HAPPY BIRTHDAY SARAH ( obriensnipples ) U NERD


Stiles glares at a crate of avocados.

He reaches out to test another one, squeezing it gently to test for its ripeness, but once again it turns out hard. He’s pretty sure he’s been through three fourths of the crate at this point and all of them are too firm. Really, he should have bought some when he last went shopping to give them time to ripen, but, then again, his cravings can be unpredictable at times. And he really wants fresh guacamole, like, today.

Sighing, he considers abandoning the farmers market and braving the local chain grocery store, but just as he’s reaching out to try one last avocado, someone else’s hand darts out to grab it.

“Hey!” Stiles yelps as his hand is knocked out of the way. He turns his glare on the intruder, losing hold of his anger for a moment as he takes in the man’s broad chest and perfectly groomed stubble.

However, as soon as he sees the avocado skin flex perfectly under the man’s fingers, he just about sees red.

“Oh my god,” he hisses, launching himself at the avocado. “Give me that!”

“What the hell?” the guy replies, jerking his hands away and holding the avocado away from Stiles’ reach. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“I have spent the last hour searching the entire market for a ripe avocado and you just waltz on in and find it on the first try,” Stiles growls, glare still sharp.

“So?” Tall, Dark, and Stubbly asks, unmoved.

“So don’t you think it’s only fair – ” Stiles starts, but Avocado Asshole cuts him off.

“No,” he snorts, placing the avocado in a plastic bag and heading over to the stall owner to pay. “It’s not my fault you suck at finding the best produce.”

“I’m clearly just unlucky!” Stiles shouts at Avocado Asshole’s retreating back, hands curled up into fists at his sides.

He finally finds ripe, but badly bruised, avocados at a mega chain grocery store an hour and a half later. However, it’s only once he gets home that he realizes he forgot to get tomatoes.

Fuck his life.

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‘are you jealous?’

Words: 801

Characters: Pietro/Reader

A/N: so sorry for the lack of updates, i’ve been busy trying to get ready for my finals. The person who requested this requested one for jealous!pietro (which is this one) and one for jealous!reader and while i wanted to post them together, the reader one is taking a little more time but i wanted to post something so here’s part one in a way

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Hold my hand as I’m lowered.

He had been born a daughter with the name of Marie-Claudette, and he had never understood his parents’ insistence on this fact. He had known as long as it was possible to know oneself that he was not a daughter, but a son, and had never shied away from taking action to let them know this.

How many times can an only daughter be caught tearing up expensive petticoats and wrapping them tightly across her chest before her parents show concern?

Apparently, thrice. The first time, his mother had been horrified upon the discovery, stuffing his ruined petticoat into the fire so his father would not find out and swearing him to secrecy. The second time, the maid had caught him and informed his mother, and once again, she had expressed her dismay. She’d sent him to confession for the sin of denying the body that god had given him, and he had gone and paid lip-service, all the while planning how to go about it again without being caught. A strategist, even then.
The third time, when he was seventeen, it was his father who stumbled upon him in the act of binding his chest, pulling the ripped fabric so tightly across his breast that it brought tears to his eyes. He had not been half as forgiving as his mother had.

Figured I should promote my fic properly. Canon-era trans boy Enjolras. 

Right, so, it took a little longer than an hour. Sorry, Anon.

Here’s a rough-ish, quickly typed up version of that meeting between Darcy and Natasha. I apologize for typos and whatnot. 


The fourth, and most intriguingly mysterious, member of Tony’s new superhero boy band, turned up at the Tower about a week and a half after the battle.

It was early, too early, the morning barely more than a rosy blush across the sky. Darcy was in the kitchen, her chin propped on one hand, while she clutched her mug of coffee like a lifeline. Next to her sat Jane, reading off numbers from a massive stack of papers, and quizzing Darcy on their research. Across the table, Tony was working on his tablet while simultaneously irritating Jane by interjecting his thoughts, theories, and suggestions into her one-sided conversation with Darcy.

