). I grinned and slid down, saying.  

"JARVIS don’t let Steve know where I’m at!" 

I climbed into the vent that was in his room and silently popped it out of place. Dropping down, I dusted myself off. Steve’s floor was probably the most antique and sophisticated of all floors. With WW2 things around and the floor looking like it came straight from the forties, this floor screamed Steve. I kicked back on the couch and sang softly to myself. I put my hands behind my head and propped my feet up on the coffee table.  

"GOTCHA!" 

I screamed as Steve’s arms picked me up and I yelled as Steve tossed me over his shoulder kidnapper style. 

"What the hell!" 

Steve chuckled and said. 

"Never challenge a super soldier, dame." 

I yelled, pounding his back as he walked back to the group. 

"Put me down you senile idiot!" 

"Not a chance." 

Bucky was grinning and you flipped him off. He grabbed his chest, stating.  

"Oh…the pain. It hurts." 

"Shut. Up." 

"Come over here and make me!" 

-END-

I HOPE THIS OK. 

Title: Justifiable Part 2

Length: 2,547 words

Rating: M

Warnings: smut, smutty smut, cussing, racial slurs, possible triggers

Pairing: Warren Worthington III x Reader

Original Request: Can we have a second part of Justifiable, please? *-* I need to know Kurt is okay ;-;

A/N: There is smut, not the super smut I’m used to, this is pretty vanilla but it’s my first time posting smut on here.

You arrived home before the others, not surprisingly since they took the car. When you and Warren landed, despite being covered in sticky soda, you bolted through the house with Warren behind you trying to find Kurt. You had no idea where he had gone. Jean had mentally told you he wasn’t at the mall anymore so he had to be back at the mansion. You raced through the house to all his usual spots until you went into his room. You found him.

He was laying on his bed, holding his tail that definitely looked broken, in his hands and was trying to hold back his sobs. You had broken your arm once before so you had an inkling of how painful that was, but since you didn’t have a tail you couldn’t really know. He was curled up in a sort of ball trying to hide his face in his pillow and blanket. You ran to him and touched his hair. He flinched at your touch.

“Kurt, it’s Y/N, it’s okay, sweetheart.” You said gently. Warren came running in trying not to hit anything with his wings. He stood at the doorway and watched you. “Kurt, it’s gonna be okay. They got what they had coming to them. What they did was wrong. Warren and Peter took care of them.” Kurt peeked out of his pillow.

“You did?” he looked at you then to Warren. You then noticed Warren had a busted lip and a bruised jaw.  

“Ja, wir schlugen zurück und wurden sie verhaftet. Sie werden wissen, besser als Sie sich jemals wieder zu belästigen.” Warren responded and Kurt smiled through his pain. You had often forgotten your boyfriend spoke perfect German. A gift he’d picked up in Berlin from his time in the fights.

“Danke mein Freund.” He said and put his head back in his pillow. Kurt continued to hold back sobs. You stroked his hair trying to calm him down. “The things they said. It felt just like the circus all over again! It was like Berlin all over again.” You and Warren both knew Kurt had a shit past and was sensitive to a lot of it. Today had been one big fat trigger for him.

“This is all my fault.” You said suddenly. Kurt stopped moving. Warren looked at you in shock and anger.

“Babe, how is this your fault?” Warren asked incredulously.

“We should have left the minute those assholes started saying things to us.” You said. “We should have just left. I kept telling us to ignore them and look what happened. I tried to be nice and look what happened. Kurt’s tail is broken, Jubilee was called racial slurs, you got a busted lip, and Jean had soda thrown at her.”

“Babe, you did everything you could to keep us all calm. They got what was coming to them.” Warren looked at you. You looked back at Kurt.

“Kurt, I’m sorry. If you sit up and let me I can fix your tail.” Kurt sniffed for a moment before sitting up. You took his tail in your hands gently watching him wince in pain. You closed your eyes and focused you power feeling the five broken bones in his tail. You weren’t even aware there were bones in his tail! It was more like a mess of bruised muscle, broken blood vessels, and smashed ligament more than bone. The guy who had done this had one hell of a heavy foot, course he had been wearing combat boots which didn’t help. The actual bones in Kurt’s tail were thin and small but you got them healed. By the time the others came running in the room to join you had healed most of it. “It’s gonna be a little bruised for a week or so but it should be okay.” Kurt took his tail back gingerly moving it along his bed.

