my cup is now literally in bed

The 2ps as shit my friends (and family[and me]) have said pt.  2
  • 2p America: Listen bucko I've seen more pussy in my 17 years of life than you ever will
  • 2p England: The first time I tried to cook I caught an oven mitt on fire and burned an orange. Don't ask how because I don't know either
  • 2p China: If you can't remember my name you can call me ling-ling or dumpling, I don't care
  • 2p France: I will literally break your finger if it comes any closer to my face
  • 2p Russia: *pouring 4 packets of sugar into a cup of tea* it's 6 in the morning and I went to bed at 4. I have so many regrets
  • 2p Canada: I'm going to slit the tires on my neighbor's car if he doesn't stop coming onto our land I swear to fucking god
  • 2p Italy: *breaks finger after catching a football**completely monotone* it seems that I'm in a bit of a situation. How unfortunate. Now, if you'll excuse me *goes to the nurse crying his eyes out*
  • 2p Germany: Yeah, I can speak German. Eat meine Dick
  • 2p Japan: The only thing darker than my soul is my hair
  • 2p Romano: *in response to 'you should wear a suit to bed'* you're right, I'll look dapper as fuck while I take a napper as fuck
  • 2p Austria: I can play skrillex on my ukulele
  • 2p Prussia: *nearly in tears* she took my flower crown
exo as things my friends and I have experienced while drunk
  • baekhyun: "like george washington famously said in the year 1776 'take another shot bitch'"
  • jongin: *jumps off bed* "i'm literally a professional parkour-er now holy shit"
  • suho: "you know....i think life is really pulling thru for me right now. everything's working out and I'm so happy and relaxed and *spills drink on self* .........my life is over"
  • sehun: *flicks off creepy guy for 5 minutes straight with wild hand gestures* fuck the patriarchy
  • chanyeol: "do you ever think about how the moon goes through changes every month but it's actually the same exact moon like....holy shit......im gonna cry"
  • yixing: *points at blue solo cups* "if these cups arent red does that mean we're not actually getting drunk is it all a social experiment"
  • kyungsoo: *stomps away* *stomps back* *stomps away again before stomping back and poking chanyeol's chest* "you are so fucking cute what the fuck"
  • jongdae: "dicks are so weird man like they just" *sticks out arm and wiggles it wildly until he falls off the chair*
  • minseok: "its sober up time bitches *mixes tequila and water shots*
Hello Detective Chapter 26

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

Your eyes were closed. You couldn’t watch Sherlock pull the trigger. You’d made peace with the decision though. You and Sherlock were going to die, but so would Jim Moriarty, and that was enough for you.

You’re eyes burst open when instead of an explosion, you heard Stayin’ Alive playing throughout the pool. You looked to Sherlock questioningly, as he did the same to you. Neither of you knew where the music was coming from. You looked to Jim Moriarty who was rolling his eyes. Instead of being confused by the music, he was just annoyed.

“Do you mind if I get that?” Jim suddenly asked. It was his phone ringing, at a time like this.

“Oh no, please. You’ve got the rest of your life.” Sherlock said, still pointing the gun at Jim. He pulled his phone out of his pocket.

“Hello? Yes, of course it is. What do you want?” Jim said, annoyed. Did someone just seriously ask him ‘Is this Jim Moriarty?’.

‘Sorry’. Jim mouthed, as he slowly turned around.

“Oh it’s fine.’ Sherlock mouthed back.

“Say that again!” Jim suddenly shouted and a hush fell over the room. “Say that again and know that if you’re lying to me, I will find you, and I will skin you.”

Sherlock looked to you in disbelief. Jim Moriarty was a whole new brand of psychopath. Jim put the call on hold and began walking towards the two of you.

“Sorry, wrong day to die.” He spoke in a somber tone.

“Did you get a better offer?” You asked, rudely.

“You’ll be hearing from me, Sherlock.” Was his only answer. Jim continued to turn around, and walk towards the exit.

“If you have what you say you have, I will make you rich. If you don’t, I’ll make you into shoes.” Jim spoke into the phone before snapping his fingers and leaving the pool. As he snapped you noticed all the little red dots disappearing. He had called off the snipers.

“What the hell just happened?” You asked, in shock of the whole situation.

“Someone changed his mind,” Sherlock spoke, “Question is, who?”

You two immediately left the pool. Before hailing a cab Sherlock took off his coat and wrapped it around you. It was chilly outside and you were wearing very little. You looked like a high price call girl. You got into the cab and the two of you decided it would be best not to tell Lestrade about what happened. Jim would be coming back, you just weren’t sure how or when.

