look at that smile he does

okay but yall can we break this down like first amy just completely shuts down in shock and jake delivers a classic sex tape joke but its THE MOST SENTIMENTAL TONE OF VOICE IVE EVER HEARD IN MY LIFE HOW DO U JOKE THAT REVERENTLY and amy just does it back so casually i love how THEM this is like its not all mushy which makes it MUSHIER bc its TAILORED TO THEM but my FAVORITE PART IS WHEN AMY THREATENS TO DUMP HIM AND HE!! SMILES!! HE LOOKS SO HAPPY MY MAN SM LOVE IN HIS EYES!! BC AMY WANTS IT TO BE REAL.SHE WANTS THIS SM YALL also he calls her ames do i even have to say but then when he reassures her and amy goes SO SOFT LIKE GIRL THIS HAPPENING NOW SHES STARTING TO CRY ITS REAL ITS REAL ITS NOT JUST IN HER HEAD ANYMORE ames again ITS SO AUTHENTIC MAN BUT LETS BE REAL HE WROTE THIS DOWN SO MANY TIMES TO TRY AND GET IT RIGHT BUT ALL LOGIC FLEW OUT THE WINDOW WHEN HIS GORGEOUS ALMOST FIANCE WAS LOOKING DOWN AT HIM and HER LAUGH WHEN SHE LOOKS AT HIM GIRL U IN LOVE he literally knows she doesn’t like die hard and HE DOESNT CARE IM? ALSO CALLING HER THE BEST DETECTIVE IS SUCH A?? MOVE LIKE THATS?? THE PINACLE OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP ARE U KIDDING ME they love each others butts and its gross THEYRE JOKING SO CASUALLY THIS IS PURE TRUE LOVE AND THEN HE ASKS AND SHE SAYS AND THEY IMMEDIATELY GO TO EACH OTHER AND AFTER THE KISS THEY JUST LOOKING AT EACH OTHER AMY STROKES HIS FACE ARE U KIDDING ME AND JAKE SMILES SO BIG WHAT DORKS I CANT EVEN AND WE FINALLY SEE HIS ARMS GRIPPING HER FOR DEAR LIFE SHES THE BEST THING IN HIS LIFE HES THE BEST THING IN HERS IM

anonymous asked:

How bout a prompt for Reddie where Eddie cannot stop smiling like a total idiot. (Other than his first kiss cuz once he was smiling for like an hour?)

- eddie had this thing that when he was super happy he literally couldn’t stop himself from smiling and had to bite down on his lip

- this happened mostly around richie, because richie can literally make anyone smile like??

- “you look cute today eds, pink suits you”

- eddie would just roll his eyes but then smile like a big idiot when richie wasn’t looking

- whenever ben brought up the fact richie just talks about eddie ALL THE TIME, eddie would start beaming

- “does he really talk about me?”

- “24/7″

- whenever richie would sneak through his window eddie’s mood would instantly shift from bad to good

- “hows my sunshine boy doing this fine evening?”

- oh yeah, richie calls him his sunshine boy, didn’t i mention that?

- eddie can’t stop grinning when he catches richie staring at him when he thinks he isn’t looking (he always is)

- “you two are so love sick it hurts” stan would always say

- eddie would just shrug and smile, knowing he’s 110% right

She bumps into him in the hallway. Her gaze at her feet, her focus in some other zip code, and she just doesn’t see him as he rounds the corner.

He steadies himself with a hand on her forearm; she exhales his name, a question. Their eyes meet. Of course he’s still here. She knew that. Skinner mentioned it when he called. “He might appear in your office without warning,” he’d said dryly. She’d said something flippant, she doesn’t remember exactly what, and now here he is, ahead of schedule. There’s not even a nameplate on her door yet.

He recovers faster than she does. “Congratulations,” he says. “A.D. Scully. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Me neither,” she admits. “I guess my status as office pariah wasn’t permanent.”

That halfway smile she remembers so well. ”Mine is.“

Scully ducks her head in acknowledgement, then looks at him – really looks at him – for the first time. "How have you been, Mulder?”

“Not as good as you,” he says lightly. “Still in the basement.”

Her voice is gentle. "You chose that.”

“And you didn’t. I know.” He almost sounds bitter.

