otp: love is answering stupid questions

When you cringe during Key's live posts because of how stupid the questions are.

Don’t ask him about the other members. They don’t live with him, plus he has to say this literally EVERY TIME.
DON’T try to call him out fornot answering you. Theres a thousand messages a second flying across that screen, he can’t see/answer them all.
Don’t ask for his skincare routine. He literally rolls his eyes at this question now and even almost avoids answering.
And PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF SHINEE…don’t bring up your shinee otp. Please know better than to call Jonghyun his husband or call him Umma or Onew daddy.
The shit is embarrassing.
He loves to talk, so ask him questions that are worth asking and stimulate conversation. Don’t make him regret going on live. Because he pretty much does it for us and we should be thankful, mindful, and respectful.

anonymous asked:

CONGRATULATIONS ON 1500 FOLLLOWERS !!! 💜💜💜 you are so talented & I love your writing and support you ✨ thanks sharing your creativity with us 👏👏 and maybe could you write something for 19 & 21 of the OTP questions?. thanks lovely 💜

Thanks so much Nonnie, this message has me blushing at my computer, you guys are all so amazing and supportive which makes it so easy to share my work with all of you.

19.  Who would cheer on the other in an act of stupidity?

This has been filled here.

21.  Who would wear the other’s clothes in public?

She tugs the flannel shirt tighter around her smaller frame, the garment swamping her as she walks into the school entry. Even though he is only across town she misses him. She worried for him being over at the Southside on his own. That she might lose him, that he might lose himself.

They hadn’t discussed the jacket, not really. Her face has shown her disapproval and her concern that he would follow in his father’s footsteps. It was true that FP Jones was not a bad man, but he had made some bad decisions. She didn’t want him to make the same ones.

His scent that lingered on the flannel brought her comfort which she desperately needed. She could hear the whispered breaths of her classmates. ‘She’s dating one of them.’ She pulled the flannel tighter, grasping the front of the shirt so tightly in her hand that her knuckles turned white. ‘Guess she really is a Serpent Slut.’ She tried not to let the words break through her armor, not to let them cut her she was a Cooper unkind things had been said about her family for years, especially the Cooper women.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw Kevin waiting for her at her locker. A friendly face in a sea of snickers and twisted expressions. He hugged her tightly and she accepted his embrace.

“I’m sorry Betts.” He rested a hand on her shoulder as they broke their embrace. “Just when I was starting to like the guy.” Betty managed a slight laugh at his joke, only being reminded of the fact that he wasn’t there with her. She saw something flash in Kevin’s expression as she turned back to him after entering the combination on her locker which she couldn’t quite decipher. That was until she felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her torso pulling her against a strong chest that she was becoming very familiar with.

“Why do my clothes always look so much better on you?” He whispered into her ear. The smile spread across her face as she spun round to face him. Without thinking of where they were, or even who they were now she cupped his face in her hands before pressing her lips against his in a chaste kiss. His arms holding her close to him as she broke the kiss still smiling up at him.

“What are you doing here?” she asks grasping his arms tightly just to make sure he is real.

“I missed you. And apparently someone’s mom had some strong and convincing argument with the school board.”

“Looks like me and Veronica aren’t the only ones totally shipping you two. Mama Cooper has joined the team.” Kevin stated as Betty shot him a smile.

“So they said I could finish the school year here and then re-evaluate at the end of the year.”

“I’m really glad Juggie,” Betty said as she squeezed him tighter in her embrace. Suddenly thanks to her mom the rest of the school year did not seem as daunting as it once had. She was keeping this particular flannel shirt of his it seemed to be a lucky one.

Request: Hey, I love your writing! Could you please write a oneshot where the reader is really into a tv show, and Sam reads up on it and spends the whole day with the reader watching tv and cuddling and stuff? Super fluffy please :)

You were obsessed. There was no other way to put it. Ever since you’d discovered Doctor Who, you completely ignored your job as a hunter and laid on the couch and watched TV. Dean was getting annoyed with you since you refused to take your attention away from the doctor. Sam, your boyfriend, was also annoyed, but he kept it hidden. All he wanted to do was snuggle with you, and he could, but he couldn’t have a conversation with you. Finally, Sam couldn’t take it.

While you were once again marathoning Doctor Who, Sam pulled out his laptop and started what he was best at; research. He knew you were on the tenth doctor, whatever that meant, so he read all about the other ones. He remembered you talking about loving Nine, so he took extra care in reading about him. Once he had the background information down, he snuck into the room to find out what episode you were on. 

You were just about to watch the episode where Queen Elizabeth turns into a werewolf, and Sam had only an hour to catch up. He read on and on, about Rose’s relationship with the Doctor, and all about the TARDIS. And Sam had to admit, it was interesting. He checked on you and saw that you still  had ten minutes left, so Sam ran and made some popcorn. 

Sighing, you started the next episode, when Sam came in. You were prepared for him to complain, but to your surprise, he sat down and handed you a bowl of popcorn. “You’re gonna watch?” You asked.

“Yeah.” He said, smiling at you.