The next few weeks had been normal. No serial killers, no bombers, no Jim Moriarty. You had seen Sherlock a lot more though. Per Mycroft’s request you kept him busy. It wasn’t just because of Mycroft that you spent time with Sherlock, you genuinely like him and wanted to be around him.

Sherlock and John seemed to be solving some smaller cases together, which you enjoyed reading on John’s Blog. They had come to the Yard sometimes for some of the cases, but otherwise not much was going on.

You had run into both of them after the plane crash in Dusseldorf. An abandoned car was found with the body of a man who was checked on board the flight. The man should have died in a plane crash in Germany the day before, but here he was in a trunk in Southwark.

A couple more cases had come in, attracting quite a lot of press. Not due to the crime, but because Sherlock was there. The press specifically wanted photographs of Sherlock, he was an internet phenomenon. To that Sherlock complainted that he was a private detective, and the last thing he needs is a public image. In the papers the next day was a picture of Sherlock next to you, leaving the crime scene.

The next time you saw Sherlock you were facetiming him from a crime scene. A man had come to his apartment thinking he’d killed a man when his car backfired. Technically this was DI Carter’s case, but Lestrade sent you so Sherlock would be there. Sherlock of course didn’t think the case was important enough for him to leave the flat.

“You realise this is a tiny bit humiliating?” You asked Sherlock through the camera. He was literally only wearing a sheet. A sheet. He had crawled out of bed and taken the sheet with him.

“It’s okay, I’m fine. Now, show me to the stream.” He said, yawning and grabbing a cup of tea.

“I didn’t really mean for you.” You retorted. He carried his laptop out of the kitchen and to his desk, where he sat down.

“Look, this is a six. There’s no point in my leaving the flat for anything less than a seven.” Sherlock explained and you rolled your eyes.

Sherlock continued to have you point the camera in different directions so he could examine the scene. Suddenly you could hear the doorbell ringing through the phone.

“Shut up!” Sherlock yelled. Sherlock then instructed you to show him where the car was that backfired.

“If you’re thinking gunshot, there wasn’t one. He was killed by a single blow to the back of the head from a blunt instrument, which then magically disappeared along with the killer.” You told him.

“You’ve got two more minutes, they want to know more about the driver.” DI Carter told you.

“Oh, forget him, he’s an idiot. Why else would he think himself a suspect?” Sherlock asked.

“I think he’s a suspect.” Carter said, leaning into frame where Sherlock could see him.

“Pass me over.” Sherlock said, annoyed.

“All right, but there’s a mute button and I will use it.” You warned, handing your phone to Carter. You could hear his voice as you began to walk away.

“Having driven to an isolated location and successfully committed a crime without a single witness, why would he then call the police and consult a detective? Fair play?” Sherlock asked.

“He’s trying to be clever. It’s overconfidence.” Carter argued.

“Did you see him? Morbidly obese, the undisguised halitosis of a single man living on his own. The right sleeve of an internet porn addict and the breathing pattern of an untreated heart condition, low self-esteem, tiny IQ and a limited life expectancy and you think he’s an audacious criminal mastermind? Don’t worry this is just stupid.” Sherlock said, turning around and saying that last bit to the man himself. The driver was sitting in his flat behind him in John’s chair, with a look of shock on his face that Sherlock had just said all of those things about him.

Sherlock instructed Carter to go to the stream as you took your phone back. You noticed Mrs. Hudson showing two men into Sherlock’s flat. They were both large and wearing expensive suits.

“Who the hell are you?” Sherlock asked, still in his sheet.

“Sorry, Mr. Holmes…” the man said, approaching the computer and closing it forcefully, ending the facetime call. A young police officer approached you, holding a phone to his ear.

“Sergeant Gregson?” He asked.

“Yeah.” you answered, turning around.

“It’s for you.” He said, and you assumed he meant the telephone call.

“Okay, thanks.” you said, reaching your hand out for him to give you the phone.

“Uh, no, ma’am, the helicopter.” He said, tilting his hand towards the helicopter that had just landed outside of the crime scene. You looked at him questioningly to make sure you’d heard him right.

You slowly walked towards the helicopter where two large men, similar to the ones who had showed up at Sherlock’s flat, helped you into the helicopter before taking off again. You realized it was going back into the city when you started noticing things like The London Eye and Buckingham Palace. The helicopter then landed right behind Buckingham Palace. Your eyes grew wide and took everything in as the two men escorted you into the Palace and into a sitting room. As you turned the corner you noticed clothes and shoes in a pile on the coffee table. Next to them was a couch where Sherlock Holmes sat, still in his sheet.

