they could be on the floor for instance

betsforsythetrash  asked:

Could you write something where F.P. is in Bughead's lives in the future? Like clean, sober, doting Dad helping plan the wedding or dancing with Betty at their reception or BABYSITTING their child or something? (:

Not gonna lie, I got ridiculously carried away with this, I literally just sat for ages and wrote it all in one go! I was gonna post this tomorrow but I’m too impatient so here you go :)

Thank you so much for the prompt, clearly I had some FP family feels I needed to get out <3

Jughead wasn’t sure why he’d come. Maybe it was because he knew that this time was different. His dad, though perpetually drunk, could usually take care of himself. It was a rare instance when he rang his son, babbling incoherently on the line about how he was sorry, that he couldn’t do this anymore. But that’s exactly what had happened tonight, which was why Jughead was currently making his way up the steps of FP’s trailer at 2AM on a Thursday.

“Dad?” he called out in trepidation, peering around the room at the mess of empty bottles and stale takeout cartons. A groan rang out from the kitchen to his left. Rounding the corner he found his dad, hunched against the cabinets on the floor, broken glass surrounding him, sticky amber liquid pouring out from what remained of the whiskey bottle, blood quickly soaking the fabric of his shirt from the gash in his hand. “Jesus, Dad.” Jughead crouched to get a closer look, tilting FP’s head to meet his foggy, unfocused eyes. He sighed, turning to his hand, picking up the heavy limb and examining the wound. “It’s not that deep, hold on.” He straightened up, searching the draws for a clean dishtowel to wrap around the wound while he cleaned up as best he could. He’d brushed up most of the glass when he realised it would be better to move his dad out of the way if he was going to get this done more efficiently. The smell of alcohol was starting to burn his nose. Jughead flung open a window before reaching down to pick up his dad, staggering against the dead weight that now bore across his shoulders. He dropped him into a nearby chair with a groan, placing a glass of water in front of him before turning back to the task at hand.

FP watched him with dazed eyes, head lolling slightly, blinking slowly as if he were insurmountably tired. Jughead tried not to feel the weight of his gaze burning into the back of his head as he swept, grabbing a mop to tackle the next mess. He was filling up the bucket with warm water when FP finally spoke.

“’m sorry, Jug.” The words were barely defined. Jughead scoffed, slamming the tap off and rested his hands against the edge of the counter, knuckles turning white with the strain.

“Why do you keep saying that?” he bit out. FP blanched at the venom in his son’s voice, one that he hadn’t heard before. Disappointment, sure. Weariness, definitely. But this? Never. “You don’t mean it, you never mean it. If you were sorry you wouldn’t keep doing it over and over.” FP hung his head in shame. “Did you even try? Did you even pretend, to yourself, that this time it could be different?” Jughead turned finally to look at his broken mess of a father. His eyes were hard, fed up of being forgiving. “I can’t believe another one of your empty promises.” He tried to keep the crack out of his voice.

“This time…” FP trailed off, voice drowsy. “You’re mom, Jellybean…” The sound of Jughead slamming a fist against the counter echoed throughout the trailer.

“Stop!” he shouted, tucking his quivering lower lip between his teeth, willing the tears away. He didn’t want to cry over this anymore. It was beyond repair, beyond redemption. “I can’t hold on to this hope, anymore. I’m sixteen, Dad. This isn’t… it shouldn’t be this way. I shouldn’t have to pick you up off the floor,” he let out a humourless laugh, “on a school night.” Jughead averted his eyes, knowing he wouldn’t be able to get this out if he didn’t look away. “I have to start looking for a home somewhere else. With Mr Andrews and Archie. With Betty.” He paused, the image he conjured up of the blonde girl with the soft green eyes and gentle touch calmed him. She felt like home. “I think… I’m gonna marry her someday,” his voice caught and he stopped to clear it, swallowing away every doubt he had about his future. “I want a life with her, a home. And it can’t involve this, I won’t let it. You-” he paused, steeling himself for his next words. “You shouldn’t call anymore. You shouldn’t try and reach me. I can’t be your fall guy anymore. I can’t be the collateral in your messed up life. I won’t do that, not to Betty. She deserves more so that’s what I have to try to be, starting with this.” He took a shaky step towards the door. He saw FP lift a hand towards him hesitantly before thinking better of himself, letting it drop against his thigh with a defeated thud. Jughead shook his head almost imperceptibly - that confirmed it, he didn’t want to try. “Goodbye, Dad.”

