or he had a very good night the day before

Jason is shortsighted. He experienced irreparable damage to his sight during an explosion once and he has no wish to go back to the Lazarus pit thank you very much.

He successfully manages to hide this from his family for years by wearing contact lenses.
That was until one day.
Tim called Roy asking where Jason was as they were supposed to meet up to exchange Intel.
Roy apologised and informed him that Jason had crashed his motorbike the night before and was resting up.

Tim on an attempt to be a good, caring brother called around unexpected with a canister of Alfred’s chicken soup.
He found his brother reading on the couch. Tim just stared before digging out his phone and taking a picture.
Jason’s eye was too swollen for him to wear his contacts so the young man was sat reading wearing the geekiest, thickest framed glasses known to man.

Tim being the good, caring brother that he was immediately sent the picture to everyone before Jason killed him.
Well, Jason tried to kill him but after his accident all he could do was limp after his annoying little brother like an actual zombie whilst he yelled his threats.

The next morning Jason received a call off a very unimpressed Alfred declaring that he was to be at the manor for an eye examination at 3 pm that day. He was then informed of he required emotional support Mr Harper was welcome to accompany him but they were to stay in separate rooms. Apparently, just because Masters Bruce and Richard shamed the family with their wanton behaviour didn’t give the rest of them leave to. If MasterJason brought along a marriage certificate, Master Roy would be allowed to stay in his quarters.

Jason hung up and stared at the phone, pushing his glasses up his nose he shook his head.
What was worse? The family finding out about his eyesight, or Alfred treating him like a maiden from one of his romantic novels?

A Mess of Pulses | Ian x Reader

Part 3 of my ongoing Ian fic. You don’t need to be caught up on any plot to read this, but if you are caught up then I especially appreciate you! A massive THANK YOU goes out to everybody who had enjoyed any of my previous fics enough to leave me any sort of feedback! I mentally bless every URL that shows up in my notifs, so if you’re one of them, I hope my blessings were realized and that you had a great day lol xxxxxxx

This contains SMUT, but it’s very fluffy because I’m a slut for emotionally vulnerable Ian.

Summary: Ian’s been trying to act chill about you, but he’s lowkey obsessed. Thankfully, he manages to finally score and land a good nut. Papa bless.

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here’s part two of yesterday’s fic, which you can read here if you missed it :) enjoy!


When Felicity’s eyes blinked open the next morning at the sound of her alarm, she fumbled to turn it off before grabbing her glasses to check her email.

“Please, please please…” she muttered to herself as she skimmed through her notifications for an email from the office regarding the status of her potential snow day.

Finding what she was looking for, she was about to settle back into her nest of blankets and pillows to spend her day off catching up on some must needed sleep… when she remembered what had happened last night. Suddenly she wasn’t quite so sleepy anymore as embarrassment flooded her.

“Is this the part where you ask me to stay?”

He exhaled and shook his head, “I don’t think that would be a very good idea.”

Duh it wasn’t a good idea, she thought to herself. They had just met a few hours before and, okay yeah he had been a little flirty, but she had been unintentionally way too forward—thanks to her faulty brain to mouth filter— and now there was no way she was going to be able to ever speak to him again let alone make eye contact if they encountered each other in the hallway.

Except that now she was remembering that he had invited her over for breakfast, if they got a snow day, which they did. And she had agreed to come over.

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"Did he break up with me...because I'm black?"

Who here has ever had this thought? *raises hand like the black guy in mean girls when asked who’s been victimized by Regina George*

I know I have. My last *kind of* relationship ended about a month ago now, and here’s what happened. I was dating this guy that I really, really liked. I met his family, his friends, he met my family, my friends. Things were headed in a good direction…until they weren’t. One night, a few days before we were supposed to hang out and well…consummate our relationship, he told me that he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t be my first because he wasn’t completely over his ex girlfriend. Which was commendable. He said he didn’t want to break up, but he wasn’t ready to take that leap. Well, I told him that I couldn’t very well still hang out with him if he had any feelings for someone else. Logical. And even though it was kind of my idea, I couldn’t help but feel like I did something wrong. Like something was wrong with me. What could his ex have that I don’t? Upon our separation he had said that I was “the sweetest girl he’s ever met” and “way prettier than he deserved.” So what then? What could she have that I don’t? What could make him need to explore if there was still something with his ex, when I was standing RIGHT in front of him?

“Is it because… I’m black?”

I’ve thought this to myself time and time again. Trying to figure out if maybe that was the reason. On some subconscious level, could he just not handle being with a girl of color?
If you’ve ever had this thought, you’re not alone.

But here’s what I think I’ve come to understand: If he was dating you in the first place, I highly doubt skin color has ANYTHING to do with the breakup.

