several sizes too small

Save Yourself (Steve One-shot)

Characters: reader, Steve (Natasha, Bucky, and Sam mentioned)

Summary: After a disastrous mission and harsh romantic rejection, you find yourself in a downward spiral of destructive behavior until Steve steps in and shows you you’re worth saving.

Warnings: All the angst. Little bit of fluff. Mentions of death, sex, destructive behavior, suicide and self harm (mild), alcohol abuse. 

Word Count: 2.4k (another failed drabble, ya’ll. I’m a wordy birdy)

Song Inspiration: Save Yourself by Kaleo

Y/N: Late night angst strikes again! I thought about this song and story all day at work. I’m still working on my multiple series, but needed a little change of pace. I’ve also been missing Steve lately. I was reminded of Chris Evans’ advice about his noisy brain so I included that. This got a lot darker than I anticipated. I have no idea how it’ll be received, so let me know your thoughts. I adore you all!! <3

p.s. Happy Birthday, Chris Evans!!! :) 

Full Masterlist


Originally posted by dailyteamcap


Wincing at the unusually loud noise, you exited the elevator and tiptoed barefoot down the hallway toward your room. Rounding the corner, you placed a hand to the side of your head, hoping the incessant pounding would subside soon. You snuck forward quietly, high heels dangled from your other hand with a clutch purse wedged under your arm. At least you remembered to grab your purse this time.

“Have a nice time last night?”

You cringed. Only ten feet away from your room, you heard the one voice you hoped not the hear coming from the one man you were avoiding. Straightening up from your sneaking position, you slowly turned toward the voice.

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In a sea of loss, Bashar Abdul Jabar is just one among many.

The small man in a shirt several sizes too big is standing in the parking lot of the Iraqi civil defense forces base in Mosul, hoping to retrieve the body of his son. To his right is a young man whose entire family — 11 people — was killed. To his left, a man who lost 18 relatives.

Nearby, a 4-year-old boy who lost his mother and three brothers clings silently to his father’s leg.

Abdul Jabar, a father of five, lost his son Ahmed. He was 15. When their house collapsed around them during fighting in June between Iraqi troops and ISIS, Ahmed was trapped. The rest of the family members were able to extricate themselves. Abdul Jabar couldn’t save Ahmed and had to leave him behind, while he was still alive under the rubble.

He and the other men gathered a few weeks ago at Mosul’s civil defense forces base to try to recover the bodies of relatives killed during the battle for Mosul, which ended with the city’s recapture from ISIS in July.

‘He Died Alone’: A Grieving Father Searches For His Teenage Son In Mosul

Photo: Jane Arraf/NPR

Pants Swap

A ficlet based on this deleted scene! For @fennethianell

“Gamora!” Peter calls from somewhere behind her. She turns to see him and Drax on the other side of the bar. “Gamora, Gamora, Gamora!” He keeps shouting her name, even after she’s clearly spotted him, as they make their way up to her, giggling like children.

They have to weave in and out of groups of people, the bar packed mostly with Nova Corps officers, all of them there to celebrate Dey’s birthday. At first Gamora’s not sure why Peter and Drax are acting so giddy, nor what nonsense Peter has managed to get into in the five minutes it took her to grab more drinks from the bar, but she’s sure she’s about to find out.

It becomes obvious once they get nearer and she can properly see their clothing situation.

“Gamora,” Peter says again when they get up to her, still giggling. “Do you notice anything different?”

He gestures between himself and Drax, who bursts out laughing. “Anything different!” he repeats, slapping his leg as though it’s the most amusing thing he’s ever heard.

“Gee, no,” Gamora says dryly, lips twitching. “You’re too subtle.”

“Come on!” Peter grins. “Guess!”

“We swapped pants!” Drax blurts out, which makes Peter laugh again.

“You were supposed to let her guess!”

“She was taking too long,” Drax says unapologetically. “Let’s go see if Rocket can guess!”

“You go,” Peter says, waving him off and smiling dopily at Gamora. Drax shrugs and walks away a bit awkwardly, as Peter’s pants are several sizes too small for him. It’s a wonder they don’t rip.