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Fluency in Sleep Talking

Prompts: I combined two prompts in this fic. 1. Kommissar talks (in German) in her sleep, and 2. Beca secretly knows German.

A/N: Another little piece of my (and my muse’s) headcanon. I mean, all of my prompts so far come from one person, so it’s all going to be within the same universe unless I say otherwise. Kommissar is still just Kommissar (I was too lazy to go through and change that, sorry). Although I study German, I don’t know it anywhere near fluently yet. I did have to rely on Google Translate at some points, so I apologize if any of the German was butchered because of that. Translations are at the end of the fic. I’m not sure if I like this one. Some parts didn’t flow as well as I would’ve liked them to, but whatever. I tried, right?

Also on AO3


Beca was nestled in bed, tucked comfortably in Kommissar’s arms. The German’s level breathing against Beca’s back and light snoring next to her ear assured Beca that she was sound asleep. The brunette reached toward the lamp on the nightstand, turning it off, and snuggled closer to the taller woman. The blonde shifted, wrapping an arm around the smaller girl. Beca smiled, kissing her girlfriend on the cheek and resting her head on the woman’s chest. The sleeping woman grunted and mumbled incoherently.

Beca glanced up at her. “What was that?”

Du bist sehr schön…”

Beca raised an eyebrow, craning her neck to look fully at Kommissar. “Hey… are you awake…?”

“Mm… Dein Haut glänzt wie Silber…”

Beca tilted her head. “Hello…?” She poked the slumbering giantess lightly, only getting another grunt in return. Beca sighed and laid her head back down. “Okay…"

The blonde’s hand started to move, skimming up Beca’s side and stopped when it reached her face. It lightly cupped her cheek, the thumb tracing back and forth across the girl’s mouth. “Deine Lippen sind so weich…”

The corners of Beca’s lips turned up into a gently amused smile. She kissed the thumb that caressed her lips, taking Kommissar’s hand, and placing it back around her waist.

“Well… that’s interesting…” Beca mused to herself, then shrugged, figuring this would be a good conversation for the morning. With that, she laid her head back down and drifted off to sleep.


Kommissar was standing in the kitchen preparing coffee for Beca when she heard light footsteps approaching. “Ah, you’re awake. I trust you slept well?”

Beca yawned, slipping into a chair at the breakfast table. “I did. But…”

Kommissar looked up, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity. “But?”

Beca smirked. “I didn’t know you talk in your sleep.”

The German blinked. “Pardon?”

Beca grinned. “You talk in your sleep.”

The German scoffed. “Nonsense.”

Beca stood and walked toward her, lifting herself onto the kitchen counter, bringing her to eye level with the other woman. She watched as Kommissar continued to busy herself with making coffee, until she spoke up again. “Pretty sure you were rambling in German.”

“I don’t recall. Perhaps you were having a… fever dream, I think is the term.” The blonde focused solely on the coffee in front of her, placing it next to Beca and turning to leave. The brunette took her coffee and slid off the counter. A grin still adorning her face, she followed the other woman into the living room.

Kommissar was on the couch staring blankly at the TV, changing the channel every few seconds. Beca rolled her eyes at how typically stubborn her girlfriend was being. The German glanced up at Beca, who was leaning in the doorway looking right back at her.

“There’s no need to be so… oh, wie heißt das Wort… smug… yes, smug about whatever you think you heard.”

Beca shrugged, settling next her on the couch. She took a sip of her coffee, speaking into her cup. “I just think it’s adorable.”

Kommissar grunted indignantly, at which the smaller girl laughed and raised a hand in surrender. “Fine, fine, I’ll leave it alone.”

She got up to leave, but not before speaking up again. “Oh, and for the record… du bist auch sehr schön.”

Kommissar perked up at that, not sure if she had heard correctly, but the brunette was already on her way back to the bedroom. She took a moment, debating on whether to pursue the issue. Coming to a decision, she turned off the TV and stood, following Beca into their room.