The lights strobing red and blue across his face while they watched the last five years burn down. It’s been years, but she can’t forget the heat from the embers, the emptiness behind his eyes. He didn’t take her to the airport. He never returned any of her calls.

“At least now I’ll have my own desk,” she jokes. At least, she wants it to be a joke. But Mulder darkens immediately, and oh, she remembers this, too: the moods he’d swing into, like a sudden gale; the storms in his eyes.

“Scully, you could’ve—“

But she shakes her head. This is not something she’s going to re-litigate — not here, not ever. Water under the bridge, her mom would say, but when has Fox Mulder ever left a bridge unburned?

“I heard about the Bryce case,” she says brightly. A nice, normal case that would never have landed on their — on his desk, back when they were partners. Standard-issue serial killer. “That was good work.”

“Thanks, boss,” he sneers, and that’s when Scully finally decides to call it. Since she left D.C. she’s gotten better at office politics, but she should’ve known her new skills wouldn’t work on Mulder.

There’s nothing obvious in the hallway to drag her away, so she gestures vaguely in the direction she was heading. ”Anyway, I should–“

"Of course,” he interrupts. “You’ve got a lot of work to do. Don’t let me keep you.” He tosses off a sarcastic salute before he goes.

She watches him until he disappears into the stairwell. Her face is hot. She’s furious and sad and fired up, all at once, and she wonders how the hell she survived five years with him. Had she felt like this all the time?

Moments pass. No other ghosts show up in the hallway. Scully finds her office — still no nameplate, she’ll have to ask maintenance about that — and sits down behind the desk. Her desk. She puts her feet up on it the way he used to do. She finally exhales.

This Is Your Life

for @capsmuscles!! okay this is my first Steve imagine so i rlly hope this doesn’t suck, congrats on being a winner though n sorry this took so long! (Steve Rogers x Reader)

(i will send you the playlist privately, it takes a lot longer for me to choose music than it does for me to write the imagine)


“What’s this one, again?” Steve lifted the flower to his nose, sniffing it again, its scent was very vague. You glanced at Steve, who was sitting next to you, twirling the flower around between his thumb and index finger. You smiled softly, setting your sketchbook on top of your thighs and picking the flower from his hands.

“It’s a daffodil—pretty, right?” You looked at it, trying to catch any detail you’d missed from it while you were drawing it. He nodded, taking it from you again. You looked at him some more—you really liked doing that, looking at him. He was very pretty, you thought. He seemed so out of touch in his surroundings, yet he looked ethereal; he belonged in a place much worthier of his presence. He deserved to be in a museum, but then again, he already was. He deserved to have art painted inspired by him, but then again, here you were, sketching him around your favorite flowers.

“Something on my face?” He smirked, not turning to face you. From his peripheral vision, he could see your eyes widen as they casted downward, back toward your sketch book. “It’s okay, doll. Sometimes I get lost looking at you, too.” It was quiet between you two, neither of you knowing what to say. Well, actually, you both knew what you wanted to say, you both were just too scared or embarrassed or nervous or something or something else to say it.

“I like that word,” you finally said, quietly. He looked at you, and because he’d done it first, you shifted so you were looking at him, too.

“What word?”

“Doll, it reminds me of where you’re from.”

Steve frowned, looking down at the daffodil, small in comparison to the rest of his hand. “You mean, it reminds you of how old I am?” He chuckled at himself silently. Age was another reason he convinced himself that there was nothing more he wanted to tell you.

“Technically, I guess. But, no, not really.” You slid down the park bench, moving so you sat closer to him, your shoulders touching. “You’re very hip for your age, Rogers.” You laughed as he playfully rolled his eyes, looking at you with his head turned, cocking it to the side slightly.

“I’m, like, a hundred years old.”

Technically.”

“Technical is very important.”

“I was never a fan of fact or truth. I like pretending.” You sighed as his shoulders slightly slumped. “Steve, in a different lifetime, you’re almost a hundred. Okay. You’re dead. Are you dead right now?” He shook his head. “Well, then there you go. You were given this life. You are a preserved twenty-one-year-old. That’s your life. That’s you, whether you like it or accept it or not. Get over it, pal.” You placed a hand on his shoulder, causing him to look at you. “You’re just at the right drinking age. Live like it.”

“You have a very… youthful way of looking at this.” He chuckled as you shrugged, going back to your sketch.