You raised your hands, silently asking him what the hell you two were doing here, but in reply he only raised his shoulders and rolled his eyes. You entered the room and sat down next to him. You examined him, looking him up and down.

“Are you wearing any pants?” You asked.

“No.” He answered simply.

“Okay.” you said, processing everything. You then turned to look at each other, when you did you both burst into laughter.

“At Buckingham Palace. Right. I’m seriously fighting an impulse to steal an ashtray.” you said, causing Sherlock to laugh again. You shook your head, smiling.

“What are we doing here, Sherlock? Seriously, what?” you asked, smiling.

“I don’t know.” Sherlock answered.

“Here to see the queen?” You asked, hearing footsteps approaching.

“Oh, apparently, yes.” Sherlock said as Mycroft entered the room. His comment made you burst into laughter again, earning a displeased look from Mycroft.

“Just once can you two behave like grownups?” Mycroft asked.

“He’s literally wearing a sheet. I wouldn’t hold out too much hope.” You answered.

“I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft.” Sherlock said.

“What, the hiker and the backfire? I glanced at the police report, a bit obvious, surely?” Mycroft said.

“Transparent.” Sherlock said, and rightfully so.

“Time to move on, then.” Mycroft said. He picked up the pile of Sherlock’s clothes to hand to him but Sherlock refused to take them.

“We are in Buckingham Palace, the very heart of the British nation. Sherlock Holmes put your trousers on!” Mycroft scolded.

“What for?” He shrugged.

“Your client.” Mycroft answered.

“And my client is?” Sherlock asked, standing up.

“Illustrious, in the extreme. And remaining, I have to inform you, entirely anonymous.” Another man entered the room saying, Mycroft placed the pile back down onto the table.

“Mycroft.” the man smiled, shaking his hand.

“Harry. May I just apologise for the state of my litter brother?” Mycroft said.

“Full time occupation, I imagine.” the man said, rudely. “And you must be Y/N Gregson, my employer enjoys reading about you two on Dr. Watson’s blog.”

You smiled and shook his hand, not knowing how to respond. He moved on to Sherlock.

“And Mr. Holmes the younger. You look taller in your photographs.” He said rudely.

“I take the precaution of a good coat and a short friend. Mycroft, I don’t do anonymous clients. I’m used to mystery at one end of my cases, both ends is too much work. Good morning.” Sherlock said, beginning to walk out of the room. Before he could make it to the door Mycroft stepped on the sheet, which began to pull away from his body. Sherlock caught it at his waist before he was fully exposed. A blush spread over your cheeks at the amount of skin showing.

“This is a matter of national importance. Grow up!” Mycroft scolded Sherlock.

“Get off my sheet!” He argued back.

“Or what?” Mycroft asked, teasingly.

“Or I’ll just walk away.” Sherlock returned.

“I’ll let you.” Mycroft retorted.

“Boys, please. Not here.” You pleaded with them.

“Who is my client?” Sherlock asked angrily.

“Take a look at where you’re standing and make a deduction. You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now for God sake! Put your clothes on!” Mycroft yelled. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but complied. He returned to the room after a few minutes, you could tell that he was displeased that the secret service men had not grabbed his favorite coat, only a suit.

“I’ll be mother.” Mycroft smiled as he poured tea for all of us.

“And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell.” Sherlock retorted. You began to smile and then hid it. Mycroft seemed extremely displeased with his comment.

“My employer has a problem.” The man Mycroft called ‘Harry’ explained.

“A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature and in this hour of need, dear brother, your name has arisen.” Mycroft continued to explain.

“Why? You have a police force of sorts, even a marginally secret service. Why come to me?” Sherlock asked, rudely.

“People do come to you for help, don’t they, Mr. Holmes?” Harry asked.

“Not to date anyone with a navy.” Sherlock returned.

“This is a matter of the highest security and therefore of trust.” Mycroft said.

“You don’t trust your own secret service?” You asked him.

“Naturally not. They all spy on people for money.” Mycroft smiled. Further making you raise the question of why you personally where there.

“Why am I here then Mycroft?” You asked.

“You have proven your trust and ability to keep my brother in line.” He spoke, you rolled your eyes.

“I do think we have a timetable.” Harry said, changing the subject.

“Yes, of course.” Mycroft said, clearing his throat. He picked up a briefcase and began to unlock it as you picked up your tea and saucer from the table.