“Here,” Gamora says, handing Peter his drink, though she’s now thinking he probably doesn’t need any more alcohol.

“Gamora,” he says very seriously, after taking the drink. “I’m wearing Drax’s pants.”

“I noticed,” she tells him. They’re loose on him, hanging lower on his hips than his own pants do, and there’s a large, orange-ish stain on one of the thighs. “Why are you wearing Drax’s pants?”

He bounces a bit in place, clearly excited to tell her. “’Cause he spilled his drink on his, and he said it felt gross and he wished he had another pair,” he says, talking very fast. “So I said it’s too bad you can’t just wear mine, and then I thought: he can wear mine. So we went and I gave him my pants, but then I didn’t have any so he said I could wear his! Are you proud, babe?” he finishes, somewhat breathless. 

She furrows her brow. “Because you switched pants with someone?”

“Because I solved the problem,” he says like it’s obvious.

“Not really,” she points out. “The pants are still stained; you just switched who’s wearing them.”

He blinks, looking down as if to check that she’s telling the truth. Then he bursts out laughing again. “Oh my god, you’re right. That’s twice as hilarious. I can’t wait to tell Drax.”

Gamora shakes her head fondly. “Yes, it’s a very funny story, Peter. Now let’s go get you a glass of water.”

She steers him towards the bar, and he drapes an arm across her shoulders as they walk. “And cool, right?” he asks, suddenly sounding a bit more sober.

“Very cool.”

“Am I cool?”

She glances up at him to see that his previously gleeful expression has fallen into more of a pout. “Of course, Peter. Why?”

He sighs dramatically. “Lately it seems like Groot doesn’t think I’m as cool as he used to, y’know? Like, he used to think I was the coolest guy in the galaxy.” Gamora’s not sure that’s true, but she lets him continue uninterrupted. “Now all he seems to care about are those video games.”

Gamora rubs his side soothingly. She’s pointed out to him many times that Groot is an adolescent now and, according to the parenting books she’s read (which is something she’d never expected to find herself doing) this is a normal phase for him.

That never seems to placate Peter, though.

“You can tell him the pants swap story, then,” she says. “He’ll be very impressed.”

“Yeah, he will be,” he says confidently as they reach the bar and Gamora orders him a water. “Are you impressed?”

She purses her lips and looks him up and down, then says with as straight a face as she can, “To be honest, I’m more impressed by your tight pants.”

He flushes and puffs his chest out with pride. “Do you wanna go get me out of these?” he asks in a conspiratorial whisper.

She rolls her eyes and points to the glass of water the bartender has just set in front of him. “Why don’t you sober up a little first?”

“Soooooooo.” He looks at her as if he’s trying to read her face, which he’s normally good at even while drunk. “Is that a ‘yes?’”

“It’s a ‘maybe later.’ Now drink.”

He grins like he’s won the lottery and picks up his water. “I still got it.”

Gamora smiles indulgently; he’s a dork, but he’s her dork. “Yes, you do.”

100 Days of R/Hr: Day 15

Prompt: “I Won’t Give Up” by Jason Mraz

Prompted by: @marauderswho

So I actually came up with this just after reading the lyrics when I wasn’t able to actually listen to the song in the moment. Once the fic was written, I went back and listened to the song. I think it’s mostly based on a few pieces of the whole and maybe not the theme of the song overall, but I hope you enjoy it! x

He walked slowly toward the beach, contemplating how long it had been since he’d seen so many stars so clearly in the night sky. This was actually quite ironic, because he’d spent months living in a tent, sitting night watches outside, so far away from the nearest town. But he hadn’t taken notice then, existing inside his own head or focused too intently on the tree line in case they had been discovered.

Now, he approached Hermione’s small form, where she was sitting in the sand, her body lit only by moon and starlight. She was wearing a black cotton t-shirt that was several sizes too large for her small frame, which he knew to be because of her injuries, still healing after Malfoy Manor, even though she hadn’t said it. It had been almost three days, but his hands would still shake when he was alone in the shower, or when he’d wake up from a cold nightmare with silent dread filling his body.