“Well, that’s what happens when you’re, you know, a youth, I guess.” You finished the rest of your drawing in silence, glancing at Steve every so often while you tried to capture the shadows spreading across his face as the sun set. You smiled as he did, watching the dogs catch frisbee’s and dad’s buying there kids an ice cream cone. You wondered if he’d ever want that. “Do you want kids?”

He looked at you, surprised at the question. He followed your line of vision, noticing you were looking at the same dad he was earlier, who was now placing his daughter on top of his shoulders as she ate away at her ice cream. He shrugged, “I don’t know. Not when I’m… like this.”

“A super soldier? Isn’t that, like, permanent?”

“No, not that,” he sighed, leaning back on the bench and placing an arm around the back of the bench, behind you. “Not while I’m an Avenger, I meant. Maybe after that, when we’ve settled down.”

“‘We’ve’?” You blushed, looking up in time to watch the color rise in his face too, before he turned away from you.

He cleared his throat, shaking his head, “You know, once we’ve settled down from the group—when there’s no need for us. When new people, like us, decide they want a go at this life.” He nodded, silently convincing himself that he’d saved himself.

“Right,” you agreed, but not being able to keep the smile off your face. “I’m finished.” You closed the pad, getting up off the bench and stretching. “We could go back to the compound now.”

Steve looked at you, pulling his eyebrows in as he shook his head. “You don’t get to drag me out into this heat on our ‘day-off’, and then not show me what you drew. Give it!”

“Wow,” you said, in a mocking-offense tone, “and here I was, thinking you came just to keep me company.” You tsked him, shaking your head. “Seriously, though… I—I don’t really draw that well. I just, you know, do it as a stress reliever.”

“Don’t care, hand it over.” He stretched his arm out, now standing in front of you. He slowly reached for the book tucked under your arm, and you sighed, reluctantly loosening your grip on it. He pulled it open, silently admiring the work of your other sketches while he tried to find the one from today.

“It’s in the back,” you said, quietly. You looked away from him when he’d gotten to the page, feeling a tad bit embarrassed. You hadn’t told him that he was going to be the center of the piece.

“Is this… me?” He looked at you as you nodded, still not looking at him. “Holy shit.” It came out as a whisper, but you’d heard it. Your eyes widened. The man out of time never really speaking that way in front of women, mostly only around the men. “This is so… beautiful.” His fingers traced the details of his face, only skimming it so he wouldn’t smudge the pencil marks with his sweaty fingers. He then closed the book quickly, setting it on the bench.

“Steve—” you said, reaching to pick the book up, only being stopped when his hands cupped your face, pulling him in to kiss you softly. Your hands fell from their reach, grasping on to the hem of his white t-shirt instead, fisting the material in your hands when he angled your face to kiss you better. He pulled away, you both a little breathless, then flustered after you’d noticed what you’d just done, and in public.

“Sorry if that was bad,” he whispered, “I haven’t done that in a while.”

You smiled, shaking your head as you reached to grab your book, leaning up to him, a hand on his chest, kissing him again. “I think you did very well, Cap.” You smiled against his lips, feeling him kiss you again. Then, he reached for your hand, you both heading out of the park and back to the compound, discussing where you’d have your first date.

Nightmare

Felicity quietly got out of the bed, putting on a robe that was draped over the back of a chair. She looked at Oliver; he was asleep and looked peaceful. There were times not too long ago when his dreams had tortured him. In Ivy Town, and then at the Loft, he would come awake, chased out of his nightmares with a scream on his lips and sweat glistening on his body. Felicity tried to be there for him, but even when they were together (before) Oliver’s dreams were always something he had to endure alone. What he went through on the island and Hong Kong and in Russia was something Felicity knew she could not sooth away with comforting and assuring words.

She moved away from the bed and crossed over to the bathroom. The bedroom was a dark shade with small pools of cold moonlight shining a path for Felicity to follow.

Earlier in the evening, she and Oliver and William had their first official dinner together—Oliver made lobster tortellini and garlic bread. The meal felt a little awkward at first, as if they were all strangers trying to figure each other out. Felicity couldn’t help feeling it was her presence at the dinner table that made the setting uncomfortable.  Both Oliver and William seemed to be focused on the tortellini, taking quiet bites, keeping their mouths full so they wouldn’t have to make small talk with her.