“Kurt!” Jean yelled running up and sitting down on his bed. Scott, Peter, Jubilee, and Storm came running in not long after. Jean hugged him and Kurt hugged her back. Everyone crowded in the room, which was difficult with Warren’s wings taking up a good chunk of space.

“I should have blown them all to pieces.” Storm proclaimed in anger. You could smell ozone in the air and gave her a look.

“What good would it have done?” Scott countered. “It would have made us the bad guys.”

“Mutants are always the bad guys no matter what we do.” Storm swore in her home language and sat down hard on the bed. Her expression softened. “Kurt, are you alright?”

“I’m better now. Y/N fixed my tail so I vill be fine.” He flicked it to confirm it. Jubilee looked like she had been crying.

“Jubilee, those guys were being assholes.” Jean said looking at her.

“I know. I can handle being called a freak. I’m used to it. I don’t care if they call me a Mutie Freak, but I’ve never had someone give me hell for my race. It’s feels worse than anything right now.” She said starting to cry again. Peter let her bury her head in his arm.

Everyone was emotionally destroyed and feeling like shit when Charles and Hank came running in. Well, Charles was being pushed in.

“I heard all your thoughts from the basement. What’s happened?” Charles scanned everyone’s minds and looked to yours for final confirmation. “Oh my god, my kids.” Tears welled up in Charles’ eyes as he scanned. “Oh I am so sorry my darlings. That never should have happened to you. Kurt, how’s your tail?”

“It’s better now. Y/N fixed it.” Kurt smiled feeling a little better that everyone was so worried about him.

“Wait, what happened?” Hank asked unsure as to what happened.

“The children were assaulted at the mall.” Charles looked back at Hank.

“Assaulted!?” You suddenly screamed. “Professor, we were humiliated! They broke Kurt’s tail, called Jubilee racial slurs, threw stuff at us, and called us every foul name in the book. They even called Storm a ni…” you could bring yourself to say it. It hung in the air. When the jerks had sat down Storm had been the first one they had started in on calling her the foulest words they knew and you didn’t have the guts to repeat it. Storm looked like lightning might strike from her hands. “Assault wasn’t even the worst of it all. The humiliation, the torment, the physical damage, the racism, it was the worst thing I’ve ever seen experienced in a place where we should be safe.”

“I know that my dear. You do not need to shout. Believe me when I say that I know your pain. I understand it. Today was a hard day and I assure you I will be speaking with the authorities about this. Those men will see jail time.” You had a feeling he was telling the truth. “Listen, everyone go to your rooms and get some rest. You’ve all had a long day.” Charles reasoned. Kurt stayed put as everyone else headed out. Jean and Scott locked hands and walked towards their rooms. Jean still needed to wash the sticky off her. You did too for that matter. Warren wrapped a wing around you and held your hand. Since you rooms were right next to each other’s you didn’t have to part at all. Neither of you said anything till you got to your doors.

“I’m gonna shower.” You said wanting to be alone. He nodded and kissed you.

“Are you sleeping with me tonight?” he asked. You only nodded. “I’ll wait for you.” You stroked his cheek before walking into your room. You heard his door shut and you headed for the girl’s shower. You took a while to scrub the sticky soda off your skin vowing never to drink it again. You let lose tears that had been threatening to fall. You got out of the shower and cleaned your face the most. You didn’t want Warren to see you like this. You dressed in one of his shirts and a pair of sleeping shorts. You didn’t bother knocking as you walked in the door. You never did. You locked it behind you. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, face in hands, wings tensed up around him, and wearing only his pajama pants.

You walked over and stood in front of him. He looked up at you admiring how cute you looked in one of his shirts. You ran your fingers over the tattoos on his face. He closed his eyes. His fingers played with the edge of his shirt and you leaned down to kiss him. He pulled you down so you straddled his lap. You looked him in the eyes and saw his lip and jaw. You closed your eyes and placed a hand over his jaw and lips. He winced for a second as you healed him.