You smiled back and started the next episode, but you were a little wary. You loved Sam, but if he didn’t understand what was happening, he was gonna ask a million questions and think the show was stupid. You glanced at Sam, waiting to ask who Rose was, but he didn’t.

“Do you know who all the characters are?” You asked.

“Yeah, that’s Rose, and that’s the Doctor. I ship them. Do you?” He answered like it were nothing.

Your mouth hung open and you turned look at him. “Are you kidding me? they’re my OTP! Ever since Nine, I’ve loved Rose and the Doctor together!" 

"Well, Nine loved Rose.” Sam shrugged.

“You know who Nine is?” You asked in disbelief.

“Yup. Ninth Doctor, played by Christopher Eccelston. He was pretty happy and funny. Had big ears, too.” Sam said.

“I’ve never loved you more.” You said, and pulled Sam into a deep kiss. Sam laughed and pulled you closer to him. You laid down,and Sam laid behind you, wrapping an arm around your stomach. 

He stayed with you the rest of the day, giving you kisses and watching Doctor Who with you. Doctor Who made you happy, and being able to share it with Sam made you even happier.

(I hope you like it!)

The embarrassing thing is that everybody except Bucky did not realize that Steve was now able to turn into a kitten at will for weeks.

The SHIELD witch just giggled at everyone and then said, kindly, “I think you all better ask your Captain why he feels like going cat sometimes.”

They all did think about it. 

Eventually, they realized they didn’t have to ask.

So each and every one of the Avengers pretty much let Steve have his space and Clint’s ridiculous hat for hiding under (it was an EXCELLENT place to hide, okay?).  Also, they didn’t laugh at him when he, in kitten form, took charge of Bucky’s leftover milk from his breakfast cereal. 

Both Kitten Cap and his team were both surprised to find out that getting cuddles and scritches were definitely appreciated.  So it became a Thing.  He still gave the most pathetic, embarrassed meows if any of the ladies of the team cuddled him a little too close but comported himself like a gentleman anyway. 

Steve stayed a cat until he felt like turning back into a human again and the only one who could actually order him back into his usual form was, of course, his beloved sergeant. 

“As cute as you are in this form, there’s just one problem,” Bucky had said, scritching the Kitty-Cap puddle on his chest. 


“I can’t kiss you stupid while you’re like that.  So go change back.  Chop chop!”

So of course, Bucky eventually gets a lap full of human Steve Rogers and he’s quietly thankful that his version of the super soldier serum lets him bear all that weight the same way he would’ve if he had been able to cuddle Steve when he was still tiny and not a cat.  And of course, Bucky gets to bury his nose in dandelion fluff hair, pressing kisses to Steve’s temple, the curve of his cheek, before indulging in that sweet, red mouth. 

The truth was that both of them were pretty broken and there were days when it was Steve picking up Bucky’s pieces off the floor and days when it was Bucky’s turn to do the same for Steve.   There really isn’t a magic spell to make everything right for both of them.

But loving… well, loving did go a long way into making things better

“All good?” he purrs against Steve’s lips. 

“I don’t know,” Steve purrs back, nibbling at his bottom lip.  “You promised to kiss me stupid.  I’m waiting, sergeant.”

Bucky laughs and makes good on his promise. 

- end -

Note:   This was because someone asked me if Steve can now change into cat form at will.  Does this answer your question?

(First it was Thorin Oakenshield and now Steve Rogers.  There is a method to my madness, I SWEAR.)

And Love

A/N: Merry Pitchmas to @oceansand-anna and all you other wonderful aca-nerds! And of course, thanks to @redlance for organizing the event, and answering my questions when I was too stupid to understand the instructions :p

Anyway, a *coughs* friend told me you like fluffy, un-established Bechloe that sorta turns into a more established relationship. And I’ve been toying with several OTP prompts for awhile, that I decided to simply mash together because I couldn’t decide on just one. And then it kind of took on a mind of it’s own, and… well, I just hope you enjoy it!

Chloe knows it’s wrong; she knows it’s selfish of her to thank fate, the universe, or whatever deity one believes in for the apartment fire that drove Beca Mitchell from her home and into her own. But she can’t help it; it’s impossible to feel wrongly about something that, to her, just feels so right. It’s almost a blessing in disguise, is what she often thinks, and it’s nights like these - when the wind howls, and the winter storm rattles the building - that she’s thankful for the younger woman’s presence. Curled together beneath layers of fleece and the thickest comforter she owns, she stares through half-lidded eyes at the slow rise and fall of Beca’s chest, taking comfort in the warmth of her body and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

Head nestled against the brunette’s shoulder, Chloe grips her loosely by the arm, which is draped firmly around her own waist, securing them in embrace even in sleep. Her lips twitch, teasing into a smile as she watches the DJ slumber; five years they’ve been friends, and still she’s in awe of the way Beca’s hardened outward exterior seems to melt away in her sleep. Brows that are often cinched with irritation or exasperation are now relaxed, and her mouth, which is almost always drawn into its usual thin line, is parted slightly as she emits a quiet snore (which she will vehemently deny come morning).