In the six months since coming back from Lian Yu, Felicity tried to give Oliver the time and space he needed to not only settle in with William at the new apartment they shared, but also to establish the dynamic of being a father and a son. It has been difficult on both of them.

But it was equally hard on Felicity as well. She wanted to take her and Oliver’s relationship to the  next level. Ever since they were trapped underneath the Bunker, she finally understood why Oliver had kept vital parts of himself from her; most importantly, William. In Chase’s attempt to bury Oliver deeper into his darkness, the outcome of that maneuver backfired. It brought Oliver back to her and her to him, in a way neither of them could have foreseen. Felicity didn’t need Chase’s influence to remind her that she still and always would love Oliver.

When Samantha died, passing the parental torch onto Oliver, it shifted the relationship between Oliver and Felicity. To her relief, this new responsibility in Oliver’s life did not dredge up any of the old ghosts that used to haunt him—and her.  It was the opposite. It gave her a new and better sense of the kind of person he is; as a father, a Mayor, a hero—as well as a friend, a partner, a lover, and quite possibly someday, a husband.

Felicity entered the bathroom and was about to close the door and do her business, when  a cry came out of the darkness.

It was William. She turned and headed back into the bedroom. She was startled but not surprised by the shape of Oliver standing naked next to his side of the bed. His eyes were wide open as he responded to his son’s cry. He pulled on his sweatpants and started to go to William.

“Oliver,” Felicity interrupted his trajectory. “Let me do this.”

Oliver didn’t seem to hear her request and continued moving toward the door. Then he stopped himself and turned to look at Felicity.  “Do you…are you okay with…wouldn’t that confuse things more, for him and for you?”

“Oliver, it was your idea to have me over tonight. If I’m going to be a part…well, a part of all this, I should start earning my keep.” She saw some of the tension easing up in his shoulders.

Oliver smiled at her. “Okay Felicity, but this isn’t a job interview. You don’t have to earn anything. You are a part of this family—forever and always.”

“Thank you Oliver.” She put out a hand as if to forestall his expected response. “And you don’t have to tell me I don’t have to thank you. I’m thanking you.”

Oliver nodded. “You’re welcome. But maybe I should be thanking you.”

“What for?”

“For agreeing to this tonight. For going past you uncertainty and nervousness with William. I know how hard this has been for you.”

Felicity was about to respond by moving into Oliver’s arms when William called out again. She passed by Oliver and hurried to the door. Oliver fell in behind her and she turned back to look at him.

“Felicity,” he told her. “You got this, but I’m going as your back-up.”

**

Felicity slid open William’s bedroom door and went inside. Oliver hovered outside, ready to assist  her if needed. She could see her path to William’s bed by the nightlight Oliver put in the room. William was sitting up against the bed’s headboard. Fear was shining in the boy’s eyes, glistening with the tears his nightmare brought. When Felicity came into the room, William looked up and surprise crowded into his leaking eyes.

“William…” Felicity started to say.

“Where’s Oliver,” he asked her? “He usually comes in to…”

Felicity shook her head as she moved closer to the bed; then she sat down on it. “William…” Then she stopped herself. What should she say to him? Maybe she was right when she told Oliver it  might not be the right time for this. Uncertainty started to fill her intentions.

William kept staring at her as if he was waiting for her to give him all the answers.  As usual, his nightmare was about his mom. When Oliver told him she was dead, William did not believe him. He tried to run back into the smoldering forest, wanting to find her and prove that Oliver was wrong. But Oliver (his dad?) stopped him, taking William into a fumbling hug. William began screaming at him to let him go, struggling in Oliver’s grasp. But Oliver would not let him go. It was at that moment when Oliver became the “bad man” in his nightmares.

“William,” Felicity spoke with a tenderness the boy probably hadn’t felt since his mother tucked him in every night. “Please tell me what your dream was about.”

William suddenly made an unconscious connection through his fright. “You love Oliver, don’t you?”

“William…yes, I do.”

“You’re not  my mom,” William told her. “My mom is dead. And Oliver killed her.”

“William, you know that’s not true…I mean the Oliver killing you mom part. But he is your father. And you’re right—I’m not your mom.”

William shook his head. “He did kill her. She’s dead because of him.”

Felicity almost broke then. But another kind of force took hold of her instead—one of protectiveness for Oliver, and for William. She took a couple deep breaths and pressed on. “William, you dad’s mom died too, just like your mother. She was killed by another bad man, right in front of him.”