“You didn’t have to do that. My healing factor would have healed it by morning.” He spoke quietly.

“I know. I wanted to.” You said. You reached down and pulled his shirt over your head and tossed it in the corner. “I want to do something else too.”

“You sure?” he asked looking at you. You both hadn’t had sex yet. Six months together and you hadn’t had sex yet. You had been wanting to and after the shit day you had had you both needed this. You needed something to make you feel better.

“Yes, I want you. I want something good out of this day.” You explained kissing him again. He held you close with his hands running over your bare back. His hand went for your shorts.

“May I?” He left kisses on your neck and you nodded. He stood up taking you with him and suddenly you were on your back with him above you. He pulled your shorts and underwear off and they landed by his shirt. His pants and boxers followed thereafter. You looked at him in all his glory and smiled.

“You’re beautiful my Angel.” You said running your fingers through his curly blonde hair.

“You’re the beautiful one, Babe.” He kissed your neck and nipped at your collarbone. You felt something pressing against your leg and knew what it was in moments. You felt something sliding over your slit making you shiver as he pressed a finger into your core. You squirmed under him as he pressed deeper. He enjoyed your reactions more than anything. He added a second finger and you had to bite your lip to keep from being too loud. He pressed his lips against yours and you moaned. He withdrew his fingers slowly and you felt yourself burning with need again. He laughed against your mouth as he pulled back. He disappeared from view and you activated your second mutation. You could see in the dark. You sat up and watched him fishing in his nightstand drawer for something. When he pulled out a small package and you heard a wrapped crinkle you realized what it was.

He was back on you in a second, condom securely on him and he kissed you again. He had one hand on your knee slipping between your legs. You held your breath as you felt him pushing into you. Holy God, what is this man packing? A coke bottle? You winced for a second and he waited for you to adjust. When you were ready again you gave him the go ahead. He was careful at first going slowly trying to make this easier on you. You liked the fact he was doing his best to be gentle with you since you knew he didn’t want to be. But that was for another night.

You kissed him hard letting your mouth open and he got the signal it was okay to go faster, but he got the memo. He moved faster trying to get you to the edge and get himself to the edge. It had been a while since he’d gotten any and as far as he knew this was your first go. He didn’t want to lose control quite yet but God did he want to. He wanted to go as hard as possible but he wasn’t gonna do that to you. Not yet at least.

Hands kept moving, he held himself up, and you tugged on his blonde curls, noises filling the room you hoped no one else could hear. His got louder as he approached his edge, but he stopped himself for a moment. His hand moved down and played with your little bundle of nerves while he thrusted slowly inside you. You couldn’t take this anymore. His fingers worked you and then he shoved himself into you up to the hilt hitting a spot in you that made you scream. His hand continued working your clit until you thought you would go mad. You screamed his name as you finished.

“Warren!” That ignited a bigger fire in him and he kept going as you were still on your high. He swore about a dozen times and came with your name tumbling from his lips.

“Y/N!” he yelled and came hard. He held himself above you looking down at you panting hard looking in your eyes. “I love you.” You gasped silently. He thought at first he had said the wrong thing until you smiled.

“I love you too.” You placed you hand on his tattooed cheek. He pulled himself out of you. He removed the condom throwing it in the trashcan next to his bed. He pulled you up and you both got in his bed never putting on clothes. He wrapped you in his arms and wrapped his wings around you making sure you were comfortable. You stared at each other for a moment before you spoke.

“Warren, what happened today, you beating their asses, it was completely justifiable.” You said knowing he needed to hear that. His fighting past would come back to haunt him now and then and you wanted to make sure it wouldn’t this time.

“I know that babe.” He said kissing you again. “No one hurts the one I love.” He took your hand and kissed your knuckles.

“If that ever happens again, I give you permission to handle it. No more should we have to deal with that.” You said finally sick of it. Maybe Mr. Magneto had a point. You wouldn’t start a fight, but you weren’t gonna let anyone get hurt ever again. “No more of that ever. No more.”

“Let’s get some sleep babe.” He agreed with you but you were both exhausted in more ways than one to talk anymore.

“I know.” You got comfortable in his arms and felt one of his wings wrap around you a little tighter for extra protection. “I love you my Angel.”