The girl was already settled at her desk, headphones blaring whatever project she was working on for the record label. Kommissar came up behind her, sliding her headphones off and around her neck. The DJ looked up and smiled, pausing her music. “Hey, you.”

The woman in question bent down to meet her lips in a soft kiss. She sat down next to the smaller girl. “You never told me you could speak German.”

Beca smirked. “You never asked.”

Kommissar shook her head. “You are so…”


The German put a finger to her lips in thought. “Sneaky…”

Beca rolled her eyes. “Well, it’s about time I took you by surprise.”

Kommissar grinned. “Still very much a feisty Maus as well though.”

Beca pulled the German toward her for another kiss, but not before whispering. “You wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Mm. This is true.” Kommissar rested her forehead against the smaller girl’s.

Beca closed her eyes, sighing contentedly. “Ich liebe dich.”

Kommissar smiled. “Ich liebe dich über Alles, mein Mäuschen.”



Du bist sehr schön – you are very pretty/beautiful

Dein Haut glänzt wie Silber – your skin shines like silver

Deine Lippen sind so weich – your lips are so soft

wie heißt das Wort – what’s the word

du bist auch sehr schön – you are also very pretty/beautiful

Maus – mouse

Ich liebe dich – I love you

Ich liebe dich über Alles, mein Mäuschen – I love you more than anything, my little mouse

And then Kibum smiled...

a little birthday gift for the lovely fonulyn~~~ some adorable Minkey to keep things awesome~~~! i hope you like it my Jojo, even with all the errors im sure are littered throughout <3. also from this little AU Jo and I spawned from the moment in the View mv when Kibum runs n Minho follows after…

He’d seen him before. They would pass occasionally in the hallway, almost bump into each other on the stairs. His pigeon hole letter box in the dingy foyer was just above the others so there had been a time where he’d reached up and over the – only slightly – smaller person’s head to get to his mail. They’d never really spoke aside from the polite “excuse me”s, “thank you”s and sometimes a “hello” here and there when required, and really he didn’t know how, but he had come to hope that he would run into the other male, that he would get a chance to reach over his head for mail just to be close enough to see if he still used the same fragrant shampoo. He had even come to get used to the occasional barking of the two poodles he knew were smuggled and kept in the room even though the sign in the entrance to the apartment complex specifically said “no pets”. He’d helped cover for his neighbour many times, not wanting him to be kicked out.

He supposed it was the fact that they had never really spoken that suddenly being ground against by said male was a little odd for him?

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semirahrose asked:

"Close your eyes, Sammy."

When Sam killed Madison, she kept her dark eyes open, shining reassurance as he levelled the gun at her head. Sam could have asked her to close them, to make it easy. But she needed him to see her, so that’s what he did.

Dean’s the opposite: he needs Sam not to be looking. Sam closes his eyes.

(send me the first sentence of a fic and i’ll write the next five)

Fandom:  Dragon Age Inquisition

Rating:  Explicit

Pairing:  Dorian Pavus/Iron Bull

Summary:  After more than a year away, Dorian returns.

denugis asked:

The first night Riot barks at him.


And he doesn’t stop–even after Amelia tries to calm him down, even after she puts him outside; Riot barks and whines while Sam lies rigid in bed like a board (like a corpse) and Amelia falls asleep with her hand still locked in Sam’s tense fingers.

The second night, he wakes up in a cold sweat, sitting at the dining table with a half-glass of whiskey in one hand; when Amelia comes in and says, “baby, what’s wrong?” the glass explodes in his hand and he screams.

The third night, he loses himself in the middle of a story, and when he comes back, Amelia is holding his hands. “Sam,” she says, slowly, clearly, “where is your brother?”

“In here,” Sam says faintly, “and he won’t leave.”

Leave the first sentence of a fic in my askbox and i will write the next five! )

infamously-exhausted asked:

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam caught tears with the tip of his tongue. "I didn't think it would end up like this.

Dean hovered at the gate: jittery, maybe angry. He kept looking back up towards the house.