It’s so easy to assume that that plays some role in it, but if that was the case, he wouldn’t have been dating you in the first place. For me, this guy was very affectionate towards me in public, in front of his parents, in front of his friends.. He wanted the guys who looked at me while we walked down the street to know that I was with him. This is how I know that it doesn’t have to do with my skin color: by his actions.
(Side note: If you’re wondering if the guy you’re with feels any sort of discomfort about being with you because of your skin color, get out now! There are plenty of guys out there who will love you no matter what.)

It’s easy to look at our skin as being what makes us less than his blonde ex, or the fair skinned actress that he has a crush on. But let’s all make a pact right now not to automatically blame the skin we’re in. If it doesn’t work out with someone, then it wasn’t meant to work out! No matter what the reason! We live in a society that tells us our skin is to blame for everything…for why we can get shot without being armed or a threat; why we are the group of women least likely to get married; why we look “suspicious” to those around us. So it’s natural to think that our skin would be the reason why the guys we like don’t like us back.

But um OUR SKIN IS BEAUTIFUL. It glows. Like literally lol. And even though breakups SUCK and I totally miss that guy..I know it wasn’t because of my golden brown skin. I’m probably just a psychopath ;)

Tyler told a story tonight at MSG he says he's never told before

In summary: He says he doesn’t remember it but his parents tell the story often. one night when he was like 8 years old he couldn’t sleep cuz he was very worried and his mom went into his room to see what was wrong.
And he was worried because he had the realization “one day I’m going to be famous”. His mom consoled him and then told Tyler’s dad “good news Chris. Tyler is going to be in the NBA”

But now with how it all turned out, she said “this’ll do”

Hey, guys, I’m sorry. I know I said I would be back on this blog soon and rebloggjng stuff, but things have gotten worse since my last post. I was finally getting better and feeling happy, things were going good. But the love of my life left me on New Year’s Day, after a year and 3 months of being together. He had spent the night before for New Year’s Eve, and we had a good time and I thought things were going very well and we were happy. However, he left me that afternoon. Things had been tough for a while but they were getting better so I wasn’t expecting it to happen. I’ve been feeling extremely unokay and heartbroken since, and just not very well in general. So I may be gone from this blog just a bit longer than expected, but I promise I WILL eventually try to come back. I’m so sorry for all of the problems.

Art School Victim - A.I.

Summary: Ashton is an art major who is going through a very hard time. Today is one of his good days.

Pairing: Ashton x Female Reader

- - - 

Ashton had a high expectation for art school before he enrolled. What he wasn’t expecting was the sleepless nights, crying and screaming because he “couldn’t do anything right” and smashing holes in his canvases because they “looked like complete and utter shit”. Y/N learned to deal with Ashton’s mood shifts, seeing him happy and giggly one moment and a nightmare the next. Art school had sent him into depression, but there were a couple times a week where Ashton was the happy, bright boy he was just a year ago. This was one of those days. 

Ashton sat with his legs on either sides of Y/N’s thighs, practicing his work on her bare skin. He loved when Y/N let him use her as his canvas. 

“Stay still, baby, I’m almost done,” Ashton murmured as he leaned a little further down, guiding the fine paintbrush against Y/N’s back. The cold feeling of the brush on her skin made Y/N giggle, but she knew the slightest mistake would send Ashton into nightmare mode, so she tried her hardest to stay still. 

After a few finishing touches and what sounded like a relieved sigh, she felt the weight of Ashton’s body lifted from her being. “All done, baby. Wanna see?” He asked, a hopeful sound in his voice. Y/N was riddled with excitement. This was the first time Ashton sounded positive about his artwork. 

“Of course I do!” Y/N responded as Ashton carefully helped her off the floor, making sure the drying paints didn’t get cracked or creased. He lead her slowly to the bathroom, her back facing the mirror. Ashton grabbed a smaller mirror from the shelf and handed it to Y/N, an anxious look in her eyes. “What do you think?" 

As Y/N lifted up the mirror, she saw her back covered in various hues of blue and yellow. Ashton painted an exact replication of Van Gogh’s Starry Night on her skin, making her gasp. "Holy shit,” she whispered, free hand flying up to cover her parted lips. “Ashton, this is beautiful!" 

"You don’t think it’s horrible?” He questioned, eyes wide with amazement. A grin tugged on his lips as he felt tears prick his eyes. He was so used to teachers degrading him until he felt like nothing, he forgot what it was like to have someone compliment his work. 

“No, Ash, this is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Y/N breathed out, continuing to admire the painting on her body. She put the mirror down on the counter and pulled her boyfriend closer by his hand, lips instantly locking with his. A rush of euphoria filled Ashton’s brain as his hands gently cupped Y/N’s face, neither of them caring that he left paint-covered fingerprints on her. 

When their lips parted, Ashton giggled when he saw the blue and yellow specks on her face. A smirk started to grow on his lips. “Now that’s a beautiful masterpiece,” he joked, making Y/N laugh. 

Originally posted by imaginesforlifetime

Imagine Steve catching you wearing one of his shirts when he gets back from a mission early.

Steve had been gone for almost two weeks, you were used to the time apart, it made the times you had together much more special for you; plus you understood why he did what he does. 