“What do you know about this woman?” Mycroft asked Sherlock, handing him a picture of a woman with bright red lipstick, brown hair, she was older but of course tried to hide it. If you had to guess you would have to say almost 40.

“Nothing whatsoever.” Sherlock answered.

“Then you should be paying more attention. She’s been at the centre of two political scandals in the last year and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist, by having an affair with both participants separately.” Mycroft spoke as you took a sip of your tea.

“You know I don’t concern myself with trivia. Who is she?” Sherlock asked.

“Irene Adler, professionally known as The Woman.” Mycroft explained.

“Professionally?” You asked.

“There are many names for what she does, she prefers ‘dominatrix’.” He explained, you raised an eyebrow.

“Dominatrix.” Sherlock repeated curiously.

“Don’t be alarmed. It’s to do with sex.” Mycroft smirked.

“Sex doesn’t alarm me.” Sherlock retorted coolly.

“How would you know?” Mycroft smirked and spoke softly. You sat there extremely awkwardly, looking between the two brothers. “She provides, shall we say, recreational scolding for those who enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it. These are all from her website.”

Mycroft handed Sherlock some more photographs. He examined them carefully.

“And I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs?” Sherlock spoke as you took another sip from your tea. Your only purpose here was to make sure Sherlock was kept in line.

“You’re very quick Mr. Holmes.” Harry said.

“Hardly a difficult deduction. Photographs of whom?” He asked.

“A person of significance to my employer. We’d prefer not to say any more at this time.” Harry answered.

“You can’t tell us anything?” You asked.

“I can tell you it’s a young person. A young female person.” Mycroft said, disappointingly.

“How many photographs?” Sherlock asked.

“A considerable number, apparently.” Mycroft answered, keeping his answers short and to the point.

“Do Miss Adler and this young female person appear in these photographs together?” Sherlock asks again.

“Yes, they do.” Mycroft answers.

“And I assume in a number of compromising scenarios?” Sherlock pushed.

“An imaginative range, we are assured.” Mycroft said. Your eyes were wide in shock and you held your tea cup a couple inches below your lips.

“Y/N, you might want to put that cup back in your saucer now.” Sherlock instructed, rightfully so, as you were about to drop it.

“Can you help us, Mr. Holmes?” Harry asked.

“How?” He asked.

“Will you take the case?” Harry asked again.

“What case? Pay her, now and in full. As Miss Adler remarks in her masthead, know when you are beaten.” Sherlock said, grabbing his coat and exiting the room.

“Nice to meet you.” You said to Harry, before nodding at Mycroft. You followed Sherlock out of the room.  

You followed Sherlock outside of the palace where the two of you began your walk back home. Baker Street was only about a 15 minute walk from Buckingham Palace.

“Hungry?” Sherlock asked you.

You glanced at your phone. “Uh, not really.” You answered absentmindedly as you noticed you had 10 missed calls from your mother and two from your sister.

“Shit.” You mumbled, hoping everything was alright. Sherlock looked to you questioningly and then looked down to your phone. He noticed the numerous missed calls as well. You quickly called your mother back, you continued walking as you wait for her to pick up. With the five hour time difference you hoped it wasn’t too late for her.

She finally answered but all you could hear on the other side were sobs.

“Mother?” You asked, afraid. “What happened, what’s wrong?”

Her answer made you stop dead in your tracks. Sherlock took a few more steps before turning around realizing you were a couple feet behind. The blank, drained look on your face caused him to rush to your side.

“It’s your father honey, he’s dead.” Your mother sobbed.

Becoming A Rock N Roll Monk

In my efforts to better my stamina and career, I find myself becoming more monk-like. And I’m not talking about the holy, praying, create awesome Trappist beer type monk. I’m talking about the go to bed early, no drinking, no talking, and no having any fun type monk. Luckily, sex is actually good for you on all levels (safe sex of course), so at least I have something to hold onto! Ha!

I remember being the first of four bands on our very first national tour in 2006. We only had a 25 minute set, any press we got was because we as a band would seek it out and no one knew who were. So, I’d go out to the bars and do shots of tequila with my boys, wake up the next morning and do it all again!

These are good times that I look back on and I wouldn’t trade for the world. I also would never want to go back to them. I’m very proud of the empire I’ve built with my band, and have always been bent on moving forward.

Ah, so much has changed in a decade! I’ve toured the world, won a Grammy, I’ve had a few number one songs, moved out of my parents place, and life is good. The schedule has also gotten heavier over the years and with great success comes great responsibility. For all you singers out there, it’s good to get into good health habits. Your body is your instrument after all! Let me let you all in on some of my GOOD habit out on the road.