Lifting her hand, she tucks a loose strand of hair behind Beca’s ear, tenderly smoothing her fingers through a stray wisp of russet brown. A habitually deep sleeper, the now former Bella surprises her by blinking awake, eyes fluttering momentarily before fully opening to reveal her steel blues. As always, it has the effect of drawing all breath from her body, and for a time, it’s as though Chloe’s forgotten how to breath.

The air that escapes her is eventually drawn back in, only to be expelled a second later in a soft chuckle as Beca’s nose crinkles, and she mumbles, “Stop staring, Beale. It’s weird.” Her voice is hoarse and groggy from sleep, tinted with an edge of playfulness as the corner of her mouth lifts upwards into its trademark smirk.

She breathes a coy whisper of, “You love it,” which serves only to further amuse the smaller woman.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Beca retorts, her own gentle laughter floating in the empty space between them.

“I will,” Chloe assures, nodding her head in affirmation, before adding, “Maybe if I say it enough, it’ll actually come true.”

Beca cracks a grin, and Chloe muses at the way she smiles - less with her lips, and more with her eyes, which glimmer in silent delight. But then it’s gone, fading away into something soft, affectionate even if she dares to hope. “Couldn’t sleep?” she questions, though she already knows the answer; Chloe is notoriously afraid of storms and the unpredictability of the weather. She’s lost count of the times she’s been awoken in the middle of the night, only to find the redhead sheepishly crawling into her bed.

Of course, with no place currently of her own, it’s Beca who now finds herself in Chloe’s bed; though the locations are reversed, their positions aren’t, and already she’s tightening her hold on the ginger’s waist, instinctively drawing her closer.

As small is she is, Beca has a way of making Chloe feel safe; beneath her badass persona and feigned indifference, the DJ is fiercely protective at heart, and the way she wraps herself around her now leaves Chloe with the impression that she’s untouchable - that here, in Beca’s arms, she can’t be hurt. Already, she can feel the anxious swell in her gut recede, and soon she finds herself on the cusp of sleep. Just as she’s on the brink, teetering along the edge of her dreams, the sound of static shatters the tranquility of the moment, followed by a soft gurgle and faint whimpers.


“Like mother, like son,” Beca murmurs, and Chloe groans, preparing to leave their warm cocoon in order to tend to her infant’s needs. But she’s stopped by the hand on her wrist, coaxing her to lay back down, and she turns, resting on her side to watch as the brunette sighs in anticipation of the cold, getting up in her stead. “I’ll go,” she says, a note above a whisper. “You fed him before bed, and changed him not too long ago, so he’s probably just spooked by the storm. I’ll take care of it, just try and get some sleep.”

Chloe watches as Beca crosses her arms, as if to carry the heat of their bed with her, and shuffles out into the hall. A smile flickers across her face, and she burrows further beneath the blankets, conscious lulling with the knowledge that her son is in good hands - the best, if she has anything to say about it.

“Hey, little dude,” comes Beca’s hushed voice, filtering into the room through the monitor’s speakers. There’s the sound of shifting, and Chloe knows she’s lifted the child from his crib, can imagine the way Beca tenderly cradles Charlie to her chest as she coos softly. “Did that big, bad storm scare you? Don’t worry, it can’t hurt you while I’m here - promise. I swear, kid, you and your mother…”

Chloe’s smile lingers; for someone who was always so vocally opposed to the thought of children, no one stepped up to the plate more than Beca Mitchell, when she realized her bout of the flu post-Worlds was, in fact, not a bad case of the traveler’s bug. A hazy, drunken one-night stand in celebration of their acapella world domination had resulted in an unintended pregnancy, and though she had been reduced to a panic-stricken mess upon confirmation, there was no doubt in her mind that she would be keeping the child.

Her parents, to be expected, were disappointed in what they considered to be a reckless display of behavior; they had been understanding nonetheless, but supporting her through three extra years of college, they felt she had been sheltered from the ‘real world’ long enough. They cut her a check for twenty grand, the entirety of the savings they’d kept for her intended wedding day, and promised to be there for her when she needed them, but this was her mistake and she would learn from it.

Aubrey, as the “official” godmother, did her part in helping Chloe do her research; from doctors, to hospitals, to classes - she helped with it all. The Bellas, now spread out across the country, eagerly gave what aid they could; by the time Charlie was born, she was well stocked on the essentials - diapers, wipes, bottles, formula. Everyone contributed to the birth and rearing of baby Beale, but Beca… Beca was not to be outdone.

She drove Chloe to every appointment, holding her hand because she was too afraid to go alone; she made sure the redhead was always well fed and taken care of, traveling to every corner of the city whenever Chloe’s cravings demanded something specific; she read and damn near memorized every baby book suggested, and had even given up one of her precious Saturdays in order to become CPR certified; she helped Chloe move into her apartment, refusing to let her do any of the heavy lifting, even as she struggled to rearrange furniture all on her own; everything there was to do, Beca did.

She had even gotten her a job.