She turned and glanced suddenly over her shoulder, and he wasn’t sure what had alerted her to his presence. The waves ahead were shifting in and out against the shore, a mesmerising sound in the dark, and he hadn’t been able to hear his own footsteps, bare feet through sand.

“Hey,” he said, now that she’d noticed him, and she watched him as he sat in the sand beside her.

Her legs were nearly bare in a small pair of cotton shorts, and it was quite chilly out, sea breeze blowing her hair into little frizzy tornados over her shoulders, but she didn’t seem to mind. His jumper and jeans suddenly felt stifling in comparison.

“You didn’t eat much at dinner,” he pointed out, almost hating his own voice as he heard the words aloud. Even he had gone through a stretch of lost appetite, when he’d arrived here after leaving them… and he hadn’t been bloody tortured.

She studied his face, and he decided to try and look apologetic, relieved when she smiled softly.

“Wasn’t very hungry,” she said.

He nodded and turned his attention to the sea straight ahead. He wanted to do everything to help her, but he was more often lost than not. He knew there was no switch to flick to make it better, as much as he knew another part of him was desperately, endlessly, searching for it. But, all of a sudden, he felt her hand on his leg, moving over his forearm, fingers inching toward his hand. He met her halfway, fingers lacing together to rest on his knee. And when he risked looking over at her again, she was staring back, glassy eyes holding his gaze.

“How do you feel?” he asked in a scratchy, surprisingly emotional voice. She swallowed, and the reflection of starlight in her eyes intensified as they watered.

He was once again immediately sorry he had spoken, and he squeezed her hand, feeling overwhelmed. But she gripped his hand back before letting go and clearing her throat.

“Better,” she said in a shaky voice, “but… I’m going to have a scar.”

He glanced at her neck, the tiny remaining line across her skin from where Bellatrix’s blade had cut her, but she shook her head.

“Not there.” She hesitated only for a second as he watched her curiously, and then she reached up to the loose collar of the shirt she was wearing, looped a finger over the edge, and tugged it down the centre of her chest, exposing her breastbone all the way down to the bottom of her ribs.

It really wasn’t the right time to notice how much skin she had revealed to him, how beautiful the gentle curves of her body were, how she had a small mole just at the left edge of where her shirt was overlapping the swell of her breast… It wasn’t the right time at all to want to touch her himself, to run his fingertips down the open V of bare skin she was showing him.

Or was it?

Her eyes had welled with tears to the point that if she blinked too hard, he suspected they would fall. Did she think this made her somehow less? The scar was there, but he was having trouble actually focusing on it, seeing more of her than he had ever seen before, alone. And when he did try to see her scar more clearly, he was filled only with rage, something he didn’t want right now. The only thing he could do to tame it was to flip it around so it made him want to wrap his arms around her and hold onto her and stay here forever.

“I shouldn’t c-care,” she sniffed. “It really doesn’t matter. I’m alive. But-”

She licked her bottom lip and let go of her shirt, but it didn’t retreat to her neck, gaping open slightly from being stretched.

“It’s just all I can see, when I look in the mirror,” she nearly whispered, eyes darting away from him to stare out at the waves again.

“It’s not all I saw,” he said, throat quite dry.

She turned back to him, surprised, and he noticed the fresh tear track running down her left cheek.

“You’re just saying that.” But her eyes were darting between his, and she so clearly wanted to believe him.

“No, I’m not,” he said roughly, clenching his fist slightly in the sand… not entirely sure what he was admitting to, but hoping she understood enough to realise how achingly sincere he was.

His gaze danced down to the shadowy gap between her shirt and her chest, flicking back up to her face so fast when he realised what he was doing. His ears burned, but she didn’t seem at all bothered. In fact, she shifted a bit closer to him, until her leg was resting against his.

“I’m trying to be strong, for Harry,” she explained, in a tiny, cracking voice, “but I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d be fine-” he started to say, because she was strong, and brilliant, and amazing, and… beautiful, even with a scar she hated. He loved every part of her, half-desperate to let her know. But she stopped him with a hand wrapped tightly around his wrist.