The door had swung shut before the first tear slid down FP’s cheek.


It was almost three weeks later when Jughead saw FP again. He shook his head in disbelief at the familiar figure of his father standing outside Pop’s. FP stood up straight on Jughead’s approach.

“Dad, I wasn’t kidding-” he began in a furious whisper, glancing round frantically for prying eyes. He was supposed to be meeting Betty and the rest of the gang here.

“I… I’m sober, Jughead.” The words hung between them as Jughead jolted back in disbelief. He took a moment, now, to really take in the man before him. His skin was pallid and sunken beneath the eyes, dark circles standing out in striking contrast. His hands, Jughead noticed, were shaking. “Almost a week now, for real this time,” FP announced. His tone wasn’t prideful, it was holding something else… hope? Hope that’d he done enough this time to reverse the irreversible. Jughead’s eyes narrowed.

“Really?” he asked sceptically, body stiff with uncertain tension. FP nodded vigorously.

“Yeah. Yes, I swear,” he pleaded. Jughead looked him directly in the eyes, an eerie replica of his own staring back at him, earnest and clear for the first time in years. Jughead felt himself begin to nod slowly.

“Ok. Ok, I believe you. I’ll… come round and see you tomorrow,” he promised, still not making a move to close the distance between them. FP visibly deflated in relief.

“Tomorrow, sure. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he smiled, still small and unsure, before turning to mount his bike, roaring out of the parking lot with renewed hope spreading throughout his chest.


“Here,” FP said, handing Jughead the box. Jughead looked up at him before opening the black velvet lid, smiling at the delicate ring nestled inside. “It was your grandmother’s, she’d want you to have it,” he finished, shrugging awkwardly at the offering.

“She’ll love it,” Jughead murmured, running a finger lightly over the blue sapphire surrounded by clusters of tiny diamonds, set in a gold band. He looked back up at FP with a genuine smile that reached his eyes, nervous excitement beginning to settle in his stomach. FP clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder, looking down at him with pride.

Seven years sober. A little worse for wear but he’d made it because of this boy - this man - stood before him. It had been the furthest road from easy, but he’d endured every shaky step to get him here because he knew this was it, his only chance.

He’d got to be there, in the gym itself, as Jughead took his steps across the stage to collect his diploma, see him look out into the audience for him and not be disappointed to find nothing but an empty seat. He got to be there to help Jughead pack for college, loading his and Betty’s boxes into the beat up old car that he’d salvaged for them as a graduation present, working with Betty in secret to fix it up so it ran smoother than it probably did when it was new.

“He’s gonna love it, Mr Jones,” Betty had giggled excitedly when they got the engine purring just the way they wanted. He laughed at the way she clasped her hands in front of her gleefully as he closed the hood.

“You think?” he asked nervously, dusting dirt off the bumper that wasn’t there.

“Of course! It’s so thoughtful,” she smiled warmly, resting a light hand on FP’s arm. He couldn’t help but smile back at her. He knew why his son was drawn to her, felt so safe with her around. He couldn’t have asked for a better guardian angel for him.

“And you can call me FP, Betty,” he called casually as he moved to clean up their tools. He glanced back at her over his shoulder. “You’re family.”

He was there, once again, when they graduated from college, whooping loudly, much to Jughead’s chagrin, as his son’s name was called. He was there as Jughead announced at dinner that he was going to be a published author. He was there on the day of the launch, posing for photos and making jokes about how he was gonna get a couple of autographed copies because his son was a big shot famous author now, Jughead rolling his eyes while his cheeks flushed. He was there at Betty and Jughead’s housewarming. They’d moved back to Riverdale, Jughead being able to write from anywhere and Betty wanting to be near Polly, taking the opportunity to learn the ins and outs of the family paper. FP said a silent prayer in thank you, as he looked around the room of guests, that his son had chosen to come back to him, even after all that had passed.

And he was there now, as Jughead’s voice shook, telling him that he was going to propose to Betty.

“Took you long enough,” he’d quipped, hand reaching out to ruffle the dark mop of hair as Jughead ducked, laughing shyly.


“Oh, this one’s beautiful, Juggie!” Betty had gushed as she poured over wedding magazines while the three of them sat in their living room over coffee - a weekly routine for them now. FP leaned over to catch a glimpse of the image she was pointing to. The wedding was outside, full of white fabric and furniture. Betty was pointing to the ornately carved archway, weaved with white roses, lilies, baby’s breath. Her eyes were shining.