You had moved in with him a little over a month ago, obviously, you were together longer, it’s a very slow pace relationship; different than your usual fast paced ones that never worked out. Being with Steve was different entirely, a good different, a special different and you loved every second you got with him.

You woke up to an empty bed, you didn’t expect him to come home during the night anyway but it would have been a nice surprise, you laid in bed for a while before getting out and starting the day. You showered, deciding you didn’t have any more comfortable clothing to wear since you had worn everything; doing laundry in Steve’s blue shirt and some black gym shorts were acceptable, right? 

It’s 6am on a Sunday, no one in the building was going to be up this early either. Putting everything in the basket, you opened the door and went down to the basement, putting everything in the washer you sighed leaning against it for a second before going back up the many flights.

You went back into the bedroom and began stripping the bed, deciding Steve would be back in a couple days anyway, he would want a clean bed, not something you’ve laid in basically waiting for him to come home. 

You didn’t notice Steve in the bathroom looking at you from the doorway, he had gotten in whilst you were down in the basement, separating the whites from the colours. You turned and jumped, holding your heart as you had let out a yelp from the suddenness of seeing Steve, he chuckled lightly and put down the washcloth. 

“I didn’t think you’d get back this early, ” you say as your heart slowly relaxes into a steady pace again a bright smile gracing your face as you skip over to him before you can fawn over the man he stops you with a smile.

“Wait… is that my shirt?” he asked and you blushed deeply; he thought waking up next to you was the best thing in the world, turns out its second best to you in his clothes. 

“All my comfy stuff is in the wash” you shrug “I promise not to steal anything else,” you tell him, kissing his cheek before walking to put the bedding down in the washer too. He grabbed you before you could and placed you on the bed,

“I am not oppose to you wearing more of my stuff” he sighed before kissing you on the lips.  

2

Ted Bundy’s mother Louise was one of his staunchest supporters during his trial for serial murder, and continued to support him while he appealed his death sentence on Death Row. She took every opportunity to stress her sons good qualities, saying to reporters “Ted has always been very thoughtful, the best child a mother could wish for. I used to worry that he would forget Mothers Day, but he always turned up with a gift.”

Bundy was permitted a final telephone call with his mother the night before his execution. Through tears, he told her he was sorry for what he had done. Louise Bundy’s last words to him were: “You will always be my precious son”

Tick Tock from the Concrete Block

pairing: Phan

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 2,855 words

status: part 1/?, unfinished

warnings: mental illness, harsh treatment, slurs against the mentally ill, jumping off a building

Summary: As a result of Dan jumping off a building to take a picture right before he hit the ground, he was shipped off to Obsidian Rose Mental Asylum. There, he meets Phil, an optimistic psychologist who’s the first psychologist he’s ever met to actually care about his patients.

A/N: Okay, this AN can’t be long as I have to go, but I’m very excited for this next fic!! Basically I watched the Sixth Sense and got this. You know the rest. Anyway, credits to Emily Dickinson for her poem “The First Day’s Night Had Come”, really good stuff though, check it out. Anyway, heeeeere we go!


Wednesday, April 18, 1962, London

The wind was stronger up there. His jacket whipped around his small and fragile bones, relentlessly taking the physical form of the air that struck his face. He was very weak after all, after having pulled himself up fourteen flights of stairs to get to this, the very top of the Nightingale Flat Complex in downtown London. The building was like a decrepit old dog that wasn’t good for very much more than a few simple tasks. Like water. And heat. And by water and heat, the rain leaked through the cracking and weak windows, and in the summer, the mugginess was kept in the small rooms like a greenhouse. He stroked the air in front of him with bony fingers and nodded while rubbing the tips of his fingers together. The impatient bubbling of thunder in the distance caused him no worry at all. He wouldn’t be here long. Sure enough, a cloud shaped like a smoker’s puff whisked in from the south. A thread of lightning stabbed the ground in the distance, making him flinch. From the inside of his coat, he removed his polished but cheap handheld camera, the one with two lenses not one, and quickly snapped a picture. Damn. He missed the lightning by just a second. He saw it in the tiny viewfinder right before his finger landed on the button. But he wouldn’t be too late for his next one.
Shoving the adjusting photo in his pocket, he made his way to the cement edge of the building and looked over like a child with a fear of heights. Luckily for him, there was no fear to be found. He poised his finger on the shutter release and took a step onto the ledge. He grinned. This would be the shot that made his career. Legs steady and firm, he stretched them to take a jump but hesitated first. The picture of the thunderclouds sans lightning had fully developed. With a stone, he placed it on the center of the roof and returned to his position before turning his head towards the image and smiled.
“I think this belongs to you, miss!” He shouted over the increasing gales of wind. “And might I say you look very pretty in it, at that!” Before the wind forced him off the edge, he leaned forward and dived through the air like a swordfish through water. He hadn’t a second to waste. Right before his body collided with the cement, he took one final picture before smashing into the street awaiting his arrival.