The look of accusation appeared to dim a bit when Felicity told him that. “Really,” he asked? “What…how…”

Felicity decided not to hold back. “She was stabbed with a sword.”

William’s eyes widened. “Wow,” he whispered. “Who…”

“William, it doesn’t matter now. It was four years ago and Oliver…your dad, he was really sad, like you are now.”

Fresh tears began to roll down his face. “Felicity…why did my mom have to die?”

Felicity felt her own tears start to fall. She reached out to hug William; he let her. He began to sob against her, a boy who wanted his mother back.

“William,” Felicity cried with him. “It’s alright. It’s okay to cry for your mother.”

He clutched onto her and six months of fear and sadness and loneliness poured out of him.

After a time, William pulled away from Felicity. He sat back and a different look was in his eyes now. “Felicity, did Oliver…did my dad cry too when his mom was killed?”

Felicity nodded. “Yes…in his own way, he cried.”

“Are you… are you staying with us tonight?

“Yes William, I am. Is that okay?”

William nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.” He looked more closely at her. “Does my dad—does he love you too?”

Felicity smiled. “Yeah, I think he does.”

“Good,”  William responded. “Felicity, do you like baseball?”

Her smile widened. “I guess so. Why?”

“Well, there’s a game on tomorrow and Oliver said he would come home early and watch it with me. Do you want to watch it with us?”

**

Outside his son’s room, Oliver was smiling through his own tears. To hear his son open up to Felicity was…well, it was magic. Oliver felt blessed that Felicity was able to touch the purest part of him.

@it-was-a-red-heeler @almondblossomme @quiveringbunny @memcjo @mortallock @casydee @flowerandsunshine @1106angel @dmichellewrites @scu11y22

whothefuckis-14katgurl  asked:

Hi do you have any h/cs for a reader with autism/Asperger's syndrome and sensory overload days? It's OK if you can't think of any because hardly anybody understands them ☺

  • (I think I understand? pls let me know if this makes sense)
  • my best answer for you is that he’d probably not care at all
  • he’d probably find it actually really amusing if he said something to you and you just didn’t hear it
  • he’d laugh and repeat it and if you still didn’t hear he’d just hold your hand and smile at you, wondering what was going on in that head of yours
  • if you were looking around kinda weird at lights he’d look where you were looking and wonder what was capturing your attention
  • he’s a weird boi with weird mannerisms, habits, and tics, and doesn’t quite understand humans so I’m guessing if you were one of the few/only humans he was interacting with he would just think that’s totally normal and everyone does it

anonymous asked:

Re: your tags on the picture you just posted: what is Jensen’s face doing? I’m autistic so I might be getting this wrong but does he look annoyed?

Jensen’s face is doing the “I’m trying not to smile” thing! A lot of times when Jensen’s trying to remain serious he gets extra broody and annoyed-looking. 

In that picture Jared is clearly messing with Misha (it looks like he’s trying to put his hand down the back of his pants or grope him somehow) but staying in character for the photo, Misha’s collapsing into laughter, and Jensen’s trying to look unaffected and Professional.

But you can the corner of his mouth turning up a little bit, so we know he’s having fun :) See how his lips are pursed? That’s a tell. 

And he really shows off how happy he is a little bit later.

(Also he gets jealous when Misha and Jared have fun without him, so it might not be ALL acting)

The final shot should’ve been Scott and Stiles and Lydia with their arms around each other, a single moment, because they are the originals, they’ve been together the longest, then Lydia walks out of the frame, Scott and Stiles have a moment where they just look at each other and grin like the goofs they are and then Lydia tugs on Stiles’ hand, because they are most definitely holding hands, and Stiles does one of his spastic moves as he falls out of the shot, and then it’s Scott, just our Alpha, smiling at his friends. 

I would like to sit here and appreciate the fact that canon Mccree has a wide-mouthed, pug-like frown that makes him look like another incarnation of Wolverine 

I see no difference

The fact that he’s kind of ugly in that way is so endearing to me, especially since his heavy frown / sneer thing he does with a cigar in his mouth just makes his smiles 10000x more charming to see

He’s my beautiful (not so) ugly boi and i love him

3

Doyoung’s honesty bringing out Taeyong’s laughter once again ❤️