Sam’s stomach was clenching tight and painful and every muscle in his body was tingling sick with nerves; but he held tight to the strap of the bag slung over his shoulder.

“I’m not trying to walk out on the family,” he said. “I’m just going to school.”

(send me the first sentence of a fic and i’ll write the next five)

anonymous asked:

For those writing prompts. Life is Strange, Pricefield maybe? Or Marshfield?? Thank you!! Have a good day too by the way

Contains spoilers for Ep3. 500~ words, Chloe-centric introspective Pricefield.

Chloe had always been a big fan of dares.

Perhaps it was the thrill of the unknown, the challenge behind the smirk that accompanied it, or the knowledge that whatever she herself ended up doing, it would royally piss off all that tried to discipline her. Perhaps it was the element of control, as she took the reins into her own hands, directing others into certain shame or, occasionally, danger.

Perhaps it was the way she, for once, felt like the puppeteer of her own life.

The result, of course, was always some kind of punishment, a good laugh before authority set in once again to render her life dull and boring. She could hear the words running through her mind. Chloe, did you really dare Rachel to climb onto the school roof? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? (Of course, she did. But Chloe would have done anything for Rachel, and she had only wanted her to prove the same.)

This time, however, it was different.

The dare had slipped from her mouth with the same familiar smile, the same surge of power that had always flicked through her like a bolt, the same jovial stance, the same “come on, I know you’re about to chicken out on me, Max” face that she had adopted so many times before. Max wasn’t like Rachel. Max wasn’t like Chloe. Max wasn’t like any of them, really. She was good, and sweet, and kind, and if Chloe thought about it too much it hurt a little bit and she wasn’t sure if that was jealousy or something else entirely.

Chloe didn’t want to think about that something else.

So, when she had dropped the dare as she had, suddenly, in her domain, in her bedroom, in her control, she had hardly expected Max to fall in line and take the bait. She had expected her to recoil, to back off, and to wriggle out of it as she had been so good at doing before. Chloe had wanted, of course, for her to take the opportunity – but the want was buried beneath a thousand layers of guilt and hate and anger and most of all, the incurable awareness that she could lose this all in a second, her trust little more than tiny shards of broken glass, waiting to cut the palms any that came too close.

She had wanted. But everything Chloe had ever wanted was now lost.

Except for Max.  

So Chloe had been ready. She had been ready to brush off her feelings and joke about Max’s inability to take a good dare, her defences high and her humour sharp. The tensions would build and she would eventually snap, when Max least expected it, like a wounded animal slowly bleeding out, but to let her know the pain she had caused? Never.

So when Max leaned forward and brushed their lips together, Chloe didn’t quite know what to do.

Happiness wasn’t exactly a familiar sensation within her heart.

But as she backed off, making a casual joke about Warren’s chances, her heart fluttered with the wings of a newborn hope.

One Last Time

Fandom: Agent Carter

Pairing: Cartinelli

Rating: G

Word count: 2,700 words

Peggy knows that she should be nothing but happy that Angie has finally gotten a role of her own…but even success comes at a price. Some Cartinelli angst with a side of fluff, set at the lead-in to S2. Enjoy!

There is a lead-pipe-shaped bruise blooming painfully between your shoulder blades, and it sounds an screaming protest every time you shift your shoulders or turn your head - but the medical team at the SSR has assured you that no serious damage has been suffered. A quiet night with some ice and a nice cup of tea ought to have you right back in fighting shape, they said with a benign smile, and you knew even before they voiced the suggestion that you would be ignoring it.

Some things are more important than rest.

You assured her that you would come as soon as you were able, and a quick call ahead verified that she had not yet left the restaurant. And so it is that you arrive, still in your suit - for the blazer, at least, had escaped the marks of the scuffle, even if the back of your blouse had not - in Tompkins Square Park. For a moment you hesitate on the sidewalk, bag clutched in your hands, and breathe in the cool night air to steady yourself. Autumn is on the horizon, and you can smell it in the breeze.