They were allowed objects in their housing areas. The regulation was very lenient, with five large items and two small items, of course, within the allotted space. Although it was, technically, an asylum, most of the inmates still had a sense of self and expression, and proudly told the place by hanging everything they could get their hands on. Scraps of colored paper, charred cigarette rolls, some pages of the newspaper, pieces of clothing, and never to forget the dolls. The prisoner directly across from Dan had 36 dolls, 36 exactly, hanging by long threads she would pull from her uniform. Sometimes, if she got bored, she would laugh like humor itself originated from standing on one’s bed and dropping the dolls from their neck cordage until they bounced once on impact without the slack and swayed side to side until they stopped. “Like mommy! Like mommy!” She yelled and laughed some more. It was almost funny the first few days he was in there, but four months in and it wasn’t funny any more. Dan had observed and analyze every person in Obsidian Rose Mental Asylum, what with all this time on his hands. Usually, he remained in his cell with exactly 987 tiles, three less than the regular 990, which he picked off with his bare hands for the purpose of smashing them into bits when he got frustrated.
Riva Sciarra, diagnosed with the very rare but possible combination of paranoid and disorganized type schizophrenia, had one scratched doll in one hand and one without a head in the other scissoring one another. Dan rolled his eyes and continued to read one of Obsidian Rose’s top secret files as casually as one would a newspaper. Something about his file, his past psychologists, a fresh entry about a possible new one, he didn’t really care at this point. Diagnose him with depression, diagnose him with psychosis, call him a psychopath, it was all the same in the end. Crazy. Retarded. They never used to call him those things before he jumped to get just that one picture, but it was deemed a suicide attempt. He should have died. In the brief second when he regained consciousness while being wheeled into the ambulance, he heard one of the doctors whisper in his ear, “You know what they do to loonies like you? Put you in the loony house. That was a real stupid thing that you did.” To which he promptly passed out once more.
He felt it when he threw one of the chips from his tiles at the wall. Air, wind, began to accumulate in the room. His resting face exploded into a maniacal grin and the camera was by his face before Riva was able to look up and see the commotion. She was the lucky one. She had the room facing the sun, which cast a perfectly cylindrical shape of light onto her floor. None of it caught on the strange man living across from her. She let two of her dolls that were swimming at the beach (she still believed in beaches, even though everyone in her head said they didn’t exist) watch the action along with her. He started spinning in circles and laughing while taking pictures from every angle, of nothing at all but walls and tiles.
“You’re right, Lisa, he’s going to run out of film soon, and then he will be sad.” Her blonde doll nodded at her commentary. That’s when her brunette doll, Kimberly, spoke up, but the man still didn’t hear her. It irked Riva a little.
“Kimberly asked you a question.” She restated to the other cell. The crazy one was sweaty through his uniform, and his eyes seemed to bulge out of his face like a lizard’s. Not to mention how they were bloodshot and very red.
“She’s all in your head!” He cried and slammed his hands onto the bars of his cage, making the entire floor shake. She frowned and drew the plastic close to her ear and nodded.
“She says that you’re taking pictures of nothing and it looks funny.”
“I look funny, you crazy bitch?! Look at this!” One of his pictures had developed, all that was in it was a blurred snapshot of his wall, with a gleam of light and the silhouette of Riva in the background.
“Can’t you see her?! Look, right there, covering you up!” She squinted but backed away from the doorway. As well as suffering from hallucinations and psychotic thoughts, she was also upset by loud sounds or voices, assumed to be caused by her mother’s verbal abuse, the reports said.
“I’m telling daddy.” She whispered. Dan’s eyes widened and set the camera down slowly.
“No, no, Riva, don’t call daddy, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again…” The volume was being forced up like someone left their finger over the button until they were screaming at her until thats all she heard. She clamped her hands over her ears and bashed the heels of her hands into the sides of her head, and she screamed just to see if the crying would go away but she wasn’t even loud enough for that.
“You made them come back! I’m telling daddy, I’m telling, I’m telling!” She cried. “Daadddddyyyyy!! He wants me to take my pants offfff!” She bawled into her knees.
“Oh shit, dammit, fuck, fuck, Riva shut-! …Riva quiet please, you’ll get us both into the Pen.” His tone reached an acme and fell accordingly. Two workers crashed into their hall, each wielding a needle filled with similar colored fluid. Milky white. Everyone in Obsidian Rose has been nose to nose with Milky White before.
“Oh come the fuck on, she was lying,” He whined and flinched then the needle went into his neck. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was quite fragile, and a very small dose of anything would put him out. Riva, on the other hand, was the opposite. It took her full shot and the rest of Dan’s to put her to sleep.

