person: your face should be illegal

HOCKEY PLAYERS LOOKING SO DAMN FUCKING FINE LIKE BITCH WHAT THE FUCK THIS SHOULD BE ILLEGAL. LIKE TAKE YOU AND YOUR FUCKING GOLD CHAIN THAT PEAKS OUT OF YOUR JERSEY AND GIVE ME A SECOND TO TAKE A DEEP BREATHE, SIT DOWN AND SIP SOME WATER BEFORE I FUCKING HYPERVENTILATE FROM YOUR STUPID GOOD LOOKING FACE AND BODY AND FUCKING GREAT PERSONALITY THAT HAS STUPID ASS TENDENCIES. LIKE GET OUT OF HERE AND GIVE ME A SECOND TO FUCKING BREATHE FUCKING HELL.
You Smell Like Home

Characters: Yuta x You

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 353 (the first short one wow ufysdf)


MASTERLIST

You had just woken up, feeling fresh. Working at a daycare was one of the best, and one of the worst things you had decided on doing. You had to take three showers yesterday, after two kids puked on you. You still felt a bit disgusting after that, but not after rubbing on your favourite (A/N: We spell it with a “u” in Canada) cream, based off the scent of Cherry Blossoms. It was to keep Yuta from feeling home-sick. The good thing about your work was playing around with the small, clueless, cute and innocent children. It was kind of lonely, having no kids – but you still had Yuta, your person, who was a child disguised as an adult.

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Bed Sheets -- Harry x Reader

Pairing: Harry Potter x Reader

Summary: A household cleaning spell gone wrong…or did it actually go right?

Originally posted by warriorjay

“Er…what do we do now?”

“Probably figure out an escape from our predicament and pray to whoever’s listening that no one comes in anytime soon.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“More like our only option, my friend.”

You grunted in pain as Harry struggled against your body. This is what happens when you try to use magic to speed up a simple chore like tidying your room. One minute, the sheets were obediently floating off the beds, ready to fold themselves. Then all of a sudden, they rebelled and chose instead to form a body-binding cocoon around you and your understandably unwilling friend. Now, instead of finishing early and getting back to enjoying the day, you were now wasting precious do-nothing time in a restraining bed sheet on the floor of the Weasleys’ guest bedroom, bound chest-to-chest to Harry Potter, the famous Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, budding Quidditch star, best mate, secret object of your affections, you get the idea.

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Roman Holiday | Oneshot

Jungkook x Reader | Oneshot

Genre: Angst and Fluff

Word Count: 5,820 words

A/N: i’m gonna start off by thanking @extraterrestrial-taehyung bc she ULTRA EDITED this (ty and ily). ALSO i was supposed to finish part 2 of La Douleur Exquise but halsey fucked me up.

Inspired by Halsey- Roman Holiday


Roman Holiday- (n.) an occasion on which enjoyment or profit is derived from others’ suffering or discomfort.


“Dad,” You called out with a strong voice to the drunken figure that walked in through the broken front door. You got up from your patched-up couch and skirted around the empty glasses of alcohol left all around the house to help the staggering figure get inside. He held an empty glass bottle in his hand with a grip strong enough to kill someone. “Dad.” You became wary of your father as you softly called out to him, stopping yourself from getting close. You knew he was going to burst soon, as he usually did. “It’s around midnight dad, I think you should get in bed-”

Out of nowhere, your father threw his bottle at the wall behind you. The sudden crash frightened you, suddenly knocking the breath from your lungs. The sharp pieces clattered loudly to the hardwood floor and shone dully in the ever-constant dimming light of the living room. “That bitch!” Your drunken father’s words slurred together as he limped his way into the kitchen. You carefully followed him, maintaining your distance. “That motherfucker threw me out of his bar!” He yanked opened the refrigerator door and pulled out one of many beer bottles before slamming it shut, rattling the empty cereal boxes that sat above. “That fucker!” He popped the top off with no problem and chugged half the beer in one go.