“Well I could make you one of those, help with the cost,” FP said casually, taking a sip of his coffee. Betty turned her glowing green eyes on him immediately, gripping his forearm lightly.

“Really?” she was radiating hope. FP laughed at her enthusiasm.

“Yeah, sure. There’s a lumber yard not too far away, and I can borrow a couple of tools from the construction site. Easy,” he nodded in affirmation.

“Oh, thank you, FP!” she gasped, leaning over to kiss his cheek in gratitude. A shy laugh burst from his lips as he looked down, pink dusting the tops of his cheekbones. Betty flew out of the room to call Polly as FP looked up, catching Jughead’s mouth turned up in amusement. He smiled back contentedly.


“Need a partner?” FP asked, holding his hand out to the bride where she sat, chin resting in her hand as she watched her husband dance with his sister. She smiled gracefully, accepting his offer and floating out onto the dance floor, an ethereal wave of satin and lace.

“Thank you so much, FP,” she said earnestly as they began to sway, reaching up to adjust one of the flowers in her hair.

“Aw, it was nothing, Betty, really,” he replied, casting his eyes to the floor.

“No, it was! You did all this,” she insisted, gesturing to the space around them. He’d gone a little further than just building the archway he’d promised. He’d practically taken it upon himself to build the whole venue. Along with the arch he’d set up strips of white fabric, draped through the trees to create a canopy above their heads, illuminated by rows and rows of soft yellow string lights. Petals covered every inch of the floor, strewn delicately down the isle that was created by the rows of mismatched chairs FP had found in various scrap yards and secondhand stores, all cleaned up and painted white. “It was just how I imagined it, more even.” FP lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck.

“Yeah, well. I just wanted to make it everything you wanted… that you deserved.” He paused, looking down at her warm smile for a moment before taking a breath to continue. “Betty, I want you to know that, without you, I probably wouldn’t be here right now.” She furrowed her brow, waiting for him to continue. “I’d gotten to a place where Jughead wasn’t willing to help me anymore, where I’d done too much to ever redeem myself. Being with you helped him see that he deserved more than I could give him at that time, that he could be more than just my safety net. When he told me that… I saw everything I was going to miss out on, and that never would have happened if he hadn’t found you. So, I’m gonna spend the rest of my life thanking you, the both of you, in any way I can for what you did for me.” Betty blinked away the tears in her eyes, not bothering to wipe away the stray few that still managed to fall.

“You’re welcome,” she whispered.


He’d been speechless when they told him, knowing there was something different in the air as they sipped their usual morning coffee together.

“A baby?” he’s asked incredulously, hoping beyond hope that he’d heard them right.

“Yeah, Dad. You’re gonna be a grandpa,” Jughead had laughed, his face glowing at he gazed down at his beautiful wife, tucked under his arm with an equally bright expression gracing her face.  

Grandpa. Him, a grandpa. That was going to be his new title now. He couldn’t believe it - he’d made it.


“Ugh, thank you so much, FP,” Betty had greeted him with a relieved expression as he bumbled through the door, a paper grocery bag under each arm. “I would have asked Jughead but he’s out all day in the city at this press thing for the new book and I just…” she broke off, gesturing flippantly at her huge swollen belly stretching out before her. He laughed as he set the bags down on the counter, turning to watch her waddle in behind him.

“No problem, Betty. Anything I can do, remember?” he said, eyes taking on a hint of seriousness round the edges. She nodded in understanding, smiling gently. She placed a hand on her back, groaning as she brushed a few stray hairs back from her sweaty forehead.

“Whoever thought being pregnant in the summer was a good idea was seriously- oh!” She flinched, hand flying to her stomach. FP was at her side immediately.

“Betty? Everything alright?” he asked, hovering by her. She nodded slowly, eyes staring at nothing in particular as she focused on the sensations happening inside her body .

“Yeah, I just… FP, would you be able to take me to the hospital, I think I’m about to have this baby,” she said casually, straightening up and placing her hands on her hips. FP’s eye bugged as he took in what she said.

“Now?! How-” he broke off in question.

“Well, I’ve been having contractions all morning but I thought they were just Braxton Hicks or something, and I didn’t want to stop Jug going to this event…” she trailed off sheepishly glancing up at her father-in-law from under her eyelashes. He blew out a chuckle in disbelief, shaking his head slightly.