“I love you too my Saving Grace.” He whispered using the nickname he gave you your first month of dating. You laid there wrapped in him and felt the safest you had felt in a long time.

Yeah, there were some bumps in the road, but so long as you had your Angel, you could deal with them.

Stalking Is Such a Harsh Word

An Earth AU where Ahsoka Tano is a teenager with an abusive father and Anakin is the college kid who decides he wants a little sister. Obviously, trigger warnings for child abuse. 


She was young when it first started happening. Young enough that her mother was still in the picture, young enough that just a little more pressure behind a swat hurt more than it would have usually. She thinks sometimes, in the back of her mind, that it started as an accident perhaps. He didn’t mean to hit her so hard, misjudged his strength and her fragility, and then when he realized how much it hurt her he felt powerful again. In control.

Or maybe it wasn’t an accident and she’s just lying to herself.

She grows up poor and bruised, angry and sad. She gets in fights at school and cowers at home. The only touch she knows for years is rough and painful. She comes to school with bruised ribs, black eyes, cut lips, and no one seems to care. So she steels herself and lashes out because if they don’t care about her, she won’t care about them.

Then she meets Anakin.

He’s in college and she’s a freshman in high school and by all accounts they shouldn’t have met at all. But she gets into an argument in the public library and he’s the one that comes out to tell them off for being ridiculous. The other girl takes a swing at her and before she can dodge, Anakin catches the girl’s fist and snarls at her. Like a wolf. Ahsoka likes wolves.

Keep reading

The lost weekend

Imagine you go on a business trip and it triggers Juice’s OCD. Gemma is being Gemma. 

Originally posted by shadovvmoon

Originally posted by gossipgirlfanblog

Making a suitcase workout whenever Juice was around was, as you would quote from your favorite Hilary Duff movie. Useless and disappointing. Whenever you would put an item in, your boyfriend will take two out, making you groan in frustration. 

Like today.

Your boss sent you off to an important meeting in New York for the weekend and you were more than excited to go down there and show the world what you were made of. But Juice was having a bad time with it. 

“I don’t know why Shelley can’t go instead of you.” He said looking at all the dresses that you placed in you duffel bag. 

“Shelley is not in the apartment.” You saw how he placed a hand on top of your bag, avoiding you to put more things in.  “Babe.” You said frustrated as he laid down on the bed, with a heavy sigh and looking at the ceiling. “My plane leaves in three hours. I’m years late, Juice.”

“Who’s gonna feed me?”

“You’re 29 years old, Juan.” You said looking at the mirror and fixing your messed up braid.

“The dog?”

“It’s yours anyway. You know how to take care of him.” Your German shepherd named Paws was Juice’s baby and you knew he was only making excuses to try and  made you stay. You understood, Juice was a man with many needs, and he needed you by your side, as well as you did, but this week end was important to you, as well as Juice.

“What about the baby?” Juice asked looking up at you with his dark brown eyes and insistence look. You smirked down at him and leaned closer, holding his chin and kissing him slightly. 

“We have no baby, Juice.” He groaned as he finally watched you pick up your suitcases and head to the door.  You walked with a smirk as you grabbed your cellphone, purse and tickets as you went by, being followed by a down looking Juice.  

You stopped at the door, watching your friend Josie on her car, waiting for you as she was going as well. You turned around and smiled at Juice, hugging him by the neck as he did the same, bringing you closer by your hips.

“Promise you’ll be back.”

“Of course.” You said pecking his lips. He smiled back at you weakly as Paws barked from the window. “I love you.”

“I love you.” He said watching you leave.





Josie served you one more vodka drink while you two spent the night fixing paperwork you would turn in the next morning.  The meeting went great, so great they pointed another one for the Saturday morning, which meant, tomorrow. She sat down on the desk in front of you as you looked at your I Phone with an arched eyebrow. “What’s up?” 

“It’s just…Juan is been…quite calm lately.” You said putting your phone on the table and looking at the papers in front of you.

Josie blinked. “That’s good, honey. It wasn’t healthy.” 

“I mean…too calm, you feel me?”

“C’mon (Y/N), you sound like a worried mom. He’s a grown man.”

“You don’t understand, he’s like a child.” You said biting your bottom lip. “I better call him.”