“Dad,” Taking tenuous steps towards him, your main goal was to get him to bed. “Isn’t it time to go to sleep? I mean the neighborhood-”

His booming voice stopped you in your tracks. “Who gives a fuck about the neighborhood?! We live next door to a bunch of crack addicts and drug dealers! I certainly don’t give a fuck!”

“Let’s go to sleep, please?” You begged your father, who had drunkenly sat down in a rickety wooden chair next to the dining table, his poison in hand.

“Let’s not.”


He was the reason why your nights were always painfully long.

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1pissedamerican replied to your photo “No Human Being is Illegal”

Try go to Mexico,China etc and stay ILLEGALLY

This quote isn’t saying that undocumented immigrants aren’t doing something against the law by being in a country without the proper documents, It isn’t saying that a person doing that shouldn’t face any consequences even. 

This quote, by a holocaust survivor, reflecting on his experiences before and during the holocaust, is saying that a PERSON themselves can not be illegal. A person’s existence is not a crime, and they should not be referred to as though it is. 

Favorite Garrus Moments - Mass Effect 2

So more with my favorite Turian. We’ll call this: Part 2. Again, this is in no particular order–just how I remembered them. And again, this is not all of Garrus’ dialogue, just my favorites. In fact, I know I’m missing or forgetting so much! You all know the third one is going to kill me, right?


Shepard: Archangel?
Archangel: *removes helmet* Shepard … I thought you were dead.
Shepard: Garrus!

Shepard: How’d you manage to piss off every major merc organization in the Terminus System?
Garrus: It wasn’t easy. I really had to work at it.

Garrus: If you were turian, I’d be complimenting your waist or your fringe. So your … um … hair … looks good. And your waist is very … supportive. Hopefully that’s not offensive in human culture—crap … I knew I should have watched the vids.

Shepard: What if we skipped right to the tie-breaker? We could test your reach and my flexibility.
Garrus: Oh! I didn’t … hmm. Never knew you had a weakness for men with scars. Well … why the hell not? There’s nobody in this galaxy I respect more than you. If we can figure out a way to make it work … then … yeah, definitely.

Shepard: Since when did you start calling yourself Archangel?
Garrus: It’s just a name the locals gave me for … all my good deeds. Ha … I don’t mind it, but please … it’s ah … just ‘Garrus’ to you.

Garrus: Are we crazy to even be thinking about this? I’m not—look, Shepard, I know you can find something a little closer to home.
Shepard: I don’t want something closer to home. I want you. I want someone I can trust.
Garrus: I … can do that.

Garrus: If I wanted to do more than take your shields down, I’d have done it.

Shepard: You know, Garrus, if you’re not comfortable with this, it’s okay. I’m not trying to pressure you.
Garrus: Shepard … you’re about the only friend I’ve got left in this screwed up galaxy. I’m not gonna pretend I’ve got a fetish for humans, but this isn’t about that.  This is about us. You don’t ever have to worry about making me uncomfortable. Nervous … yes. But never uncomfortable.

Garrus: A quarantine zone for a plague that kills turians. Why don’t we go anywhere nice?
Shepard: It’s safer to stick with a squad that’s immune to the plague.
Garrus: It’s your call, Shepard. If you need me, I’m not going to let a cough keep me back.

Garrus: Is it hot in here, or is it just— *begins coughing*. Oh … that’s not good.

Garrus: You ever miss those talks we used to have on the elevator?
Tali: No.
Garrus: Come on … remember how we’d all ask you about life on the Flotilla? It was an opportunity to share.
Tali: This conversation is over.
Garrus: Tell me again about your immune system.
Tali: I have a shotgun.
Garrus: Mmmaybe we’ll talk later.

Shepard: So when should I book the room?
Garrus: I’d wait if you’re okay with it. Disrupt the crew a little as possible. Take that last chance to find some calm just before the storm. You know me, always like to savor that last shot before popping the heatsink.
Shepard: *smirks*
Garrus: Wait … that metaphor just went somewhere horrible.
Shepard: I’ll let you get back to work.
Garrus: Riiight … cause I’m in a great place to optimize firing algorithms right now.