Once fragile and near non-existent, Beca’s relationship with her father had flourished during her years at Barden, and she had turned to him in order to pull some favors. Calling in an “IOU” from an old friend - also a professor, and now principal of a local private school - he’d set up an interview for her, and Chloe had eventually been hired on as a teacher’s aid. The pay was decent - just enough to support herself and Charlie in relative comfort - with a program for continued education that would cover part of the costs for Chloe to receive her teaching credentials, in hopes of her actually becoming a full-time teacher one day.

Chloe sighs, a soft exhale of warm air that billows past her lips as she thinks of all that Beca has done, and all that Beca continues to do for her. Her eyes are heavy with exhaustion, half-listening to the brunette as she reassures the frightened baby, shushing his cries with soft words. Although her heart aches for more, she’s mostly given up on the idea of them ever being more than friends, and she’s content with the relationship they have now; is grateful for how much time, energy, and resources the DJ has devoted to her, and how she treats her son as if he were her own.

'It’s enough,’ is what she always tells herself.

Suddenly, Beca’s voice wafts over the radio, smooth and clear, quiet but powerful as she sings softly. Never one for silly nursery rhymes, she insists music is in Charlie’s blood, and often serenades him with the classics, the great hits, songs her own father sang to her - back in the happier moments of her childhood, when she could still remember what it meant to be a family.

“It’s a little bit funny, this feeling inside

I’m not one of those who can easily hide

I don’t have much money, but boy if I did

I’d buy a big house where, we both could live…”

Shivers run down her spine, like miniature bolts of lightning, and Chloe knows it has nothing to do with the temperature; Beca’s voice just does that to her, the way it fills her with emotion; the way her voice strengthens gradually, ebbing and flowing like tide against the sand - softly, slowly, lapping gently at first, building to a crescendo that crashes over her in waves, and never fails to sweep her away.

“If I was a sculptor, but then again, no

Or a girl who makes potions in a traveling show

Oh, I know it’s not much, but it’s the best I can do

My gift is my song

And this one’s for you…”

The music calls to her, and in natural fashion she answers; Chloe hums along, crooning faintly beneath her breath. Beca’s voice swells, rising higher still with such clarity, and it takes a moment for her to realize that the brunette is outside her door, swaying Charlie back and forth as she carries him down the hall towards the living room. Curiosity gets the better of her, and despite her reluctance to leave the bed, she sheds off the blankets and tip-toes after them.

“And you can tell everybody, this is your song

It may be quite simple but, now that it’s done

I hope you don’t mind

I hope you don’t mind

That I put down in words

How wonderful life is while you’re in the world…”

Beca shuffles from left to right, rocking the eight-month-old as she soothes him with song, dancing in the light of their Christmas tree. A noble fir, its branches spread far and wide, beautifully symmetric and majestically green. The DJ had braved the cold winter weather in order to procure the tree, and wrestled it up two flights of stairs to get it into Chloe’s apartment; she’d bought brand new lights and decorations - even surprised the mother and son with a class at the local craft store, where they painted and engraved their own star with which to crown it.

Chloe lingers in the hallway, obscured by shadow as she watches the two; Beca’s voice dwindles like a dying flame, lower and lower it falls until its nothing but a murmur. She continues to rock Charlie, stepping from side to side in a leisurely trot as she strokes a hand through his wild tuft of burnt copper. He gurgles happily, and Beca laughs - light, airy, and filled with warmth - as she cups his little head, supporting it up as she holds him out in front of her.

“What are you making those funny noises for, huh?” she asks, feining a frown. But Charlie, like his mother, is able to read between the lines, can see through every one of Beca’s disguises, and only giggles in response. She makes a show of rolling her eyes, because while he doesn’t really understand the concept of sarcasm, he always seems to find the action of it highly entertaining.

Beca sighs and shakes her head, placing him against her hip. “Seriously, kid, why aren’t you asleep yet? Singing usually knocks you right out…”

Charlie, being a baby, doesn’t say much in return.

Stifling a yawn, the brunette paces back and forth, hoping the repetitive motion will lull him to sleep; instead, it has the opposite effect, and Charlie squeals as he reaches his chubby hands for the Christmas tree, with its tiers of blinking lights - like the twinkling of stars in the nighttime sky. Beca immediately shushes him, thinking Chloe has fallen back asleep, and leans closer, gently guiding his hand to a bauble in Barden green and gold - something they’d picked up at the on-campus store during one of their frequent visits to Emily, who now captained and led the next generation of Bellas.

“Barden University. This is where your mommy and I went to college,” she explains, lifting the ornament by its string for closer inspection. “Hopefully, one day when you’re older, you’ll go there too. I mean, no one is going to force you there - not like they did with me, but I really do hope you consider it. It’s a great school, with great programs and fields of study, and the people… the people are something else.”

Returning the trinket to its rightful place, Beca shifts Charlie onto her other side, toting him along on her hip as she maneuvers towards the couch. Falling into its faux leather cushion, she sets the pint-sized Beale on her lap, holding him sideways into the crook of her arm. Chloe, who’s still hidden in the hall, crouches low to avoid detection; she can’t explain it - there’s no rhyme or reason for why she lurks in the shadows, rather than join her best friend and son. All she knows is what her gut tells her, and right now, it tells her not to intervene; to let things play out naturally, without interruption.