The quality of the coffee was to be expected. The beans tasted like they were the grounds at the bottom of his grandmother’s cup as she was giving birth to his mum, they were roasted as if a little kid was carefully turning it like a chicken but got impatient and threw them in the fire, and the coffee machine itself looked like it was more rust than metal. Maybe that’s what those flakey maroon things floating at the top were. The terrible coffee didn’t perturb him from Obsidian Rose. He loved the way the suit fit over his body with the cleanest thing about his outfit, his name tag reading “Mr. Phil Lester”, reflecting the light of the flickering incandescents. In hindsight, this was the least requested job after he finished university, but if he wouldn’t, who would help the mentally unstable? Because it certainly wasn’t the crash of men sitting around a board of chess, not even playing it. They poured vials of orange liquid that they keep in their coats into the coffee and down an entire mug in one slurp. This was no place to be making enemies.
Phil adjusted his collar with a smile and confidently marched over to the men. He would meet new people here, and not just make friends with the ditzes like they said at the university. Although they were probably lovely company.
“Crappy coffee, right?” He laughed and took a seat next to the poorly groomed and obviously hungover “psychologists”. He remembers in University that it was an absolute taboo to meet your patience intoxicated or under the influence of any substance. He heard a story told by his professor once that a man who used to work at a psych ward he worked at met with a patient drunk and smelling the alcohol on his breath, the patient had an anger episode and needed to be sedated. He would just stick to his coffee. The cracked clock on the wall ticked louder than usual as it struck 2 o’clock in the afternoon.
“Well, looks like that’s my cue, fellas. I’ll see you later, and I hope your patients are doing alright.” Phil offered and collected what was left of his supplies to head to Ward F: Long Term. His professors saw him off with concern on their faces, whispering, “You know, he’s the only one who signed up for Obsidian Rose”. His patient was a man named Dan Howell, a photographer who jumped off the Nightingale Flat Complex building and fractured 80% of his bones, and when asked why he attempted suicide, he claimed that it wasn’t a suicide attempt and that he wanted to “take the one to make his career”. There was a whole list of possible diagnoses following, ranging from depression to antisocial personality disorder, which is what they diagnosed to psychopaths and sociopaths. A quick handwritten note from the warden on the front of the folder read “I think you can handle it, top-of-your-class!”. And the most recent entry, added a few hours ago, claimed that he attempted to manipulate the woman in the cell next to him named Riva Sciarra to remove her clothing for his own enjoyment. He shivered. Rape was where he drew the line.
“I hear the voices…all the time…” The ratty-looking girl who must be Riva said sensually when he arrived at his patient’s cell. She had her hair down, although it looks like it hadn’t been brushed in weeks, and if it was, it was probably using her own fingers which explained the frizziness. He just paid closer attention to the hair-care section than any straight man would, okay? But he took careful notice to remember the names of any other patients he might encounter, as not to call them “patient” or “psycho” like many of his friends from uni would.
“Riva, that bar you’re licking is probably very dirty.” Phil watched her trail her tongue up one of her bars covered in…well, something black and dusty, god knows what it really is.
“Won’t you help me, doctor? Make the voices go away, ooh…” She crunched her face and put her hands over her ears.
“Don’t mind Riva, she’s an attention whore who masturbates four times a day who just wants you to look in her direction.” A bored voice explained on his left.
“Hey now, yesterday I only did it twice!” The other argued on his right. His patient, Dan, was wearing constraints chaining him to the wall like a dog, even though he was already in a cage. It was something Phil really hated about the way people in his field treated other people. Their diseases didn’t remove their humanity.
“Well it doesn’t matter to me, because it’s you who daddy brought another toy for, and even right after you scared away your old one.” Dan scoffed and turned away from her.
“May I enter?” Phil asked, mimicking inserting a key into his lock. Without a proper response, Phil just let himself in.
“I love what you’ve done to the place.” Phil commented on the sole artifacts in Dan’s room: a worn camera and a blurry picture of what appeared to be a crosswalk with a bit of tarmac showing at the top. Surely some artistic thing he didn’t understand.
“The first Day’s Night had come, and grateful that a thing…” He began to recite, “so terrible had been endured, I told myself to sing.” He did not blink as he watched Phil’s eyes. “She said her Strings were snapt, her bow to atoms blown, and so to mend her, gave me work until another morn.” He felt like he was saying a satanic spell of curse to place on him, and he felt a bit uncomfortable as the room grew a bit chillier.
“I…” He so desperately wanted to change the topic, but still, Dan continued.
“And then…! A Day as huge as Yesterday in pairs, unrolled its horror in my face, until it blocked my eyes.” He looked like he was struggling to get up through the piles of chains on his lap, but he eventually stood and kept his eyes focused on Phil. “My Brain begun to laugh, I mumbled like a fool. And tho’ ’tis Years ago…that Day…my Brain keeps giggling still.” Phil didn’t anticipate how long the chains were. He needed to take a step back Dan was getting so close.
“And Something’s odd within…that person that I was…and this One do not feel the same. Could it be Madness…this?” The chains that held Dan to the wall were all there was to prevent him from crashing to the ground, as he leaned fully forward with his arms swung back.
“That was Emily Dickinson.” He spoke quietly. Phil swallowed and smoothed down his suit.
“Okay, Dan,” Phil stated whilst calming down, “let’s talk.”