“You have no idea how much safer I felt, the night you came back. I couldn’t tell you then because it hurt too much when you left, but I need you. Harry needs you, too.”

He wanted to apologise again, but she flinched and let go of him, reaching up to touch her scar very gently with her fingertips.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked, worried.

“Once in a while, but not much,” she answered, chest moving heavily as she breathed in and out. She flattened her palm to her chest, half over bare skin, half over her wrinkled shirt.

He realised he was going to do it after he’d already started moving. He covered her hand with his much larger one, watching as her lips parted and her eyes fluttered shut.

“I need you, too,” he began, her eyes still lightly shut as she listened. “If you…” But he couldn’t bring himself to say any of the words that came to mind for the impossible possibility that she could ever die. “…left, I don’t think I could do this shit anymore.”

She finally opened her eyes, and he slid his hand slowly off of hers so his fingertips brushed her knuckles before he lost contact.

“I don’t want to think about what’s coming,” she said, so quietly, “or what we have to do next. I just want to stay here with you.”

And he finally noticed that his assumption earlier - that sitting outside in the cold wasn’t really bothering her - had been false. Her bare legs were coated in gooseflesh, and she was lightly shivering now. She moved the slightest bit closer again, and he had to show her it was alright.

“Then, let’s stay here,” he whispered.

He lifted his hand back up to her shoulder, moving slowly up along her collarbone toward the side of her neck, just barely stopping short. But it was enough, and she slid her legs over his, leaning forward so his hand slipped behind her neck and her head came to rest on his shoulder. His fingers got lost in her hair before he remembered to breathe, and he wrapped his arm fully around her back, holding her tight, partially on his lap, wondering why he didn’t do this more often… every day, even.

She bent her knees slightly, drawing her body even closer in toward his warmth, and he bravely lowered his free hand to her leg, heating her skin with his touch before draping his whole forearm across her thighs and dropping his cheek to her forehead. He knew they both knew they had no choice, that they would face what would come, heading straight into the fire. But, right now, they could do exactly what she’d told him she wanted. They could stay here, together, and he’d move only when they had to, not one second before.

So Many Stars (Ch. 1)

Pairing: Phan
Genre: Chaptered fic, AU
Word count: 3,320 words
Description: After graduating with his law degree, Dan decides to move to Japan to teach English for a year.

A/N: so i’ve been wanting to write a phan au where they are english teachers in japan for a long time. this is going to be a pretty long, chaptered fic. please read if you’re interested!


It was 36 degrees outside — literally human body temperature — and the air was so thick with humidity Dan was pretty sure he could take a bite out of it. Yet here he was, sat in a full suit and tie in a room where the only relief from the sweltering heat came from the half-assed breeze that occasionally drifted through the open windows. His shirt was plastered to his back with sweat, and he was pretty sure it was going to have to be surgically removed later on. The vinyl couch he sat on felt like it was made of lava. 

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The Court of King Steilsson - Dennor Fanfic

“You shall pay for your crimes, filthy trespasser!”

Lukas raised an eyebrow, unamused. “What the fuck, Mathias.”

When Lukas went out grocery shopping that morning, he hadn’t expected to return to a trashed house and his boyfriend dressed as a viking.

The man in question was sporting a brown cloak and a horned helmet, waving a foam axe in his hand. “There is no Mathias here. I am Bearskin Firebeard, soldier of the dark, protector of the light, and guardian of the great court of Steilsson.”

“Well, fartbeard, if you don’t get your butt out here to help me carry the shopping, the only thing you’ll have to guard is your precious triple-sized beer mug.”

Mathias broke character for a second, eyes widening in horror. “You wouldn’t.”

“I think,” bit Lukas, “you’ll find that I would. Where’s Emil?”

Face morphing back into his ‘viking’ persona, Mathias rest his fist over his chest. “If, by Emil, you are referring to my lord and liege, King Steilsson, he is in the throne room. I shall take you there now, so that he may serve your judgement.”