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anonymous asked:

You know that picture of Tupperware that says "ever top is a bottom" just picture Derek buying that for Stiles as a way to bring up how he want to bottom when so far all Derek's been doing is topping.

You mean this one?

I have seen it floating around the Tumblrs… (Funny side note: when I first saw it, I sent it to my gay friend and was like “please find this as hilarious as I do.” and he was like “Yes. It’s perfect.”)

Buuuuuuuut, I gotta be real with you anon. As much as I’m a fan of bottom!Derek (because believe me I am, like you guys know this, hello), I kind of don’t see this as something Derek would do to hint to Stiles he wants to bottom? Like I DEFINITELY see Stiles doing it, and Derek looking at him like he’s an idiot and being like… “Really? You know you could have just told me instead of buying these stupid containers we don’t need.” But, I don’t see Derek needing to be subtle in this way about it? At least not canon!Derek?

Like canon!Derek to me would top like nobody’s business and then would sit Stiles down and say, “Okay. I like it, it’s fun. But it’s my turn.” And Stiles would just nod with his mouth hanging open and going “God yes, why didn’t you tell me. We could have been doing this forever ago,” when they do get down to business.

I don’t know I just see him being more upfront and direct about it and Stiles being like um yes okay.

NOOOOW if you mean an AU!Derek where maybe he’s this shy, quiet type who wears sweaters and enjoys things like hot chocolate and reading by the fire, who maybe is a writer or a professor and has never had or experienced the joys of bottoming because he doesn’t look the type (or maybe is afraid), and when he sees Stiles and how much Stiles loves and enjoys bottoming, he kind of wants to try? And so he tries it himself first, like rubbing his rim in the shower, or dipping in a finger while he masturbates, but he’s pretty sure he’s not doing it right, but he doesn’t quite know how to tell Stiles he wants to try this. And he’s been trying to figure out some way when he’s at the store and he sees these and it’s like a lightbulb goes off, so he buys them. 

He sets them on the counter still in the box when Stiles comes over, but Stiles pays no attention to them as he’s getting a glass of water and telling Derek about his day. So he kind of clears his throat and scoots the boxer closer to Stiles, and when Stiles gives him a questioning look, Derek’s eyes flick down to the box. And Stiles stares at the box and then back up at Derek, so confused because okay he bought new containers that’s great? What does he care? And then Derek rolls his eyes, and points at the motto on the package, and Stiles stares at it some more and then his eyes widen and his eyes flick back up to Derek, and he jumps on him, kissing him and saying things like, “You are such a dork, oh my god,” and “You are so adorable,” and “I can’t believe I like you so much.”

And they go to bed and Stiles takes his time stretching Derek out because he wants Derek’s first time bottoming to be really good, and by the end of it, Derek is a changed man and basically wants to bottom all the time. And they keep the box the containers came in and put it up on the shelf in their closet as a memento.

Blank Wrist

Summary: Steve thinks he doesn’t have a soulmate but fate has something else in mind for him.

MCU; rated T; approx. ~2500 words

Written for 890fifth’s thirteenth round: A-L-O-N-E

When Steve was six, he dreamed about finding his soulmate. She would be perfect, with dark brown hair and lots of sass and guts. They would meet while fighting mobsters, robbers and rumrunners. They would get married and move into the apartment next to his mother. He was six and that was his idea of love.

But he wasn’t born with a soulmate mark.

It wasn’t that unusual, at first. A lot of the kids Steve knew weren’t born with marks. But nearly all of them got their marks by first grade. Except for Steve, whose wrist remained as blank as the day he was born. And would remain that way until he crashed an airplane into the north Atlantic.

His mother would hug him and tell him not to worry, that the soulmate mark would show up eventually. It did for everyone.

His mother lied to him.

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anonymous asked:

"Sammy, look out!" Dean screamed from behind him.

Sam spun round just in time to catch the spell full in the chest: a jet of green light that hit like a truck, propelling him painfully into the wall.