“Y'know, you’re a real lucky kid,” Beca claims, after a brief moment of silence. “We may not be related by blood, but the Bellas - even the Trebles - are family. We’re not together by chance, but by choice, and you couldn’t have been born into a more incredible group of people. They’re crazy, wild, hugely inappropriate, and have this strange tendency to break out into song at all the wrong times, but they’re loyal to a fault, and love more than anyone should ever be capable of…”

“And honestly,” she continues, her tone almost wistful, “God only knows who your father is, but your mother… your mother is the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. Really, dude, you won the lotto in life with that one… and really, I probably did too. Because if it weren’t for her, I most likely wouldn’t be here right now. I definitely wouldn’t have joined the Bellas, I certainly wouldn’t have stayed at Barden all four years, and I’m positive I’d never be so lucky as to watch you grow.”

At this, she smiles and lowers her chin, dropping an affectionate kiss into Charlie’s hair.

“Chloe, she… she’s special,” Beca goes on, laying her cheek atop his head as she holds him closer, “I know I’m not the most observant or perceptive when it comes to other people; things tend to just fly right over my head. And no,” she adds, eyes narrowing, “I’m not talking about my height.”

“But, I guess what I mean to say,” she sighs, “is that I’m not stupid or blind enough to realize that your mom is one in a million. Y'know, they… they say that sometimes a person comes into your life and you know right away that they were meant to be there… to serve some sort of purpose, teach you a lesson, or to help you figure who you are, or who you want to become. Chloe, she was that person for me… still is that person…”

Lifting Charlie, Beca turns the child so he faces her, and looks him squarely in the eye. “Now, I know you haven’t heard this story before, but you’ll definitely hear it several times as you grow older. I want you to hear it from me first, though, because that’s the only way you know you’re getting the truth. See, your mom likes to twist her words, and make things seem more innocent or harmless than they actually are. But the cold, hard truth is that your mom and I met because she assaulted me in the shower my freshman year.”

Chloe slaps a hand over her mouth, smothering an indignant snort as she listens to the blatant lie that Beca is intent on feeding her son. She reminds herself to tell Charlie the correct version at a later date, because while - yeah, okay - maybe she was a bit overeager the day she barged into Beca’s stall, there was certainly no assaulting.

“Frankly, though,” Beca laughs, unaware of Chloe’s prying ears and eyes, “I’m so glad she did. As terrified as I was, and as naked as we both were, I’m fortunate that she was so bold enough as to break into my shower. Because your mom, Chloe… she… she came into my life exactly when I needed her to - even if I didn’t realize it at the time.”

“See, the thing is… ” she mutters, and Chloe strains to hear what she says next, “My parents divorced when I was very young, and I have so few good memories of our time together that I guess… I guess I grew resentful. I didn’t want anything to do with other people, because they were the only example of a family I’d had, and if that was what it led to, I wanted no part in it. I pretty much gave up all hope for friendship, closeness… even trust. Music was my one companion, my only friend - the only thing I wanted or needed.

"But then your mom appeared in my life, or more like strutted her way into it, and things were never the same - I was never the same. She didn’t change me, didn’t pressure me into being anyone or anything I didn’t want to be… but she helped me evolve, let me grow into a person who could believe in friendship, closeness, trust… and love. And I’m infinitely a better person because of that… because of her…”

Beca pauses, and Chloe doesn’t know how much more she can take; doesn’t know if she can sit there (because her legs had long ago given out) in silence any longer as Beca says all the things she never knew she wanted to hear. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, and she tells herself it’s because she’s hormonal and her body is still transitioning back to how it was pre-pregnancy, but she knows that’s a lie; knows that it’s because Beca cares so much more than she lets on; knows because she can hear the adoration in her voice as she speaks, and Chloe can’t remember a time when she’s ever felt more loved - platonically, or romantically. And though she can’t distinguish with which tone the brunette speaks, she finds herself overwhelmed nonetheless.

But before she can further contemplate the DJ’s words, or evaluate her own thoughts and feelings, Beca surprises her one more time. “You wanna know a secret?” she asks, and pretends to wait for Charlie to answer, before continuing, “Okay, but you have to promise me you’ll go to sleep right after. I think I’ve sufficiently talked you down, but this’ll be the last thing I tell you. And it’s gonna have to stay between us… no blabbing off to your mom. Deal?”

Charlie spits a bubble, which Beca takes as her answer.

“Right, so… you know your Aunt Emily? The tall one, with brown hair,” she describes, before shaking her head as he babbles in response. “No, no, you’re thinking of Stacie… the one with the big boobs.” She cups her free hand at chest level, mimicking aforementioned boobs, and despite her current state of emotion, Chloe finds herself amused at the way Beca talks to Charlie; as though he’s aware enough for this conversation to be more than one-sided.