“By all means, lead the way, Viking,”

“That’s sir Viking, to you.”

Lukas snorted in reply.

After he dumped the grocery bags on the counter, Mathias led him through the house, over discarded toys and between rooms, until they reached the entrance of Emil’s playroom. Halting outside the drawn curtain, Mathias called: “I have brought you the intruder, my king.”

From inside, a small voice rang out, “Bring him forth, Sir Mathias.”

By this point, Lukas was completely lost. What was this, some extravagant game of dress up?

He had little time to ponder his bemusement as his boyfriend stepped forwards and ripped open the curtains, pushing him inside by his shoulders. He opened his mouth to complain, but was stunned to silence at the sight before him.

In the centre of the room, perched upon a garish throne made entirely from lego, was his younger brother. The six year old was adorned in a velvet cloak, draping over the throne and pooling on the floor. Upon his head sat a crown which was clearly several sizes too large, the front falling over his eyes. His small shoes dangled several feet from the ground, and his stuffed puffin toy was nestled on his shoulder.

Lukas’s first instinct was to laugh and coo at the adorable sight, but his brother’s deadly serious expression prompted him to bite his lip and play along.

After thoroughly inspecting the trespasser, Emil opened his mouth to speak. “You must think yourself deific, coming here without consent.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Everyone north of the great sea knows of my kingdom, and what happens to those who dare defy me.”

Lukas bared his chest, lifting his chin to lock eyes with the ‘ruler’. “By all means, your majesty, enlighten me.”

Emil nodded his head towards Mathias. “Show him, warrior.”

Mathias bowed in compliance. “As you wish.” Then, seemingly out of nowhere, he whipped out Lukas’s prized box of butter-pecan biscuits. With a smirk, he poured several onto his hand, and promptly stuffed them in his mouth.

“Stop! Those are mine!” Lukas jumped up, his usually expressionless face morphed in panic. No-one messed with his butter-pecan biscuits.

“I’m afraid this is the price you pay for disobeying the rules of the land.” Emil cut in, face austere.

“Please! I’ll do anything, just don’t touch my biscuits!”

Emil paused, thoughtful. “Anything, you say?”

“Yes, I swear,” Lukas begged, glaring at Mathias from the corner of his eye.

“Hmm,” mused Emil. “Allow me to confer with Mr. Puffin.” With a haughty toss of the head, Emil turned to face his stuffed toy. He whispered to it in hushed Icelandic, pausing every now and then as if to listen to its response. Finally, Emil turned back to his brother, small face determined.

“We have reached a decision.”

“Which is?”

Little Emil folded his arms over his chest. “In exchange for the preservation of your biscuits, I demand 3 party bags of Djúpur licorice. Do we have ourselves a deal?”

Lukas frowned, incredulous. “Emil, that’s like 20 pounds of candy. You can’t seriously-“

“Do we have a deal?” Emil interrupted, intransigent.

Under any other circumstances, Lukas would have given his brother a hard scolding for that kind of backtalk. But, against his better judgement, Lukas couldn’t bring himself to chasten the boy on behalf of how utterly adorable he looked in that little cloak and the oversized crown. With an eye roll and an inward sigh, Lukas relented.

“Fine, fine, you can have your licorice.”

For the first time that afternoon, Emil broke character, his face splitting into a beam of triumph. Lukas got the feeling that he hadn’t really expected to have his demands entertained.

“But first, your majesty, I am obliged to inform you of your fatal flaw.”

Emil’s grin faltered, and he peered down at his brother suspiciously. “What are you talking about?”

“I have a secret weapon, one that is impervious to any of your tricks.”

“And that is?”

Lukas glanced up with a smirk, gaze trained on his brother. “That I’m the tickle monster!”

Before Emil had a chance to respond, Lukas dived forwards and scooped the small boy in his arms, flopping him in a pile of pillows. Without pause, he began scratching his fingers at Emil’s sides. The young boy panted hysterically, biting his lip in an effort not to laugh.

Almost immediately, Mathias came to join in on the fun, holding down his arms and legs to give Lukas full tickling access.