“Girl. No…” She said putting her hand on your wrist as you were about to take the cellphone. “You need to let him feel like a man. Not a child.” You sighed at her words, knowing she was alright. Yet It was weird, not having a call from him asking you where his things were or telling you he missed you.

You two had been texting and the occasional call but you had only been away from a day. Even though you wouldn’t last that much away from him, you had made sure he knew how much you loved him. Who knows, maybe you were getting clingy as well. 



It was 2:30 PM, and Josie was chilling down in the bar while you were reading your book, laying on the bed with your music on low volume when your Spanish guitar track stopped, letting you hear your ringtone. You closed your book on your lap and picked up the phone without looking the ID.

“Yup?” You asked. 

“Sweetie.” You heard on the other side.

“Gemma…” you lifted up from your bed and stared at nothing, scared. “Where’s Juice?”

“Oh, honey.Chill.” She said and she couldn’t blame you, living the life and being a future Old Lady, you had the right to be scared. Your heart calmed down the second you hear her voice and allowed you to laid back on the bed.  “He’s fine. Driving us crazy but fine.”

“What you mean?”

“His OCD, honey.” You arched an eyebrow. “Listen you need to come back here…”

“Gemma…”

“I know work is important. But your old man is also important…”

“He’s not..:”

“He is.” She said, shutting you up, even from miles away. You took a deep breath and nodded to yourself. “See you tonight, honey.” You were sure she was puckering her lips. 



Your boss was very understanding. And so was Josie when you left him in that amazing Hotel for another three days while you hoped on a loud packed bus back to Charming. When you arrived at your town, you decided to skip the Gemma situation and go straight to your house. The taxi dropped you at the entrance and after paying, your mouth hanged open, watching what was in front of you.

Neatly freshly cut grass, and thousands and thousands of new garden ornaments. New flowers, everything. “Oh god.” You said getting your keys out and opening the door, only to be greeted by some sort of the same image. 

It smelled quite clean, to be honest, and that was nice, because since you both weren’t home too much, it was only sort of dirty and messed up. But right not everything was… in order and symmetrical. You gulped and walked around your own house, feeling a stranger. “Juice?” You asked looking at the stairs at the loud rap music playing, probably in your room. 

You put the purse on the couch and walked upstairs, looking around, as you saw Juice on the floor of your bedroom. He was doing push ups, with the music so loud he probably didn’t even saw you walk in. 

“301, 302…” He whispered to himself as you opened your eyes in shock and turned off the music. He did two more before realizing you were there, full of sweat, with a disgusting look on his face. “Babe…”

“Last time you did that, you pulled a muscle…” You said sitting on the floor in front of him. He smiled and nodded, looking down, dripping sweat. You smiled warmly at him. It wasn’t his fault at all; It was his disorder. He was helpless and probably having a bad time without you around. “You clenaed the place…”

“Had to keep myself busy…” You nodded, taking off your jacket. “Was it Jax or Unser? Who called you?”

“Queen B.” You said, removing now your shoes. 

Juice bit his lip and nodded. “I may or may have not cleaned her house when this one was already clean.” You looked at him,surprised. “And I also cleaned the clubhouse. Never saw so many used condoms in my whole life.” You laughed and nodded, caressing his scalp. He leaned closer and kissed your stomach, laying at your feet. “I missed you so much…”

“I missed you too, Juice.”

“Are you mad I made you come back?” He whispered closing his eyes and rubbing his cheek against you, making you blush. “I’m sorry.  I can’t be without you…I’m sorry I’m this clingy. It must be annoying.”

You smiled and kissed his forehead before leaning against the bed and starting to caress his head. “Just a little, babe.” You said with nothing but love in your heart. 

[ electricity ]

{ one does not simply borrow peaches }

4K SPECIAL COLLECTION(2/5)
AU: Yakuza
Pairing: Kise x Reader (Platonic)
Genre: Fluff
Words: 2001 words
A/N: Kise is a gigantic nerd and you can’t tell me otherwise.

“Shut up, the boss is here.” One of the men called out. Everyone instantly rushed to their positions, standing guard by the door and leaving whatever was left of their card game behind. Because if their boss got pissed, shit got real. They stood, waiting for however long it took for the man to walk in.