“Anyway,” Beca moves on, “your Aunt Emily and I recorded a demo - actually the same song that won us Worlds, and… sorta, kinda led to you being conceived and born. But, details!” She waves her hand. “Like I was saying, we made a demo, and I sent it out to various recording labels because, as you know, becoming a producer… that’s kind of always been my thing.

"And you should have seen the feedback. I got tons of responses… more than I’d anticipated or hoped, and… and it was all coming together. I’d finally gotten my golden ticket to LA, but then we found out your mom was pregnant with you, and I knew I couldn’t leave. I mean, how could I? How could I just up and leave, when the tables had turned, and Chloe finally needed me and not the other way around? I couldn’t do it, there’s no way I would.

"Thankfully, the internship I had at Residual Heat led to an actual paying job, so I got to stay here in Atlanta with your mom - and you, of course, once you were born. And I mean, yeah, there are some days when I wonder what life could have been like if I’d gone, but that’s all I do: wonder. I don’t regret it. I’d make the same choice if I was given the chance to do it over again, because…” Beca ducks her head, and swallows a humorless laugh, “because I need Chloe to need me as much as I need her. And as long as she does, I’ll be here.”

“I’ll always need you.”

Chloe speaks before she can stop herself, before she can even think of the consequences of her words - of answering a statement that was never intended for her to begin with; it simply spills out, tumbling past her clumsy tongue and out her lips, which widen now in a stunned gasp. Beca’s head snaps in her direction, and there’s a beat of silence before she’s staggering to her feet, clutching Charlie to her chest as if his tiny body can shield her from the sudden feeling of exposure; as if she can somehow hide behind him, because she’s never felt more naked, or vulnerable, or stupid than in that moment.

She had never meant to say as much as she did; it was a mindless monologue, brought on by a combination of sleep deprivation, the desire to tire Charlie out, and (if she’s honest - which she isn’t) some inherent need to unleash these pent up thoughts and emotions she’s so desperately attempted to ignore - even if it meant unloading on a baby, who probably only understood one or two words of what she’s actually said. (Boobs. He definitely only understood boobs.)

“Chloe,” she breathes, and it’s all she knows how to say. The initial twisting in her gut is like a punch to the stomach, but what follows next is only worse. It starts as a terrible wrenching, her trachea seizing beneath an invisible fist, throat squeezing shut, and it’s as though she can neither get air in, nor get air out. Beca’s paralyzed, frozen in fear; she’s all but confessed to being in love with her best friend - to her best friend’s baby, no less - and all she can do is stand there and stare, awaiting the proverbial axe to cut her down.

But it never comes.

The redhead struggles to her feet, pulling herself up by the wall, and in three large strides, she’s crossed the ocean between them; there is no axe, only an oar that propels her into the two, and it’s only when Chloe’s arms wrap around her neck does Beca realize she can finally breathe again. And breathe she does, inhaling the familiar scent of cherry blossom, and absorbing the warmth that was her eternal ray of sunshine.

“Beca,” Chloe sighs, exhaling into the brunette’s shoulder as she drops her head to press a kiss atop Charlie, who gurgles happily at her arrival. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks, pulling back; not enough to pull away, but just enough to see her face to face.

“Tell you what?” Beca murmurs, eyes averting as her jaw sets, teeth clenched. And Chloe knows that means she’s shutting down, that she’s preparing to close herself off from the world - from her - and that can’t happen, not when they’re so close to crossing that line they’ve been dancing around for years.

“LA,” she insists, touching her hand to the younger woman’s cheek. “You told me that no one was interested, but… but Becs, if people were interested in you, why didn’t you go? Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for everything you’ve done, and for everything you’ve apparently given up for me, and for Charlie. But LA, it… it was your dream.”

Beca’s eyes flicker towards her, and her lips twitch shyly into an anxious grin. “Well, the thing about dreams,” she murmurs, finally locking gazes, “is that they can change…”

The “and you became mine” is never actually said aloud, but Chloe still hears it, clear as day. It rings in her ears, runs through her mind, and resonates in her very soul. It’s not an official “I love you” but it’s the closest she’s ever gotten yet, and something tells her she’ll get there soon.

iamdarkandtwisty  asked:

Congrats on the milestone :) You really deserve it, I love your stories. As for the OTP questions could you do 19. and 20. ? Thank you :)

Thanks @iamdarkandtwisty you have been such an awesome supporter and reviewer of my work so thank you so much for all your support.

Here are the fills:

19.  Who would cheer on the other in an act of stupidity?“

“You are one supportive girlfriend, Betty.” Kevin commented from beside her as they stood facing the stage where a long table was across the front with 10 people seated at it. They were stood in front of the seat of one Jughead Jones who gave them an enthusiastic wave from his place, in a gesture that was very uncharacteristic for the usually broody teen.

“Well you know I guess this is kind of a passion for him. And I want to support him in that.”

“Even if it is a food eating contest.” Kevin quipped.