One of the things that helps my vocal health immensely out on the road, is stopping all my eating/drinking at least 4 hours before I go to bed. I actually set a timer after my last meal so I can’t cheat. This is to prevent acid reflux when I lay down in my bunk at night. If you are waking up hoarse every morning, and don’t know why…this could be a reason. Acid reflux is when the acid in your stomach creeps up to your throat, burning your delicate vocal folds. It doesn’t always feel like heartburn, and can go un-noticed most of the time. So Considering I sleep in a bunk on a moving bus, I’d rather not have the contents of my stomach sloshing around while I try to sleep.

Another rule that I’ve reinstated into my daily regimen is No drinking until the end of tour. I save the debauchery for end of tour or off tour, but even then I try to keep that “4 hours before bed” open. Yay for day drinking!

Funny, I’m typing this now actually because I broke my own rule last night, and I’m a bit hung over. I’m off tour at the moment, so I can afford a bit of crazy times… But when I got together with my vocal coach this morning to do a session, he could tell right away that my voice was dehydrated and a bit acid burnt (He always knows). He suggested that I wait till tomorrow to resume my sessions, to prevent any damage singing may do. I know, I know… Bad Lzzy.

Here’s the break down, alcohol dehydrates you, and stimulates acid reflux. Then when you sing on dry, irritated vocal folds your folds swell. When your folds swell they cause hoarseness, which makes you feel like you have to push harder to get a sound out. When You push harder, you cause fatigue and more irritation…so imagine if you have 6 weeks of touring ahead of you. You are fucked! Let me be clear that this is just what works for me personally, I know a lot of singers that party hard, and sound just fine every night. I’m not one of those people. Yes, this rule is kind of a bummer because I love beer, tequila, whiskey, wine etc., and hangin’ out with all the boys. But when I have to sing 4-6 nights a week on tour, it does NOT love me. I had to decide which is more important. Priorities People!!

Ok, Lets talk hydration. I drink 3 liters of water a day. I bought a 1liter Camelbak bottle so I could keep track, this one even has a built in straw to make choking down water a little easier. I refill this three times a day. I usually add a bit of Himalayan salt or lemon to it, to make it more interesting, and to give the water a vehicle for hydration. Himalayan salt is a good source of electrolytes and other minerals, and lemon when combined with water is very alkaline. What I mean by “vehicle for hydration” is that when you add things like lemon or salt, it actually makes the water more useful, giving the water something to piggy back off of actually keeps you better hydrated. Its science!

Another rule that breaks my heart is caffeine. No, I did NOT give up coffee; you’ll have to pry my coffee cup from my cold dead fingers. But I do limit myself to two really good cups in the morning. The caffeine rule is again, due to the acidity and dehydrating effects of caffeine. Plus if I have too much caffeine, it makes sleeping harder, which is so important for my voice!

Sleep. Yes I go to bed early, I try to get in at least 8 hours, and if I can sleep 10 I will. Sleep is the only opportunity the voice has to recover, and even if you’re used to sleeping in a moving vehicle like I am, it still is less quality then sleeping in a bed at home. So I have to go overboard, and make the extra effort to protect myself.

Here’s a very important rule in my life, diet. I’m not talking about fad stuff or counting calories, I do none of that shit. I just eat very clean. My diet revolves around quality protein usually in the form of meats and of course lots of hydrating veggies, with some whole fruits thrown in. I stay away from refined sugar, dairy (I recently discovered I have a buttermilk allergy), breads (pasta/gluten/grains), and fried foods while on the road. All of these things rob me of energy and nutrients that my body and therefore voice need to function and stay healthy. Now, of course I’m on the road and sometimes pickin’s are slim…so when I have no other choice than pasta or bread, I will pair this with a ton of veggies, but no meat, I’ve found that it’s better for my digestion. Almost like I get more out of the bun without the burger and the burger without the bun. Ha!

Here’s a basic list to summarize what I do and do not consume:

Yes:

•Veggies

•Meats and fish

•3 liters of water daily

•Whole fruits (avoid fruit juices and oranges)

•Eggs

•Nuts

•Stop eating/drinking 4 hours before bed

No:

•Alcohol

•Caffeine (limit to 2 cups of coffee in the morning)

•Sugar

•Dairy

•Gluten/grains

•Carbonated sodas

•Fried food

The goal of this plan is to reduce phlegm/mucus production, prevent acid reflux and create a healthy home for my voice so I can maintain the stamina and freedom I need to tour.