Niftu Cal: Bah! I will wreak a revenge upon his people! But first … the leader of these mercenaries is in the next room! I shall toss Wasea about like a rag doll!
Garrus: Shepard … this guy couldn’t tie his bootlaces, much less fight.
Niftu Cal: I will tear her apart! My biotic are unstoppable!
Shepard: Wasea will tear you apart. Take a nap—you’ll feel better.
Niftu Cal: Are you mad? I’m unstoppable! Feasting on her biotic-rich blood—
Shepard: *knocks him over*
Niftu Cal: *getting up slowly* But … great wind. Biotic God. I’m … I … what was I saying? I’m … tired. You may be right. Yes … I’m tired. I’ll nap. Destroy the universe later …
Garrus: *watches Niftu stumble away* So much for Godhood.

Garrus: Part of me still thinks we’re crazy for even considering blowing off steam. But I want to try it with you. I want a few moments that are just for us, before we throw ourselves into hell for the good of the galaxy.
Shepard: I want that too, Garrus.
Garrus: Glad to hear it. I’ll do some … uh … research. And figure out how to … you know.
Shepard: *raises brow*
Garrus: Okay, that sounded bad.

Shepard: I couldn’t do this without you, Garrus.
Garrus: Sure you could. Not as stylishly, of course.

Shepard: Have you got a minute?
Garrus: Can it wait for a bit? I’m in the middle of some calibrations.

Mordin: Repurposed Krogan hospital. Sturdy. Built to withstand punishment.
Garrus: That’s unfortunate. Hospitals aren’t fun to fight through.
Shepard: What is fun to fight through?
Garrus: Gardens. Electronic shops. Antique stores … but only if they’re classy.

Shepard: My name is Shepard and I’m here to get you off this ship.
Jack: I’m not going anywhere with you. You’re Cerberus.
Shepard: I’m offering to be your friend. You don’t want to be my enemy.
Garrus: They have a way of dying.

Garrus: Nobody would give me a mirror. How bad is it?
Shepard:  Hell Garrus, you were always ugly. Slap some face paint on there and no one will even notice.
Garrus: Ha–ah … don’t make me laugh, damn it. My face is barely holding together as it is. Some women find facial scars attractive. Mind you, most of these women are krogan.

Harkin: I don’t give out client information. It’s bad for business.
Garrus: You know what else is bad for business? A broken neck.

Tali: My brain agrees with you. My gut says I should jack his suits olfactory filters so that everything smells like refuse!
Zaeed: A rifle butt to the head would be faster.
Garrus: Remind me never to get on your bad side.

Bailey:  … Selling illegal VI personalities. Actually, he was selling one of you.
Shepard: Me?
Bailey: Yeah. When you erased a file it would say, ‘I delete data like you on the way to real errors.’
Garrus: That’s pretty extreme, Commander.
Shepard: Laugh it up, Garrus.

Garrus: It’s easy to see the world in black and white. Grey? I don’t know what to do with grey.

Garrus: I’ll find some music and do some research  It will either be a night to treasure …  or a horrible interspecies awkwardness thing. In which case, fighting the Collectors will be a welcome distraction. Sooo … you know, win either way.

Garrus: I’ve never considered cross-species intercourse. And  damn … saying it that way doesn’t help. Now I feel dirty … and clinical.

Hello

Originally posted by campercooperpugfi

A/N: Full disclosure, I’ve never been to a convention, so this is based solely on what I imagine and stuff.

This is written for my dear @pleasecallmecaptain, who IS MEETING SEBASTIAN STAN TODAY.  I hope everything is wonderful and beautiful and amazing and I want to hear every detail.

Also tagging @mattymattymerduck, @writingbarnes and @kissofvenom922.

-

You stand in line, nervously playing with a strand of hair as you inch closer to your eventual destination.  That destination being Sebastian Stan.

If someone had told you a couple months ago that you’d be meeting Sebastian Stan today at Sacramento Wizard World, you would’ve laughed in their face, but here you are, just a few hundred feet from the man himself.  You try to fight the urge to sneak a peak towards the front of the line, but find yourself unable to see anything, despite craning your neck and standing on your tip-toes.