Kise Ryouta stepped through the gates. Eyes gleamed a dangerous gold. A frown upon his lips. Everyone quietly gulped. If Kise Ryouta had that expression, nothing could fix this situation so they merely readied themselves for—

“___-CHI!” The odd voice rang out. To some of the senior men, it wasn’t anything new. But to the juniors, it was as if a ferocious German shepherd had just transformed into a fluffy pomeranian. He tackled you to the ground as you let out a growl and shoved him off of you. He kneeled in front of you, eyes sparkling bright and a huge smile plastered on his face. He shifted around in his position, obviously antsy to hug you again.

You sighed. You really couldn’t say no to him. “Welcome back, Kise.” He grinned and threw his arms loosely around you once more, before tossing you over his shoulder. “PUT ME DOWN!” Oh my God. He did this way too often that most of the household members had gotten used to it. Except for you. You beat on his back, forcing him to place you back on your feet, but your efforts were futile as Kise just hummed as he brought you to the dining room.

“Feed me, ___-chi. I’m hungry.” He sat down on his usual seat, mouth open and ready.

Rolling your eyes, you shoved a gigantic baguette in his mouth. “Feed yourself.”

Keep reading

See this? This is the real me. No makeup, no filters, not even clothes to cover up who I am. Straight from the shower, makeup smeared all over my face, flabby-armed, broad-shouldered, muffin-topped, fuzzy-eyebrowed me. I have acne that I pick at. I have a dermatological disorder that causes my skin to dry out so horrendously that my hair follicles produce too much keratin and clog up, leaving zits the size of grains of sand all over my face and arms that don’t. Go. Away. I have hairy knuckles and peach fuzz on my upper lip and a giant chip on my front tooth that never stays fixed because I eat too many caramel apple suckers and I chew on pens when I’m thinking too hard. I have awkward length bangs because they look good short, but I’m too lazy to take care of them so they grow out until I chop them off again in a burst of completely unnecessary creative spontaneity.
I have a slightly crooked smile that makes my left eye squinty in almost every picture I take. I have a round face and a big forehead and a stick-out chin and a slightly larger than average nose.
My left boob is smaller than my right boob, and my right foot is smaller than my left. Every line and every tiny little wrinkle on my hands are as visible as those of an old woman’s. My thighs jiggle when I do practically anything and I have a pear shaped ass, and fat toes, and flabby knees.
One day, standing naked in front of my mirror, I set out to discover every little crooked feature, and nitpick every minute flaw that I could find. And after what seemed like hours, standing there damp-haired and blotchy, I realized that I was looking for things to hate, things to pick, pluck, and fix. When I realized what I was doing to myself, I took my mirror off my wall.
A few days later, after my acne-picking scabs had healed and I wasn’t bloated from eating too much food, I looked in the mirror again. Right at the same damp, blotch-y mess I am after every shower.
The first thing I noticed was the nice rich color my hair has when it’s wet and how well it frames my face when it falls behind my shoulders. My German family’s round jawline and strong eyebrows slant just enough to accentuate my high cheekbones. My seemingly fat face slims nicely when I pull my hair back to show off my long neck and that, paired with my very prominent collarbones, makes my shoulders seem much less like those of a water polo player. My boobs, being what I though of as too small, are actually big enough to make my waist look smaller and my hips look wider, giving me a slight hourglass figure. Staring at myself, I then realized that there is absolutely nothing wrong with a size 9 ass and thighs that like to stick together. In my opinion the more curves, the better. I looked at my butt from behind for a solid ten minutes until I came to the conclusion that I have a fantastic ass.
Sound stuck up? I don’t care. It’s not. I can love the way I look physically and flaunt it any way I please without being self-centered and prissy. The difference between being confident and being egotistical is not in the opinion you have of yourself, but in the attitude with which you present your opinion of yourself.
I still think I have fat feet and frizzy hair, but I love the way I look. I don’t love it because I think it makes others jealous or because I think it makes people attracted to me. I love the way I look because it’s the way I look and it makes me happy. Because when I look in the mirror, I like the busty, long necked, curvy woman who looks back and tells me that I don’t need to nitpick to be beautiful.

anonymous asked:

What do you think of the Captain America/Hydra twist?