Waking Daryl Dixon - Bethyl Ficlet

Based on a prompt from burningupasun

Oooh, also do something like… Beth and Daryl spend the night in a barn and Beth takes first watch and wakes Daryl up tickling his nose with hay, lol.

Sometime between Still and Alone and slightly M rated. 

Read at AO3


When he asked her what she was thinking, Beth’s initial instinct was to say she wasn’t thinking. That, however, was a lie. Because she had been thinking, she’d been thinking a lot of things. It was just that none of them were particularly good thoughts.

Really, it was all Daryl’s fault (that was her story anyway, and yeah, she was gonna stick to it). He always took first watch, had since the very first night after the prison and they hadn’t found reason to deviate. Except, they’d had to leave their camp last night before Daryl’s watch ended when a herd wandered by, and they hadn’t stopped moving all day, trying to stay ahead of the herd, until they found this old barn. They were both exhausted, but Daryl hadn’t had any sleep at all. So, it was all his fault that Beth offered to take first watch. 

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Pairing: Shizuo/Izaya
Theme: domestic!au: mornings

In the two decades she’d been friends with Orihara Izaya, Namie had never known him to be particularly cheerful in the morning, unless he’d been looking forward to that day for some reason.

Izaya was good at waking up in the morning, that she knew. He was quick and efficient; unlike most people, he, and she also did as well actually, just got up when his alarm went off and didn’t bother to try to prolong the inevitable.

But that didn’t mean he was cheerful. He certainly wasn’t very cooperative before his coffee (there were times in high school where he’d stayed the night and hogged her bathroom when she was in a rush to get to school) and every smile was even more fake than usual.

And then something happened.

Namie had come over to drop off breakfast, the result of losing a bet. She opened the door and was greeted, actually verbally greeted, by Izaya in the kitchen. He smiled a friendly enough smile, even waved and sounded… upbeat.

Namie was suspicious but threw some bread at him and left.

And then it happened again. And again, and again, and again. And by day seven of the month of delivering breakfast to Izaya, Namie was extremely suspicious as to why her irritable, cranky, evil, selfish, manipulative best friend was being pleasant.

“What?” Izaya asked, mocking a pout as he began eating. “I’m always like this!”

“Izaya, you once poured out my coffee because I walked away from you wrong.”

“That was a joke!”

“You’d never joke by wasting coffee.”

Eyes narrowing, Namie decided to take a seat today; she wasn’t leaving until she figured this out, and her clients could just deal with it. Their drugs could wait.

Watching as Izaya sauntered back into the kitchen and took out two mugs (his strange behavior also included the unheard of act of sharing coffee), Namie ignored Shizuo mumbling a greeting as he shuffled in. Never taking her eyes off of Izaya, Shizuo made his way into her vision, hugged Izaya sleepily for a bit before going back to bed.

And then something clicked.

“…Izaya.”

“Yes, dear friend?”

“…Don’t tell me. You’re one of those people who enjoy mornings now that,” she paused, lips twitching, “you get to wake up to your lover’s face?”

“…”

“…”

“I think it’s time for you to leave now, dear friend.”

Those Four Sweet Words

This is very first fanfiction that I’ve written in ages, so I hope that it’s good.

Words: 550

Summary: “You know, I had a dream about us last night. I proposed you and you said yes.”


“Alright, so, see you at eight. I love you.” Adrien said before hanging up his call with Marinette, the one true lady of his heart. He let out a desperate sigh; his nerves were shooting through the roof and tonight would be the most important day of his life.

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I’m Scared. - John swift imagine

Anonymous said:

Can you do an imagine where John is really stressed out from his new album coming up and he’s afraid no one will like it and he gets a panic attack and you have to comfort him and he starts crying and you get worried cause his breathing is out of control so you cuddle him all night?

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y/n’s pov

I walked into the apartment that John, and I shared. It was a very nerve wrecking day for him, because tomorrow was the day his mixtape was going to drop. The day before all of his friends had a little listening party, and every song on there was really good, my baby had true talent. He was the only one that was unsure of himself when it came to his music. No matter how many times I told him, or Nate told him, or Sammy told him how good he was, and how good his music was, he never believed it himself.

When I saw that John wasn’t anywhere downstairs, I walked up to our room figuring he was in there. I knocked on the door lightly, waiting to hear any response and there wasn’t any. I walked him, and saw him, sitting on the floor on the side of the bed, his knees brought up to his chin, and he head down in his lap.

“John? Baby, what’s wrong?” I said, slowly walking over to him, sliding down next to him, rubbing his shoulder with my hand.

“My mixtape drops tomorrow, and I’m so nervous, what if people don’t like it? What if it doesn’t get good reviews? I’m scared.” I could tell in his voice that he was crying before, and was probably on the verge of crying again anytime soon. I had a feeling he was going to have to breakdown the day before his project was put out, he’s been stressing out so much, that it was bound to happen. 