“I’m fine,” he tried to say. But there was something wrong with his throat, something catching there so his words came out garbled, floating in a bloody mess of foam.

“Fucking BITCH,” yelled Dean, launching himself at the sorceress; who drew herself up to her full height, and began to laugh.

“Not so easy when you can’t lie, is it, boys?” she said.

(send me the first sentence of a fic and I’ll write the next five)

always forever (deancas + baking | ao3)

It’s been raining for close to a week now, from sun showers and drizzles to thunderstorms and everything in between. The bunker’s too heavily insulated to let the real sound of it in, but the greyness of it all is clear as soon as Dean steps outside, filling him with thoughts of turning right back around, back to his home with its comfort and safety and warmth.

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bedannibal-lectaurier asked:

fic request---something about Hannibal buying Bedelia all those fancy clothes, dressing/undressing each other.

Hannibal arrives at her doorstep empty-handed and broken-hearted, rain and blood and tears running down his face and staining the expensive thread of his dress shirt. His upper lip twitches and she feels something like pity claw at her throat, something like power at her fingertips.

“Come with me,” he says and they’re on a plane to Paris before she can change her mind.

There is no time to pack.


“What do you think?”  He looks expectant, always desperate for her approval.

Eyebrows raised, she takes a long coat from Hannibal’s hands and inspects it. A bright shade of blue, so unlike the beiges and greys and taupes she left behind.

Her gaze lingers on the garment and Hannibal’s gaze lingers on her. Neither speaks until he plucks the jacket from her loose grasp with slightly pursed lips.

“You hate it,” he says and hands it to the shopgirl hovering nearby. His tone is so petulant, so child-like Bedelia could laugh.

“Not quite,” she tells him after another moment, and it’s both the truth and a lie. She moves away from him, runs her fingers across the couture rack, all brushed leather and pony hair and merino wool. “It’s different.”

(A week ago she wouldn’t have considered a shop like this, but a week ago she wasn’t married, a week ago she wasn’t on the run.)

New life, new clothes. The thought is laughable and frivolous, everything about this is laughable and frivolous. She turns to face the salesgirl.

“We’ll take it.”


She looks at their reflection: silk brocade and wool, Pucci and Ferragamo, gold on their ring fingers. Her dress matches the aperitivo in her glass and both go well with Hannibal’s bowtie. They’re extraordinarily spousal.

“A coincidence,” he claims, but she knows him too well to believe it.

“Of course.” She sets her glass on the chiffonier and moves closer to him. It is perfectly straight but she adjusts the knot at his neck, lets her hands linger a moment too long and feels him tense beneath her touch.

“We should go,” Hannibal says but does not move. She rests her palms flat against his chest and stretches tall to press her mouth behind his ear. “We’ll be late.”

Bedelia shrugs and tugs at his tie. “Italians are flexible with time.”  

Watch How I Soar

Yona’s interlude is now on AO3!

When Yona is kidnapped as a child, Hak and Soo-won fail to rescue her in time. But all is not lost! On a ship bound for the Kai Empire, she’s saved by none other than Captain Gi-gan’s pirates—including a fifteen-year-old Green Dragon.

This chapter is a shorter interlude from Yona’s pov. We’ll get back to Jae-ha and the official third chapter soon!

Chapter 1
Chapter 2

the-megalosaurus asked:

For the fic game: "The Easter bunny, Sam, really?"

Sam shrugged, holding a tiny puff of white fur with wiggly ears and a pink nose in hands that completely enveloped it. 

“The sign on the box said free and they were trying to get rid of them by the end of the day,” he pleaded, though he didn’t look up from the tiny bunny he held. “I was afraid what they might do with the bunnies leftover.”

“But… ‘Best regards, the Easter bunny’?” Dean continued, holding up a holiday card with a glittery rabbit on the cover that contained a ‘Have a happy Easter!’ note scrawled in Sam’s slender writing. 

“I figured humor might tip the scales” –an angelic smile began to split Sam’s face– “… so can we keep it?”

[Send me the first line of a fic and I will write the next five!]