Well, first of all, I don’t think it qualifies as a twist. A twist would be if we discovered Steve had a long-lost identical twin who was Hydra, or if he was tricked/drugged/whatever into changing sides. This is a retcon, confirmed by Marvel, to say that Cap was Hydra all along. And, whilst comics continuity has always been rife with retcons, that’’s just lazy writing.

All I know is what I can glean from my dash and a quick google around the subject. What these sources are telling me is, as far as I can tell, genuinely horrifying.

Steve ‘Punches Hitler In The Face’ Rogers is a Nazi. Captain ‘Created By Jewish Men To Act Out Power Fantasies Of Interfering In WWII When Support For Hitler Was Reasonably Common In The USA’ America is a Nazi. Stephen “I Believe In The American Dream” Grant “I Rescue The Helpless” Rogers is a Nazi.

Yeah, no. First of all, this is a colossal level of what-the-fucking-fuck for just a cheap plot twist. Seriously. I’m not American, but I get that Captain America is supposed to be a national ideal. The perfect American. That’s not supposed to be because he’s a beefy, blonde, military man: it’s supposed to be because he epitomises the values that Americans wish to live up to. Making the best of yourself. Standing up for the little guy. And now, Nazism.

Is that what Marvel want to say is their image of the all-American hero? A Nazi?

And don’t give me that ‘Hydra aren’t really Nazis’ line they’ve been pushing in the MCU. It doesn’t make a difference if there are minions who aren’t white (especially if they’ve been brainwashed). It doesn’t matter if you claim Hydra predates Nazi Germany by several hundred years. The fact of the matter is, Marvel’s creative department actively made the decision to use a Nazi splinter group as their primary antagonists in several films. They didn’t have to. They could have rewritten CATFA as a supersoldier fighting standard German soldiers until he encounters some unforeseen evil- any of the myriad bad guys who have reared their heads in Marvel canon. Hell, they could have set the entire movie in the 21st century if they really wanted. They could have had SHIELD in CATWS revealed to have been taken over by Skrulls, or some other imposters. AOS’ bad guys could have been the ATCU. If Marvel didn’t want Nazis, they did not have to include Nazis in their movies.

But they did. Hydra are Nazis. That’s a fact. Even if you want to argue that they’re too far divorced from their Nazism (bullshit), they still utilise Nazi imagery- the salute, the catchphrase, the outfits. That, too, was a conscious decision by Marvel. It’s not like the people making these movies didn’t know. In the comics, previously, it’s been common for other supervillains (even those bent on world domination) to refuse to work with Red Skull because of his Nazi affiliations.

Well done, people at Marvel. I’m pretty sure this makes Captain America a worse person than Doc Ock. (Or maybe it was Green Goblin- I definitely remember one of them turning down an offer from Red Skull.)

What this is, ultimately, is part of a growing trend in Anti-Semitic sentiments in superhero media. I think it’s fair to say this started in the movies. See for yourself (further reading attached):

Great work, Marvel. You fucked up a perfectly good superhero. Now all there is to do is wait around for the next retcon that will hopefully fix this mess, so I can buy your comics again.

Hello, this is just to say

that I am lying in bed and I am having trouble falling asleep so I thought I would take out my super secret private journal and jot down a few notes about how I’m feeling right now at this very instant in time, not necessarily because anybody else will find it interesting (although who am I kidding, the very fact that I’m writing this here means I assume some people will find it interesting), but more because this feels like a moment in my life that I will want to REMEMBER and so I am putting it here in this internet place where I will be able to find it later, as a document of what THINGS ARE LIKE RIGHT NOW.

And this is just to say that I have been very busy these last several months writing and producing my own TV show, which still feels like a very weird thing to say and an even weirder thing to actually be a true fact that exists and is happening. Running my own show has been an incredible experience – I feel like Charlie after Willy Wonka gave him the chocolate factory. I got really lucky with an incredible staff of writers (not a dud in the bunch!) and an unbelievable cast of actors, and just the most wonderful collection of artists and animators and directors and editors and line producers and I’m sure I’m forgetting some people, but basically everyone’s been an incredible talent who has raised considerably the quality of the project, and I know that to say all that sounds like the bullshit that everyone has to say, but this is my own secret private livejournal, so you know I wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true.