“John. You’re music sounds so good. We’ve all been telling you this. You’re so talented. You’re the only person that’s doubting yourself, baby.” I pulled him in closer, and he laid his head on my chest. I felt a few teardrops, that were starting to fall down my neck, and I knew he had started crying. I unwrapping my arm from him, and lifted him up, he just rubbed his eyes, before looking at my, then looking at the ground. He was loosing his confidence. 

“Come on, John.” i grabbed his hand, and walked him over to the bed, he laid down first, and i laid on top of him, our legs tangled up, and his arms wrapped around my waist pulling me as close as can be. Every now and then he would lean up placing small kisses on my neck, and I would return the favor. We stayed quiet for a while, I wanted him to calm down a bit.

“Your music is great john. And i’m not just saying this. Your family thinks so, your friends think so, your fans think so, I think so. And that’s all that matters as long as the people you care about think you’re talented, and as long as you think you’re talented, that’s all that matters.” I lifted up my head, looking down at him, catching his eyes. poking at his chest, at the different points I was making.

“It’s just a lot of pressure. It’s my first time ever putting out music just by myself. I’m worried people won’t like it because nate, or sammy isn’t involved. You’re right, I should be way more confident about my music, and my talent. I’m just really stressed, that’s all. I love you y/n.” He sat up more, sitting up all the way, so now my head was resting on his chest. He leaned down, kissing the top of my head.

“You’re going to be so successful, John. I know it.” 

Headcanon 69 (Things In Bed)

When winding down for a good nights rest we all have our ways of winding down for the night.

Sans usually reads some comics or texts Toriel over the skelephone until he falls asleep.

Papyrus says goodnight to all his action figures, logs off all his favourite sites and gets Sans to read him a story. He then process to immediately fall asleep, legs dangling.

Toriel and Asgore had a very similar routine of coffee and tea respectively before tucking in their child and talking about the day. Toriel now talks with Sans and tucks in Frisk. Asgore cries.

Alphys usually watches her favourite animes in a onesie (draw this omg) rugged up in her blanket while screaming at Undyne via Skype.

Mettaton poses and takes multiple selfies before recharging for the night. His cousin Napstablook falls asleep with his headphones on, his cloth imprinted by them.

Undyne doesn’t sleep. She tears the souls out of everyone and everything especially her nightmares.

I’m feeling 22 || Haylor

Today was a big day, one that Taylor had been planning for a very long time too; Harry’s twenty second birthday. The blonde had stayed over at Harry’s the night before, but made sure that she awoke before he did, so she could get ready for their little trip out. She rang the tattoo parlor to make sure that they’d closed it especially for the two of them, as well as making sure that the gigantic cake would be ready for later. And then she woke him up with the sweetest of good morning kisses, her lips so tender and gentle against his. “Good morning, sleepy head. Happy Birthday.” Her lips were attaching themselves to him yet again - after all, today was Harry’s day, and Taylor was going to show him how much she adored him, loved him and cared about him; even more than she would on a normal day. 

@askyourbest

A Very Big Day

I wrote this last night at work. My amazing friend @mrsmcrieff looked it over for me even though she had a busy day at work. She’s the best!!  It’s super short, enjoy! ~Lil~


Sherlock walked into the room, nerves playing in stomach. He’d never been good with these sorts of things-  why he was attempting it now he had no idea. Today though was special, he had to admit.  He saw her before she saw him; she was fiddling with her hair. She looked radiant, a bit anxious, but glowing. “Molly,” he said getting her attention. “You look lovely.”

She looked up, a bit startled, and smiled. He always loved her smile, though he had never actually told her. Oh, how he wished he had. “Sherlock, what are you doing here?”

“Your big day… wouldn’t have missed it.”

“Oh, yes,” she replied, pressing down an imaginary wrinkle on her dress.

“I just wanted to wish you the best, and tell you good luck.”

She giggled. “You don’t believe in luck Sherlock Holmes.”

“I don’t suppose I do, but it’s what people say, isn’t it?”

“Since when are you people?” she asked. There were a couple of moments of awkward silence, then Molly spoke up again. “Sherlock, how long have we been friends?”

Without missing a beat he said, “Ten years, six months and fourteen days.” He could have given her the hourly breakdown, but he decided against it.

“I know you think things will be different now…” she started.

“Of course they’ll Molly, but this was inevitable.”

She smiled.

“Oh, I have something for you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small package then handed it to her.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said as she took it.

“I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to. Open it… please.”

Molly carefully opened the gift. “Oh Sherlock, it’s beautiful,” she said looking at the tiny dove pendent.

“So you won’t forget me,” he said.

She laughed. “Sherlock, I got a promotion, I’m not moving Kazakhstan.” She turned around and pulled her hair to the side. “Put it on me please?”

Sherlock took the necklace out of the box and started putting it around Molly’s neck.