Emil glowered at him in betrayal. “You can’t do this!” he wheezed. “You are my loyal s-servant-“ He broke off, still desperately trying to maintain his stoicism.

“C’mon Icey, we all know that Lukas is my real boss here.” Mathias grinned, before releasing his ankle to tickle him right in-between his neck and his shoulder.

At the unexpected attack, Emil’s resolve finally broke, and he exploded in high-pitched peels of laughter.

“Stah-hop, I need to b-breathe!” he gasped, little tears escaping his eyes and rolling down his cheeks.

Lukas and Mathias, the cruel guardians they were, did not heed his request, instead tickling him even more fiercely. By this point, Mathias was giggling almost as much as Emil, and Lukas couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at his own lips.

After a few minutes of furious tickling, the laughter began to abate, and the three flopped side-by-side on the pillow pile, exhausted. Mathias sought out Lukas’s hand, twining their fingers together and offering him a giddy smile.

Between them, Emil’s breaths began to slow, and after a little while he fell into a soft doze. His thumb was hooked in his small mouth, toy puffin tucked to his stomach.

Come to think of it, Lukas was starting to feel a little drowsy himself. Looking over, he saw that Mathias had the same idea, and was drifting to sleep where he lay. Lukas let his own eyes flutter closed, comforted by the warm presence of the two boys he called ‘family’.

Almost as soon as he did so, he was roused by a sleepy voice. “Bróðir?”

Lukas turned to see Emil peering up at him, half lidded. “Yes, Emil?”

“I still get my licorice after this, right?”

“…I’ll think about it.”

Satisfied, the little boy adjusted his position and went back to sleep, curled up between his guardians.

With a soft smile, Lukas gazed over his two boys. Mathias was still dressed in his viking attire, cloak splayed out around him and hair spiking in every direction. He slept with his mouth open, drooling slightly and snoring obnoxiously. The Dane was just as much a child as Emil, if not more.

With a roll of his eyes and a fond huff, Lukas tightened his grip on his hand and closed his eyes. Together, the mismatched trio slept, smiles on their faces and a warm sensation blooming in their chests.

please give me feedback, or let me know what you think in the tags :)) it’s aso on my ao3 and my

Don’t Look At Her pt 3

A/N: Hey there, sorry it’s been so long. I’ve had quite a few personal issues lately, but I’m trying to get back into the swing of writing. Sorry if this chapter is bad, I’m not very happy with it. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy, and please send feedback, it means a lot.

Word count: 1790

Warnings/triggers: language, Bucky being an ass. It’s gonna be a sloooooow burn guys

Tags at the bottom 

Originally posted by caps-bucky

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anonymous asked:

The weird shit they do for shippers attention though. Making sure to be seen in her jacket that’s wayyy too small is just one of those weird things. No other reason to wear a jacket that’s several sizes too small other than to get attention. It’s sad when you that obsessed with attention. 🙄🙄🙄


anonymous asked:

OK but for your consideration, Kylo in crop tops?

“what do you think?”

hux is taken aback by the question from the stranger currently posing awkwardly in front of the dressing room mirrors.  he doesn’t often shop in department stores - does all he can to avoid them, in fact.  he’s always been more attracted to smallish boutique-style shops.  doesn’t like the crowds; the experience is more personal without them, and not being forced to paw through racks at bloomingdale’s like the rest of the masses helps to avoid showing up at department parties wearing the same tie as someone else. 

also helps to avoid this - this being having to interact with men damn near his age trying on articles that stopped being appropriate at least a decade ago.

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Ah… What can I say. I feel like a mother whose son has just told her that he wants to live as the girl he’s always felt he was. So, here I am watching him toss out his worn out pair of work jeans. He’s stopped wearing that ridiculous baseball cap and shaken all his lovely long locks free. He…, or rather, ‘she’ is putting on her first dress–just something I used to wear, several sizes too small for her. She peeks into the mirror, half scared and so unsure of what to make of herself, saying to me with a mirthless laugh, how hideous and ridiculous she must look, while I am thinking that she’s the most beautiful and brave girl I’ve ever met. She turns a few times, scrutinising her reflection, holding her shoulders up in an effort to make herself appear smaller, less masculine. She catches me looking at her, and almost immediately her eyes cast down. “I wish I wasn’t so tall,” she smiles meekly. “It’s hard to get a date.” Her gaze returns to the mirror and with a tired smile she mumbles to herself; “Will this get any better?”