Betty crossed her arms in front of her, “Yes, even if it is a food eating contest.” It was the Riverdale annual fair and after the murder of Jason Blossom, the shooting of Fred Andrews and the very near mutual destruction of both sides of town, some frivolity and fun was something the small town was in dire need of. She waved to Archie and Veronica who were making their way through the crowd. Their hands were clasped together as Archie led Veronica through the other onlookers to stand next to Betty and Kevin. Jughead gave another wave to his newly arrived supporters as the food was brought out onto the table in front of the participants. The announcer went through the competition rules while Jughead eyed eagerly the pile of burgers in front of him. Betty knew he must of been using all possible restraint to keep himself and his hands away from the temptation. The announcer began to count down as the competitors braced themselves.

“4, 3, 2, 1.” A horn sounded and the 10 ravenous men and women lined along the table started to eat their food. Before Betty could stop herself she was cheering him on, her voice soaring above the crowd as he briefly looked up at her, giving her a quick thumbs up before he continued.

“Go Juggie!” She shouted as loud as she could before she elbowed Kevin, encouraging him to cheer with her and soon all four of them were all screaming Jughead’s name.

Jughead was laying down in the back of Fred Andrew’s truck, clutching his belly. The small trophy next to him signifying his victory. Betty ran her fingers over his forehead as he groaned.

“Was it worth it?” she asked as she took the trophy in her hand before turning back towards her very ill looking boyfriend.


20.  Who would get the tattoo of their lover’s name?”

This prompt has been filled here.

Dean X Reader: featuring Charlie

Request: Charlie takes a picture of the reader sitting in Dean’s lap and puts it on Tumblr. Dean gets mad when the picture is popular. He sees how girls are saying that he’s hot and cute and takes a lot of selfies with the reader and she puts it on a tumblr.

Request: Can you do an imagine where the reader and Dean aren’t dating but they like each other and won’t tell each other and one day Dean just kisses her and then walks away not saying anything and the reader tells Charlie that he kissed her then charlie does the readers makeup and stuff on her and makes her look really hot then makes her show Sam and Dean (Cas too if you want) and Dean and reader end up hooking up thanks!😄

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Okay, first I haven't seen what you look like but you're hot as fuck from how you speak in these posts LOL secondly. We know that Oliver and Felicity WILL get together either at the end of the season or the start of the next season, but I was wondering how the scene should go. I don't want it to be cheesy or soap opeary but it should have pathos and be romantic. How would you like to see them do it? Comedic? Super romantic? super dramatic? etc.

Oh, um. Huh. 

Wow, Nonnie. You’re making me feel all…hot and bothered ;) Thanks for the compliment. 

Moving swiftly on (before this descends into raunch territory)…I love your question, and I basically have two scenarios for this in my head, one of which is purely my rom-com heart rising to the surface and is the least likely thing to ever happen on this show. Happens a lot in fanfic though:

They are in the foundry, arguing because the dam has finally burst and Oliver can’t hold his feelings in any longer. I don’t care what they’re arguing about but it quickly becomes personal and soon they’re shouting at each other, finally saying all the things that they’ve been keeping suppressed for so long and someone shouts “Because I love you!” and suddenly they just stop and stare and  everything becomes too much and without really knowing how, they’ve come together in a blaze of passion, lust and love. 

Like I said, that’s highly unlikely to happen on this show and actually, deep down, I wouldn’t really want it to. It’s just not Arrow

The second scenario is something that I have actually had in my head for a few days, so if you’ll indulge me, Nonnie, I’ll paint you a little picture.

I would really love an honest and frank discussion between them. Maybe it’s a few episodes down the line and Oliver has been getting better and better at admitting that he wants a life, that he wants to live in the sun and not down in the dark cave. He realises now that he doesn’t want to die. He’s watched Felicity these past few months, going to work every day at QC, laughing and joking with Ray Palmer. He’s jealous, of course, but tries hard to be happy for her because she deserves that happiness. Oliver knows that he has no right to demand anything of her, to disrupt her life again, but he wants - no, needs - her to know how he feels, he needs to lay everything down on the line for her. Maybe this comes after a huge Team Arrow victory, maybe they’ve defeated a Big Bad. Maybe this is the moment that gives him the courage to say everything that he needs her to know.  

I need this scene to be in the daylight and outside of the foundry. Maybe it’s outside Verdant; maybe this scene is a mirror of the one in which he asks her out on a date. 

He tells her that she was right, about everything. Life is precious, he tells her. Life is worth living. 

“You taught me that,” Oliver said quietly. “When you told me, all those months ago, that life is precious, that it should be lived. You were right, as you always are. When I came back from the island, I thought that being this…vigilante would be enough. That the life that was first thrust upon me, the one which I later chose, would be enough. I had resigned myself to my fate and truthfully, there were times that I didn’t want a way out. And…after Sara’s death…I believed that maybe there was no way out for me. That despite everything, maybe I simply could not escape my fate. You said it yourself - it was easier being under that hood than out of it. 

But when you told me that you needed more out of your life, that waiting to die was simply not an option…it awoke something in me. I realised that I was still stuck in the past, still trapped on that island and suddenly, I didn’t want to be. I wanted - needed - to find my way home. And if there’s something these past few months have taught me, Felicity, it’s that….