The line gets closer and closer and you find yourself running through potential scenarios in your head.  What will you say to him when you get there?  What will he say back?  Will you pass out?  If you do, will he catch you in his arms?

“Next!”

You don’t even realize that you’re the next one in line and a wave of panic hits you as your feet move you forward.  

And then you see him.

He’s just as handsome in person as he is on film and in all the pictures and gifs and videos you’ve seen.  His eyes meet yours and you fight the rising blush in your cheeks.

“Hello,” you say quietly.  “I’m Victoria.”

“I’m Sebastian,” he says.  Then he seems to realize what he said and he shakes his head.  “I mean, duh.  So, uh, what do you want to do for the photo?”

You look at the camera person, standing expectantly and look back at Sebastian.  Every possible idea that you had, every cute pose flies out of your head.

“Um…” you say, frozen.  “I don’t…I…my brain kind of isn’t functioning right now.”  Sebastian smiles and your mind goes even more blank, if that’s possible.  It should be illegal for him to do that.

“That’s ok, mine too,” he says, and you barely have time to process his words before you realize his hand is on your arm.  He pulls you next to him, facing the camera and you feel his arm snake around your waist.  “Ok, now look at the camera and smile.”

The photographer counts down on her fingers.  Three, two, one…

Right as the camera flashes, you feel Sebastian’s lips on your cheek.  Your eyes widen in surprise and as soon as the picture is taken, you turn to him.  His lips turn up in his trademark smirk, but you could swear you see a faint red tinge on his cheeks.  

“What?” he says.  “Can you blame me?”

And then you’re being swept out of the area by one of the workers, deposited outside to wait for your picture to print, in a state of confusion.  What the hell just happened?

“Here you go,” someone says.  You look up and it’s another of the convention workers, holding out an envelope to you.  “Nice picture.”

You thank her and hurry away to a quiet corner, your fingers carefully opening the envelope and sliding the photo out.  You instantly love the photo.  

You can just see Seb’s hand on your waist, and you realize that your hand made it up to his shoulder.  Your smile is completely genuine; surprised, but genuine.  And of course, there’s the fact that Seb is KISSING YOU.

You shake your head and check your watch.  You decide to head over to the line for the panel he’s on that you’re supposed to see.

You get a good seat, in one of the first couple rows.  The room starts to fill up with other excited humans, all of them buzzing with energy.  

Sebastian walks in and the room explodes with cheers.  Everyone stands up, clapping, cheering, whooping as he takes his seat on the stage.  He scans the crowd and your eyes meet.  He smiles and lifts his hand to wave.  Your eyes widen, and you point at yourself, mouthing the word Me?  

He laughs and nods and you lift your hand up, waving back.  He smiles at you and looks away, as the cheering starts to die down and the panel begins.  You listen, enraptured as he talks about everything from his fun nights out with Chris and Mackie to the excessive amount of lube he had to use for his arm.  

You don’t know if it’s just you, but a couple times, you catch him looking at you.  At least, you think he’s looking at you.  When he makes a joke, his eyes dart towards you, as if he’s checking to make sure you’re laughing. 

Eventually, the panel ends and you head off to your next and final stop: Sebastian’s autograph session.  You can’t believe how quickly the whole experience has gone, but you’ve enjoyed every minute of it.

The line moves quickly and then you find yourself standing in front of Sebastian.  He’s staring down at the table, finishing up an autograph.  He smiles up at the recipient and then turns to see who’s next in line.  His smile spreads, crinkling up the corners of his eyes.

“Victoria!” he says.

“Sebastian!” you reply.  “You remember my name!?”

“Of course!” he smiles.  “How could I forget?”

“Are you always this much of a flirt?” you ask.

“Not always,” he says.  “Only…”

“Only when?” you ask, suddenly feeling more bold.  

“Only when I meet someone as beautiful as you,” he grins and you shake your head.  

“You’re ridiculous,” you say.