The Signs as my weird dad stories
  • Aries: One time he slept through a tornado
  • Taurus: He gave a girl a box of sand for christmas bc he didnt know how to tell her he didnt wanna date her
  • Gemini: In london he got hit by a bottle rocket and didnt even flinch but he did cuss out the kids who shot it
  • Leo: he threw some racist asshole down our stairs and kicked him out of the house.
  • Cancer: he went to a concert and went into the moshpit, and someone brought a 2x4 and fucking hit him with it
  • Virgo: one morning i woke up and went upstairs, and he had brought up the first level of parappa the rapper on youtube and was rapping to it perfectly
  • Libra: Back when my mom's iguana was alive, if my dad made cornbread, he would start going after him and one time my dad threw a piece of cornbread and locked himself in the bathroom to hide from the big fat fucking lizard
  • Scorpio: My dad once spilled some shit on the fridge and he was really tired so he called paper towels "wipey swipes"
  • Sagittarius: when my dad found out that my mom was gonna have a baby, his reaction was "me and my stupid dinkie"
  • Capricorn: my dad owns a lot of plain black t-shirts while i owe one, and i left my one black shirt outside of my room and he tried wearing it thinking it was his (which was several sizes too small)
  • Aquarius: i asked my dad who he was romancing in dragon age: inquisition and he said nobody and i think about his aromantic asexual elf oc from time to time
  • Pisces: he tried convincing my mom to name me babyzilla
Achieving Survival (Part 3)

Title: Achieving Survival (Part 3)
Pairing: Future reader x ?? 
Word Count: 2139

Part 1, Part 2

Sorry it took a while for this part to come out! I had it partially done, but was stuck at a point where I was unsure as to whether I should add another character (not going to say who, because I ended up not adding them) to the story. But juggling six was hard enough! So here’s the part 3 that I promised the anon that I would get out by this week! I’d love comments, or even just suggestion on what you think I should add to this! 

You looked at the smoke, making its way towards your group. You may have mistaken it for a cloud if you did not see Michael chucking a pipe bomb towards the small congregation of zombies in front of you.

While the bomb’s beeping did attract the infected towards it, causing its explosion to impact quite a few of them—or at least from the squishing sounds you heard after the bomb combusted—it in no way meant they were all wiped out.

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Yo Ho Ho

So this post happened and I had to write Klaine as pirates as written by Santana in a ridiculous romance novel. 

I’m sorry. 

Captain Kork E. Hornswoggle stood on the quarter deck of his schooner, his mainsail raised proudly, a telescope held erect in his grip. Kork’s alabaster skin glowed in the sunlight shimmering off of the waves as he searched the vast cerulean ocean from top to bottom.

“As empty as always,” Kork said, a sigh escaping his dainty, lady-like lips. Where was his adventure? His thrills and chills on the high seas? He didn’t become a swishy, swashbuckling pirate to spend his days polishing his own sword in his private chambers.

Kork shoved his telescope back in his circulation-restricting extremely tight leather pants and turned to dash off and find some rum to drown his sorrows.

Suddenly! A man landed in front of him. Kork stumbled back, hand flying to his broad yet completely hairless chest, grasping the many, many billowing ruffles of his shirt. “Why you’re—“

The man bowed. “Bubbles ‘Lazy Eye’ Anderson at your service.” He was small yet swarthy, also wearing inhumanly tight pants and a shirt several sizes too small, with a hard shellack of dark hair. Kork had heard legends that bullets would ricochet right off it. Still, he was very attractive.

“Well, shiver my timbers,” Kork said.

“I was hoping to find somewhere to bury my treasure,” Bubbles replied.