I want to live. I really, really want to live. I want more out of my life, too. I want a future. And when I think…when I imagine what that future would look like, all I can see is you. I want a life with you, Felicity. I want everything with you.” He stepped closer. “I know that I’ve never really said this to you before, not properly anyway. But I’m saying it now. I love you.”

Though the words tore into the very depths of her heart, Felicity simply sighed. Her voice quiet and not a little sad, she said, “Oliver, it’s great that you’ve had this epiphany, it really is. You deserve to be happy, to want more from your life. But what do you want from me? Do you honestly expect things to go back to the way they were? After everything that’s happened in the last few months? How do I know that you won’t change your mind again, that you won’t fall back at the first hurdle? It nearly broke me the first time. And now you want me to - what? Do it all again on account of yet another maybe?”

He shook his head. "No, Felicity. You misunderstand me. I’m not…” he sighed. “I know you’re with Ray. And I don’t mean to be selfish or to make things harder for you. Really, I just want you to be happy. And if Ray makes you happy…well. That’s good enough for me. 

Look, I didn’t tell you that I love because I want you to say it back, or even feel the same way. It's okay if you don’t. I’m not expecting anything. I told you all these things because I needed you to know, once and for all. I couldn’t bear the thought that you would go through life without knowing what I feel for you, what I have felt for months. Maybe even longer than that. I couldn’t live with myself if you didn’t know how much I cherish you. I need you to know that no matter what happens, I will always be here. Just like you’ve always been there for me. You and I have always been friends, and always will be, no matter what. 

If you’re not ready for more, then you’re not ready. And that’s okay. I won’t push.” And then he smiled that smile she loved. “But if you are ready, if you ever find yourself ready, then I am too. There are no more maybes, Felicity. Not for me, not ever again. This is it. That’s all I want you to know.”

His smile belied the tension in his heart, and he had to force himself to turn away. He’d promised not to push and he wouldn’t, ever. But he already knew that it would be the hardest thing he’d ever have to do.

Felicity closed her eyes, trying for a moment to quell the tears forming in them. She took a deep breath and before he could walk away, called his name. He turned back, the smile now turned polite and a little perfunctory to mask the tension. 

She opened her eyes, now clear, and looked into his. “I - I’m not with Ray,” she blurted out. His eyes clouded with confusion, his brow furrowed. 

“What? I don’t - Since when?”

“Since…well, ever. We went on one date, Oliver. Months ago now. One date and I already knew. So did he, I guess. We never tried for a second. No,” she said, anticipating the question forming in his mind, “I didn’t tell you. Frankly, I didn’t think it was any of your business. And it’s not like you were being all that friendly there for a while. So…yeah. We’re not together.”

“Oh.” Oliver thrust his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels slightly. He hadn’t really anticipated this scenario, hadn’t planned for it. 

Felicity just looked at him, thinking over his words one more time. She had a choice, and she knew the instant she made it. She stepped forward, closing the gap between them. She tilted her face up to meet his and leaning in, kissed him. For an instant he was caught by surprise and he almost rocked back. Her hands gripped his t-shirt tightly on either side, bunching it up. She pulled him back in towards her, and in a split second his arms were around her and he was kissing her back with the fervour of lost months and long-held desires. 

She eased back, forced herself to. Steadying her breath she looked back up at him. His eyes were searching, questioning. 

“You’ve said all that you wanted to,” she pointed out. “It’s only fair that I get a turn.” He smiled. Typical, perfect Felicity. 

For a moment there was silence, and then Felicity spoke. “On our first - and only, I might add - date, you told me that the first time we met you felt something change in you. Something that made you remember what it was like to see the world as something other than a threat. Do you remember the time that I came to you with your mother’s notebook?”

At Oliver’s nod, Felicity continued, “I told you then that, despite all the ridiculous lies you’d been throwing my way, I still felt like I could trust you. I asked you why that was but neither of us knew. To this day, Oliver, I still don’t know why. I’ve tried to figure it out - you know how much I hate mysteries. But this is one puzzle that I just can’t solve. I don’t know what it was about you that made me feel like you were someone that I could trust, that I could believe in. Maybe it was the same thing that you felt when we met. Something indefinable, unnameable. After a while, I realised that it doesn’t matter. The why' doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I have never felt that way about anyone before or since I met you. I’ve never felt the same way for anyone else and that has to mean something. 

I know that we’ve been through a lot. And I know that we have a long way to go. But when I said that I wanted more from my life I meant it. I want to be happy and I am willing to do whatever it takes to get there. I love you too, Oliver. I’ve loved you for nearly two years but I never truly let myself believe. That’s why I never said the words to you before. I believe now though. And I am willing to do whatever it takes. I am willing to go the distance with you.” Her smile bloomed bright on her face. She placed her hands on his cheeks. “I love you, Oliver, and the answer is yes. Yes. I’m ready.”

…Wowza. That got long. Sorry, Nonnie, I got a leetle bit carried away. Yeah…scenario 2 is definitely my favourite. Sighhhhh…

I hope (I guess?) that answers your question?