I know you’re all rolling your eyes right now and wondering what happened to the “Sex, Drugs, Booze, Party, Rock N Roll” that we all love so much…

Well, to be honest, it’s the state of the music industry. As musicians we are quite literally singing for our supper. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE touring, but the reality is that our idols from the 70’s and 80’s never toured this hard. They’d do a record, have one big world tour, maybe two then break to do another record. Today, We are touring the world for three years straight in between album cycles. We do twice the amount of work, for a quarter amount of the kickback.

So what happened to the hangovers and cocaine binges? Replaced with juicers, and masseuses. Like I said before, some singers/bands can still live out their drug and alcohol soaked 80’s fantasies while maintaining a decent living. I’m not one of them. But most of those bands aren’t the ones working at the top of their game. From my view, the small circle I see Truly making a career at this whole music thing, are the sober, songwriting, guitar scale practicing, getting a full nights sleep type Rock Stars. I’ve learned a lot from these older brothers and sisters of Rock. One of them said to me once when I inquired about his sobriety, “You know what’s more fun than getting wasted every night? Getting high off hittin’ those high notes every fucking night!” So with that I wear my “monk” badge with pride and honor, because the less “fun” I have, really does equal more fun on stage, and the continuation of the legacy I’m building. And besides, with the “drugs and booze” pushed to the side, it leaves so much more room to put the Sex back in Rock n Roll!

Love,

“Friar” Lzzy

anonymous asked:

reader having a hot morning voice and then kara going like "please don't speak" and reader asking why thinking kara is mad at her and the kara like "because every-time you talk i want you to rip my clothes and take me everywhere on this apt" and then reader giggling and kissing kara telling her she's leaving to work and then while reader leaves kara is like it's not funny and then readers at the door and says it totally is love you bye and kara grunts

Originally posted by melbenoists

“God, I already can’t wait to go back to bed tonight.”

“Please don’t speak,” Kara hands you a cup of coffee and you frown in confusion as you take it from her.

“What did I do?”

“Nothing.  You just…you have this morning voice and every time you talk I want you to rip my clothes off and take me everywhere in this apartment.”

The admission literally makes your jaw drop and you can’t suppress a laugh.

“Wow,” you kiss her and then take a sip of your coffee.  “If I didn’t have to go to work right now, I would take you up on that.”

“It’s not funny.”

“It totally is,” you chuckle and sling your coat over your shoulders.  “Love you.  Have a good day.”

“Mmhmm,” Kara grunts in response.

anonymous asked:

Companions react to resting their head on F!SS chest (let's just say F!SS kinda has big breasts and such) when SS is holding them close

Dogmeat: Dogmeat will rest his head there occasionally but usually just to sniff Sole’s mouth to see if they ate anything yummy recently.

Codsworth: He doesn’t really lay down, just floats. However one day he did walk in on Sole changing, and immediately turned around. He laughed nervously and said “Well the wife/hubby did always talk about how..charmed they were with your assets.”

Preston: “You know, you have the nicest bazoongas I’ve ever seen.” Preston said, laying his head to rest on Sole. Sole snorted and laughed at his use of the word “bazoongas” and Preston was embarrassed. He kept trying to explain that it was the first thing to come to mind.

Piper: After Nat was tucked into bed, Sole and Piper curled up themselves. Piper was usually big spoon, and reached around to grab Sole’s boobs playfully. Sole jumped in surprise, turning and blushing to see Piper snickering in the dark. “They’re perfect hand warmers Blue, ya can’t blame me!” She whispered.

Nick: Nick laid his head gently onto Sole’s chest. He sighed contently. Sole asked if he was comfortable. “The most comfortable I’ve been in a long time.” He replied, savoring the feeling.

Hancock: “I would stab a man for every time I got to see those,” Hancock said, Sole laying in his lap, him looking down at their chest. “Ah so that first time was wishful thinking.” Sole joked, slowly pulling the zipper on their suit down. Hancock smiled and bent over at an angle to rub his face in between their tits. Sole only heard a muffled “this is like heaven.”

Macready: One of the SoleCready power couple’s favorite positions to cuddle in was Sole on their back and Macready laying on top of Sole with his head on their chest. Sole liked to feel the weight of someone on top of them. Macready claimed simply that it was better than a pillow.

Cait: Cait sat on Sole’s hips. They were holding hands, being generally flirty. Sole’s legs were starting to feel a little stiff and asked Cait to get off but Cait just fell forward resting her head on Sole’s chest and whined “but this is the best seat in the house..”