“Ma’am, if you could get your signature and move on,” a worker says, and you remember where you are.

“There you go again, distracting me,” you say.  You hand your envelope to him.  He pulls it out of the envelope and laughs.

“Aw, this is so cute!” he says.  “Do you mind if I take a picture of it?”

“Feel free,” you say.  He pulls his phone out and takes a quick picture before uncapping a silver sharpie.  He signs his name, but continues to write something across the bottom of the picture.  

“What-”

Sebastian finishes writing and blows a puff of air on the ink, drying it.  He slips it back into the envelope and hands it back to you.  

“When you-”

“Okay, move on,” says the unmoved worker, pushing you gently away.  You get one last look at Sebastian before you’re out of the area.  You sigh, still in a state of disbelief at the whole experience.  You can’t believe it’s over.

Except it isn’t.  Far from it.

You reach into the envelope gingerly.  You pull the photo out and gasp.  Scrawled across the bottom, under his signature: I’d love to get to know you better and a phone number.  

You debate with yourself, wondering whether you’ll seem too eager if you text him immediately.  You shrug and pull your phone out, typing the number into your phone and a short Hello.

Not even thirty seconds later, your phone buzzes in response. 

Hello.

I’m Awkward, You’re Gorgeous

(I am Becommissar trash. trASH i tell you.)

Now on ao3 as well c:


It was so dark. That was the first thing Beca noticed as she stepped into the club. She could barely see the rest of the Bellas, let alone anyone else. The rest of the group split off to go dance out on the floor, some with each other, some plucking random strangers from the mass of sweaty, drunk humans. Chloe tried to get her to come out on the floor, but after Beca refused –five times, in fact– the redhead left her alone to find her way to the bar, calling over her shoulder that she needed her “jiggle juice.” The brunette grinned at that. Chloe was still Chloe.

Large social gatherings weren’t really her thing. When she was singing with the Bellas, it was different. That had a purpose, and she just lost herself in the music. It was harder to do that in a club. Rather than embarrass herself or, god forbid, give herself an anxiety attack, she picked out a nice, relatively secluded booth to watch everyone else in, and relaxed. After ten minutes, the bartender came over to ask if she wanted something, and ended up giving her a root beer after she had declined.

“Keep an eye on your friends, ja?” he asked hopefully. Beca nodded amiably and he grinned at her before moving away.

Worlds were over, but the Bellas had decided to stay a bit longer and take in the sights and sounds. Apparently Copenhagen did a lot of fishing. Like, a lot, a lot. Beca was pretty sure she had never seen or smelled this much fish. It was ridiculous.

Two weeks in Denmark. It was a pretty fascinating place, but Beca always had a thing for other countries. And accents. And—oh, fuck no. This thought train was not going there.

And of course, by some stroke of luck or misfortune –she wasn’t sure which to blame right now– Das Sound Machine was here. It may have been dark, but she could make the giants out with minimal light.

That, and she could hear the Kommissar’s voice. It sounded like angels and cotton candy and oh my god what is wrong with you, Beca? And yet, she couldn’t tear her eyes away. The German was entirely in her element here, and though she exuded confidence by nature, her showy attitude in the U.S. didn’t compare to this.

Part of her wondered why Kommissar (was that seriously her name? It literally meant inspector…) wasn’t somewhere mourning the loss of the Worlds. She seemed like the type to brood, plan, and then possibly kill those who stood in her way. And damn if it wasn’t the sexiest—

Whoa, Beca, no. “I have a boyfriend, for fuck’s sake,” she muttered, trying to talk herself out of being attracted to the blonde bombshell. Deep breaths. “I have a boyfriend, my life is great, I have an internship waiting at home, I have Jesse and if I was going to be gay for someone wouldn’t it have been Chloe…?”

She rattled off a huge number of excuses before finally getting frustrated and heading for the bathroom. It seemed like her skull was pulsing and that was probably a bad sign. So determined to reach the bathroom before running into anyone she knew, she made a beeline for the bathroom, charging through the doors like the madwoman she possibly might have been.