Finally some excitement, Kork thought, heat rushing to his throbbing manhood. As Bubbles “Lazy Eye” Anderson swaggered around, clearly enjoying being the center of attention, Kork knew exactly what booty he wanted to plunder.

“Okay, Santana, seriously? This is terrible.” 

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December 7th, 2014

AUTHOR: Anonymous

7th of December, 2014

On the crowded London street, sirens blared and firefighters rushed into the smoky building. I stood with my neighbours under the street lamps as they watched from a safe distance and wondered what they might have lost in the fire.

Truth be told, I should have been wondering the same thing myself. I should have been concerned about the risk to anyone still trapped in the building and the possible damage to my flat. But I wasn’t. In my defense, it was rather hard to focus on a measly fire when Alfred F. Jones was half-naked and standing right next to me.

We had met a few times in passing, and I had always thought that the young international student was rather handsome. Now I had to revise my estimate: Alfred was drop-dead gorgeous. With his spectacles askew and his blond hair sticking out at all angles, he looked like he had just emerged from night of wild love-making. And his abs. Those abs! Alfred’s tanned skin and rock-hard six-pack belonged on the cover of a magazine. Preferably the sort of magazine sold in brown-paper bags.

My gaze drifted lower as I admired the American’s taut buttocks. I wasn’t surprised to see that he owned American-flag briefs. I wondered if all of his briefs were red, white, and blue. But even the silly nationalism couldn’t detract from his perfect arse. I blushed guiltily when I noticed him glancing my way.

“You okay there, Artie?” he asked, his handsomeness mixed with concern.

“I’m fine.” I arched an eyebrow and tried to pretend I hadn’t been ogling him a moment earlier. “I’m surprised you haven’t raced back into the building trying to be a hero.”

Alfred pouted, still handsomely. “I did, but they kept kicking me out!”

“Just because you look like a superhero doesn’t mean you need to act like one.” I nearly clapped a hand over my mouth. Oh crap, I hadn’t meant to say that.

He grinned. “You really thinks so?”

I shrugged and tried to keep calm and carry on. “Yes, leave the heroics to people with protective gear and training.”

“No, I meant… never mind.” He sighed and fell silent. It wasn’t until he shivered that I realised the poor lad had to be freezing. I should have noticed sooner; I was supposed to be a gentleman.

“Here,” I said as I pulled off my coat and offered it to Alfred. I didn’t need it, judging by how warm my cheeks felt. Of course, I knew it would be several sizes too small, but it was better than nothing. My efforts were immediately rewarded with the brilliant grin that crossed Alfred’s face.

“Thanks!” He tossed the jacket over his shoulder like a cape. “It took so long to find my glasses I didn’t have time to grab anything else,” he explained sheepishly.

We watched as the firefighters gave the all-clear. I tried to focus on the building, honestly, but my eyes kept drifting back to the shirtless American.

Alfred caught my gaze and grinned. “Hey, Artie. You weren’t cooking, were you?”

“Oh, sod off,” I grumbled. “I was in bed.”

“Yeah, guess I should’ve known. Those are cute teddy-bear PJs, by the way,” he said, chuckling as he pointed at my pyjamas.

I was saved from having to respond as one of the firefighters came over to let us know which flats were safe to reenter and which had to be repaired first. Mine was thankfully safe, but poor Alfred wasn’t so lucky. Apparently the electrical wiring in his flat had been badly damaged by the fire. He sighed and I felt the immense need to cheer him up.

“You’re welcome to stay with me,” I offered, and he cheerfully accepted.

I did it because I was a gentleman and certainly not out of any ulterior motives. The repairs wouldn’t last more than a few days, and I was happy to let him use my sofa. Of course, if he preferred to share the bed, well, that also could be arranged…

Needless to say, Alfred F. Jones moved in with me and he never moved out.


For Iggycat

Story time with Hils

So, as you may or may not know there is a book version of Captain America: The Winter Soldier aimed at younger children

As you can imagine there are one or two key scenes missing so I have decided to try and fill the gaps. So, grab a cushion and settle down. It’s story time.

Captain America also liked to wear shirts that were several sizes too small for him.

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