Curie: “Darling…your breasts are so much beeger zan mine!” Curie was staring in awe as Sole changed. Sole laughed, saying it was literally just luck in how they were made. Curie nodded and giggled. “Could we possibly sleep naked tonight, my love?” Sole smirked, stopping putting on pajamas and helped Curie out of hers. Sole shivered as Curie’s cold cheeks hit her chest. Curie just snuggled in for the night.

Danse: That’s just how Danse sleeps now. On a mission, the two needed to take cover but there were no pillows on the bed so Danse used a substitute. He was so smitten that he sleeps cheek to boob, with a hand cupping one, and gives gentle squeezes in his sleep.

Deacon: “Have I ever told you that these are the best knockers in the whole Commonwealth.” Deacon was face planted in between Sole’s breasts. He nuzzled their sternum softly. “Perfect spot for safety and warmth, and right next to your ticker, to make sure you’re still with me.”

Strong: “Strong likes pretty human’s chest lady parts. Very soft.”

X6-88: It must have been something in the Synth’s coding, but whenever Sole grabbed X6 to rest his head on their chest, he got squirmy and restless. When Sole finally asked what the problem was, X6 responded saying he couldn’t lay on their breasts without thinking of Father and that any other position would be acceptable.

sleepycinnamonrollqueen  asked:

The One Where Chandler Gets Caught

“Hey, Stiles says he’s running late, got caught up at the mall getting Christmas presents for Derek.”

Scott rolls his eyes, glares at his muffin, “Every year, he gets the best gift for Derek, and I look like the chump brother that isn’t thoughtful enough.”

“Maybe one year you could give us actual presents instead of making donations on our behalf to the museum,” Lydia suggests sweetly.

“I like them,” Allison insists loyally, and Scott beams at her. “It makes me feel like I’ve done something good, you know, saved an old relic for another year.”

Scott’s happy smile dies, and he scowls, “Ha ha.”

Allison winks at him over her coffee cup, glances out of the window. “Hey, isn’t that Stiles?”

They all look up to see Stiles and a pretty blonde woman walking down the sidewalk. Stiles is talking animatedly, and the woman is laughing. At one point they stop, and she reaches out, tugs something out of his hair. Stiles’ eyes crinkle as he smiles down at her.

It’s a fond look. 

“He lied to us,” Lydia states flatly, “Why would he—”

“I don’t believe it,” Erica murmurs, watching with wide eyes as Stiles kisses her on the cheek, helps her into a cab. “Nope, not happening. I saw them this morning. Derek had a hickey for god’s sake.”

Keep reading

Chapter 19 (Baby I’m A Sinner)

Short Summary: Basically a dark bad boy Niall/innocent girl story based on the quote: “Every girl wants a bad boy who will be good just for her, and every boy wants a good girl who will be bad just for him.”

Read whole story here

Word count: ~5k

Like if you want me to continue!

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Include the phrase "I know you think I hate you but I swear to God I didn't mean to hit you with my car."

ayeeeee u didn’t give me a ship so im gonna write percabeth for the first time okay woo:

Annabeth sighed as she was hit with a partially deflated beach ball for the sixth time since arriving at the hospital. The taller of the two boys who have been harassing her for almost an hour exhaled an unapologetic “sorry, lady” as he chased after his brother. 

The woman who seemed to be the mother of the two noticed Annabeth’s glare and gave a shrug as if to say “Boys will be boys. What can you do?”

Well you could get your damn kids under control,’ she thought to herself. The smaller boy stepped on her foot as he ran by and Annabeth was either going to shove her fist in his face or her own if she didn’t get called back soon. 

“Mrs. Chase?”

A young, friendlylooking nurse with a clipboard stood in front of her. Annabeth had never been more relieved to see a pair of throw up stained scrubs and white tennis shoes in her life. 

“It’s Miss, but yeah, that’s me. How’s he doing?” She stood up and smoothed out her blazer, grabbing her purse. 

The nurse smiled. “He’s in room 306, it’s down that hallway and to the left.”

That didn’t answer her question, and Annabeth seldom had time for people who couldn’t answer her questions, so she slid past the nurse with a quick “thank you very much,” and continued down the hallway, the clacking of her heels echoing through the hallway. 

Despite the incident occurring only yesterday, Percy’s room was already filled with balloons, flowers, and a stuffed bear wishing him to “Feel better bear-y soon!” Annabeth would be lying if she said she didn’t throw up in her mouth a little. 

Percy himself sat up in his bed, scooping blue jello into his mouth with the arm that wasn’t in a sling. White bandages kept his hair out of his eyes, allowing Annabeth to see his eyebrows for the first time. They were thick, but not unruly and framed his green eyes nicely.