She collided with something that felt like a brick wall, except in human form, and dropped everything she was carrying – drink included. Root beer splashed over her blouse as well as the one of the person standing in front of her, and she swore vehemently. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, I’ll pay for a new outfit or for this to get cleaned or something, shit I’m really–”

Kommissar.

She had spilled root beer on the Kommissar of Das Sound Machine.

Fuckfuckfuck. I’m going to die. Fuck.

“—sorry.” The last word ended on a squeak, and she immediately pulled her phone out to text Chloe, only to ditch her mission when the tall German chuckled under her breath.

She was smirking, probably thinking up ways to torture the American. “Perhaps I should call you Clumsy Maus, ja?” When Beca gave no reply, Kommissar tilted her own with a smug smile. “What is wrong, Kleine Maus? Has the… was ist der begriff… cat got your tongue?”

The Bella glared at her. “It’s not my fault that I’m awkward and you’re gorgeous… wait, what?” Shit. “I mean, you’re just too flawless and it’s messing with my head!”

Kommissar laughed, a real laugh, not the mocking kind. “Tiny Mouse, you are so funny… your voice is angry but your words are quite flattering. What is it that you try to accomplish?”

In what must have been the cutest pout she had seen yet, Beca pouted. She flat-out pouted, and Kommissar laughed again. “Such a tiny, feisty, clumsy maus!” she teased, but a moment later smiled. “Congratulations are in order, as well… for your victory. It was clever to bring your previous members to perform with you.”

“… I’m sorry, is this a trap? I’d be good with being trapped by you but – you know what, I give up on words,” Beca grumbled, rolling her eyes. She got this way every single time in the woman’s presence. Kommissar made her go weak in the knees, weak in the head, and weak in–

Not going there…

Arme kleine Maus. You are so stiff. Loosen up. Worlds are over. Why are you not enjoying yourself?”

“Because I can’t think straight around you?” … Was that an innuendo? Oh god, it was. She literally could not think straight around this incredible Amazon woman. She had always suspected she might be bisexual but god, did it have to be this particular person to make her question every sensible part of her.

If Beca was the mouse, Kommissar was definitely the cat. She had taken a step closer, backed Beca against the wall. The brunette had to look up just to see her properly, and a soft hand cupped her cheek, Kommissar rubbing her thumb across the Bella’s cheek. “Seriously, do you wash your hands with unicorn tears or something? Nobody should have hands this soft, this is illegal – what are you doing?”

Kommissar had brushed a strand of hair from her face and studied her now. Under such scrutiny, Beca felt suddenly self-conscious. What the hell was the DSM leader studying? Probably assessing exactly how many superior qualities she had. Because, seriously, how was anyone this flawless?

“Luisa.”

“… What?”

“My name is Luisa.”

Beca blinked. “Is… um? Why are you—”

She didn’t get to finish the question before the Aryan goddess leaned down to catch her lips. Every possible sensible part of her brain short circuited and she couldn’t resist the urge to wrap her arms around the goddess’s neck, dragging her closer, kissing her harder… if it had been possible to take part of Kommissar –no, Luisa– from her through this kiss, Beca would have accomplished it.

Somehow Beca ended up seated on the counter. Somewhere in the back of her mind it occurred that Luisa had lifted her up, as it couldn’t possibly be comfortable to lean down to kiss someone a full foot shorter, but she had no memory of anything but this kiss. And fuck did Luisa’s lips feel incredible. As if they had been dipped in honey and then formed into clouds. Warm clouds.

The German was the one to pull away, a smug grin on her face. “I thought it appropriate to introduce myself properly before I did that.” She leaned closer, her mouth a hair’s breadth from Beca’s. “And, as much as I enjoy my title, I would rather hear you scream my name, Beca.

She noticed the Bella’s openmouthed, wide-eyed –what adorable doe-eyes; perhaps Luisa should change her name– and only smirked before catching the younger woman’s mouth again.


was ist der begriff? – What’s the phrase?

arme kleine Maus - poor little mouse