I remember around episode eight realizing that I could just start phoning it in and we’d still have an amazing show, just because of all the great work everyone else was doing, and I made the mistake of telling that to one of the execs at Netflix, who said, Well, uh, please don’t start phoning it in, and spoiler alert, I didn’t. (Netflix has been a phenomenal company to work for, by the way – so supportive and trusting and helpful – if you ever get the opportunity to make a show for Netflix, I highly recommend you take it. I remember around episode six realizing that this was the longest I’d ever worked on a show where the network still liked the show, and what an amazing feeling that was.)

And this is just to say that this part is kind of the Magic Hour, where everything is so full of wonderful potential – right now the show is on its way to being a thing that exists that could be perfect, as opposed to a few months from now when it will actually be an actual thing that exists that is not perfect. Right now I don’t have to worry about what other people think – I don’t need to obsess over all the things I screwed up that it’s too late to fix. Right now I can just enjoy the feeling of having something that belongs to just me and a handful of writers and producers and directors and artists and animators and editors and assistants and script coordinators and Netflix executives. Today I had a meeting with the people who are going to dub my show into Portuguese and Spanish and French and German so that people all over the world could watch the show that I created, and let me tell you that’s a trip. If you ever get the opportunity to sit in a room with people who are going to translate something you wrote into Portuguese and Spanish and German and French, I recommend you take it.

And this is just to say that one of the weird things about being so incredibly busy and then gradually not so busy is that things come back, the things you’re too busy for come back. A few weeks ago, after I finished writing the season finale, I had a dream about an ex-girlfriend, and I remembered, Oh right, THIS is a thing. I had been too busy for all my anxieties and neuroses and stupid stupid memories, like I actually just did not have the time or brain space to worry about all that shit, and then the second I got less busy it all came rushing back, which on the hand, Daaaaaaang, but on the other hand, Hello old friend.

Anyway, my apartment is a mess, and I still haven’t done my taxes, and I feel bad that I don’t make more of an effort to see my friends, especially now that I’m starting to have a little more free time, and on nights like this, when I can’t sleep, I just have this feeling that no matter what, even in spite of all my recent good fortune, I’m never going to just wake up one morning and find that I’m all of a sudden some other better me, the me I want to be that I’ve convinced so many other people to see me as, that instead I’m just kind of doomed to be the me that I am, and I work that feeling like a loose tooth.

But again, that’s just like default anxiety, that’s nothing to get all bent out of shape about, this is a very exciting time for me and I’m not a TOTAL idiot so I get that. I GET IT.

And I’m already worried about what people are going to think about this show (which doesn’t even premiere until August, which feels so far away but also like tomorrow) or that even if they like it, they won’t like it for the right reasons, or that a lot of people will like it, but the people that REALLY matter won’t, or most terrifying of all, that it succeeds beyond my wildest dreams and then I have to figure out what happens next. (MR. WONKA: “Don’t forget what happened to the man who suddenly got everything he wanted…” CHARLIE BUCKET: “What happened?” MR. WONKA: “Yeah, exactly, right? I know, right? Totally….”)

But, oh my God, good problems to have, right? I saw my family last week and my grandfather told me the story of how his father got stabbed in the back by his best friend. They were working together for Polish independence, and then when they got it there was a big celebration which turned into a big pogrom, and because my great-grandfather was Jewish, his best friend stabbed him in the actual literal back, just because, like, that was a thing you did in those days in Eastern Europe. And my great-grandfather was like, Fuck THIS shit, I’m going to America. And because of that, he missed the Holocaust, and because of that all of us are alive.

So if that doesn’t put things in perspective, re: my dumb little Netflix series about a talking cartoon horse and all my dumb little neuroses, well then I don’t know what.

And this is just to say that I feel unbelievably lucky that I get to exist and be alive, as imperfect and embarrassing as I am, and that I get to tell my dumb little stories for Netflix, and write in my dumb little journal. These last six months have been amazing. These last thirty years have been amazing. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that my great-grandfather’s best friend in Poland stabbed him in the back.