“Um, hey,” she said, taking a seat on the plastic chair next to his bed. 

“Chase.” Percy looked her up and down with a scowl. “Surprised they’d let you in here considering you tried to kill me.” 

Percy’s terrible attitude was the last thing she needed right now. But considering yesterday’s events, an apology was in order, regardless of how annoying her co-worker. 

“Look,” she began, attempting to draw his attention away from his desert. “I know you think I hate you-”

“-Because you do-”

“-but I swear to god I didn’t mean to hit you with my car.”

Percy rolled his eyes and then lowered them in concentration as he tried again to eat the jello. The blob fell from his fork and onto the tray upon his lap. “That sounds like something who did mean to hit me with their car would say,” he tutted, still focused on the blue blob. 

“I mean, it’s totally understandable. You’re still jealous that I got the Assistant Manager position even though you were obviously more qualified than me,” he said sarcastically, unaffected by Annabeth’s glare. “Motive’s all there.”

“Percy,” Annabeth got out between her clenched teeth. He may or may not have struck a nerve. “That was six months ago. I don’t care anymore.”

The man smirked as he successfully launched a spoonful of the blue abomination into his open mouth. “Trust me, Annie, I’ve had first hand experience with how long girls can hold grudges.” He leaned back the mountain of hospital pillow’s, reaching vainly for his jello cup. 

“Could you get that for me, babe?”

In a fit of frustration Annabeth stood, grabbed the cup, and held it above her head. 

“I have had it up to here with just- everything today, and you, Jackson, are on my last nerve. Inappropriate nicknames and sexist comments aside, I came here for one thing and one thing only: to apologize.”

“And you have yet to say sorry.”

Percy sat up and extended his arm for the jello cup that was very clearly out of his reach. When Annabeth didn’t relinquish it, he fell back onto the bed with a mumble of “and I want my damn jello back.”

“Okay.” Annabeth sat back down, still holding his dessert hostage. “I’m sorry.”

“Apology unaccepted. Now give me my jello back.”

“What? No! Not until you forgive me!” she insisted.

Percy turned over on his side to face her directly, grumbling as he got entrapped in his blankets. “Annabeth, I’m going to remind you because it seems like you’ve forgotten that you literally hit me with your car.”

“It was an accident. Please don’t sue me, I really can’t afford it. I can pay for your medical bills, but really, I’m so so so sorry,” she pleaded, almost crushing the plastic cup between her hands in desperation. 

The hospitalized man was silent for a moment. When he finally did speak, it was after he struggled to sit up, still slightly tangled in his blanket cocoon. “Okay, I will forgive you and not take legal action on two conditions.”

Annabeth waited expectantly for him to continue. 

“Number one: You stop squeezing the life out of my jello and give it back immediately.”

The blonde placed it in his hand at once. “And?”

“And my second requirement is that you go out to dinner with me.”

Annabeth sat back in shock. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“Maybe.”

“Oh my god Percy, you can’t blackmail me into going out with you!” she exclaimed. 

Percy shrugged and resumed spooning jello into his mouth, not caring about the piece that fell off onto his shirt. “Apology not accepted then. 

“I won’t file a lawsuit since you gave me my jello back, but you’ll have to live with a guilty conscience of me not forgiving you if you refuse my offer.”

Well, it could be worse,’ she thought. Percy was easy on the eyes and not quite as awful as she made him out to be, but still, was it really worth going on a date with him just to get some sort of closure?

Yes, yes it was. 

Exhaling briefly, she stood up and slung her purse over her shoulder. 

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine, I’ll go out with you, Jackson,” she clarified. 

Percy hid a smile behind his spoon full of jello. “Alright, can’t wait to see more of your charming personality, Chase. Leave your number with the nurse, and I’ll call you later so we can work out the details.”

Annabeth scoffed and turned on her heel, wondering what the hell she’d gotten herself into. On the way out the nurse from earlier gave her a sweet smile. A pack of sticky notes lay on the front desk and Annabeth took one without asking the staff member behind it. 

“Excuse me?” she called to the nurse who was speaking to the mother of the two boys. The woman looked worried and Annabeth regretted interrupting the conversation, but she already had the nurse’s attention. “Do you think you could give this to Percy for me?”

She held the orange sticky note out in front of her. The nurse took it without complaint and stuffed it into her baggy pocket. 

As Annabeth walked out the door, hands in coat pockets, she felt the beach ball hit her one last time, but oddly enough she didn’t mind.