“Awfully sentimental of you, you know. The Dove Murders… our first case together. Or did you think I wouldn’t remember?” She let her hair down and turned to face him.

He shook his head. “Of course you remember. I Just… Ah…”

She put her arms around his shoulders and pulled him in for a hug. “I love it, thank you. And I’ll miss our time in the lab too.”

Sherlock snaked his arms around Molly’s back then buried his face in her hair, breathing deeply and finally making his decision. “Molly…” he said as he pulled back. “Would you care to go to dinner this evening, to celebrate?”

She smiled and blushed. “I’d love to,” she said then she leaned up and kissed the corner of his mouth.

Sherlock cleared his throat. “Well, I’m sure you have a busy day ahead. I’ll pick you up after work.” He turned and rushed out of her new office.

John Watson was waiting for him in the hallway. “So, how did it go? Did you give her the necklace?”

“Yes John, I did.”

“And?” the doctor asked impatiently.

“She loved it, of course,” the detective answered.

John huffed. “Only Molly Hooper would appreciate a gift commemorating a serial murderer.”

Sherlock gave his friend a sideways smile.

“So, what else did you say to her?”

“Just ask what you really want to ask John!” Sherlock barked, though he secretly wanted to share his triumph with his friend.

“Oh for God’s sake! Are you two finally going out on a bloody date or not?” the doctor practically yelled.

“Yes John, we are,” Sherlock said with a smile. “Now, how do I go about that?”


Thanks for reading ~Lil~

For @kinkhemmings, @whydoidithistomyself and @inspiring-blog‘s bestfriend!5sos blurb night, here is some neighbor!calum


You had never talked to your neighbor’s son before. At least, you didn’t count the simple ‘thanks’ he had thrown your way when he saw you leave the house on the day they moved in as a conversation. You weren’t planning on having one either, as you were quite sure it would result in a disaster. There was one very good reason for that: he was impossibly attractive. You, being the shy soul that you were, hadn’t found a way to look past that and get words out of your mouth.

Your mom knew all of this, yet she had still forced you to go over to his house. Your cat that usually never left the house had managed to escape. It had happened before, and every time she returned, she came from Calum’s backyard.

So you gathered your nonexistent courage and rang the bell. Sure enough there he was in all his glory, opening the door in nothing but basketball shorts hanging low on his hips, the way he rubbed his eyes indicating that he hadn’t been up for too long. ‘Hello?’ he said. Yes, hello, raspy morning voice. ‘Hi. I was wondering if I could search for my cat in your garden. She’s been missing for longer than usual so I figured your place would be a good place to start looking.’

He muttered a sure and moved aside to let you inside the house. You called a quick hello to Calum’s mom when you passed her in the kitchen, quickly proceeding your way to the garden.

‘Buck? Bucky, where are you?’ You heard a chuckle from behind. ‘Your cat’s name is Bucky? As in the superhero? Isn’t your cat a female?’ You couldn’t hide a blush when he came to the same realization as your mom when you had picked out your cat’s name. ‘That’s on purpose. I knew it was a she, but since she only has three paws and she doesn’t look like your regular cat, I wanted to give her an even more extraordinary name.’ You were pretty sure that he would think weirdly of you because of that theory, and that thought alone was enough to make you blush even more. You tried to hide it by looking into the foliage, praying that your cat was hiding in there and that nothing had happened to her.

‘That’s actually very original,’ Calum remarked, seemingly surprised. He had come to stand next to you, watching you check the bushes. You looked up and smiled at him, before something else caught your eye. ‘Oh my God!’

You ran to the other side of the garden, where you had just seen a black paw emerge. What you didn’t expect to see was Bucky with four kittens laying by her side, Calum’s cat laying on the watch out. ‘You came here to give birth?’ you said astonished. You patted Bucky while staring at the tiny bundles of kitten.

‘Looks like they created their own Romeo and Juliet,’ Calum said, reaching out to pat his cat, copying your actions. The animal clearly had other plans, as he hissed at Calum before showing his teeth.

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, and patted the boy on his shoulder as a way of showing sympathy. He sighed. ‘I’m more of a dog person anyway. The only problem is that my mom isn’t, and she refused to get a dog.’

You chuckled at, seeing that argument before you as clear as if you’d lived it yourself. You started lifting the five cats from the ground and placed them into your arms to carry them home.

‘I’ll get going now, go tell the good news to my mom.’ Calum hummed, seeming deep in thought.

‘Hey, Y/N?’ he yelled when you were already halfway to your house. You turned back around, a questioning look on your face. ‘Since it’s our cat that got yours knocked up, maybe I can stop by every few days to check up on them?’ You were a little confused at his sudden interest in the kittens. He declared only minutes ago that he wasn’t a big fan of them. You shrugged. ‘Of course, if you really want to.’

You smiled one more time and made a move to leave, but he soon interrupted you – again – by calling for you once again.

‘And maybe, when I stop by to come take a look at the kittens, we could make that into a date?’

You grinned and said, ‘It’s a date.’