“You really are something else, Betty Jones.” She just shrugged, blowing out a slow breath as another contraction took over. “Ah, ok, where’s your bag? Ring Jughead, I’ll meet you by the car.” He rushed towards the bedroom, swinging back round the corner to raise an eyebrow at her. “He’s going to kill you for not saying anything, you know.” She waved a hand dismissively, already making her way outside.

“I’m about to push out his child, he doesn’t have the right.”


“Are you sure?” Jughead asked nervously, hands hovering over Juliet where she lay, cradled in her grandpa’s arms. “Maybe it’s too soon, Betts…” he trailed off, turning to look at his wife with anxious eyes. Betty sighed, coming over to place a reassuring hand on his arm, smoothing out the crease between his eyebrows with a cool finger.

“It’ll be fine, Juggie. You’ve got everything covered, right FP?” she asked, turning to face him with a confident smile. FP nodded, never taking his eyes off his granddaughter’s face as he bounced her gently.

“Both your cell numbers are in my phone, bottles in the fridge, spare milk in the freezer, extra diapers in the cupboard under the stairs. We’ll be fine, won’t we, lovebug?” he cooed at the soft bundle in his arms as she snuffled slightly before settling down again. “See?” FP looked up at Jughead with calm eyes. Jughead stared down at him for a beat, battling with his instincts internally before letting out a sigh, nodding his head.

“Ok, yeah. But if you need anything…” he repeated, fixing his dad with a look.

“Just go, already!” FP laughed gently, trying not to disturb the baby. Betty giggled, pulling on Jughead’s arm slightly to get him towards the door. “Have fun!”

FP stared down at Juliet, allowing her tiny hand to wrap round his finger as he spoke softly to her.

“You have the best parents, I hope you know that. They’ve saved me more times than I can count and I’ll never be able to repay them for that. I made some bad decisions, worse than most, but here I am. I get to hold you in my arms because your mom and your dad didn’t give up on me. They were there when I needed it the most.” He sniffed, blinking rapidly. “I got to see it all because of them, and I can’t wait to see it all again with you.”

A Life You Deserve (John Wick x Reader)

Originally posted by giantmonster

Who ever thought that The Boogeyman could fall in love. 

SPOILER FREE FIC consisting of 100% sappy fluff. 

A very loose Part II to this (x) – though it can easily be read on its own. 

John lay on his side next to you. His eyes were closed. His body was relaxed. His breathing was steady. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was just a man lulled into a slumber because it was a basic, human need. Instead, you marveled at the fact that the Boogeyman slept.

Instances like these were so rare. In the year you’d been with him, you’d only been able to spend  a handful of nights together, and you’d learned to treasure every moment. Perhaps that was why you could never sleep when he was by your side. He always looked so vulnerable, and even in the safety of The Continental, you still felt the need to watch over him. You’d grown to love John more than you could comprehend, and with that love came the constant need to keep him safe. Naturally, he’d assure you that he was perfectly fine—usually as the Continental’s doctor administered him sutures after a job—then change the subject. But you were stubborn, so if he wasn’t going to let you protect him while he was awake, then you’d do it when he was unconscious and had no say in the matter.

In the mornings, he went right back to real life. There was no groggy twilight to ease him in. It was always an alarm jolting his eyes open, and by the second time it buzzed, he’d be sitting up mumbling some variation of “I’m awake, I’m awake” irately at the offending clock. Then he’d turn his attention to you, most likely still asleep, and lay back down to pull you against his body. His arms would snake around you. His lips would graze your neck. It was time to switch roles. He was the protector once again, and you were his porcelain doll. Fragile. Captivating. He told you this on a regular basis. And you believed it to be true. John wasn’t one to say things he didn’t mean. He didn’t like to waste words.

Keep reading

Pas de Trois, 3.

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Park Jimin x Reader

Genre: Theatre!AU, Polyamory, Fluff, Angst + Smut

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: None

Summary: Sharing a stage with Jimin and Taehyung is always rewarding, but the real reward is behind the scenes.

Count: 1867 words.

Note: This is a series written for @chimdeer. As always, thank you for the love and special thanks to @dimplecoups + @sydist for reading it over! Also, notice the new header.

Playlist | Prologueiii → iii

Pas de Trois: Act Two, Scene One


Fleeting days had turned into weeks and Taehyung was at the pinnacle of sheer happiness. Due to his benevolent comportment, it was rather easy for fellow actors and students to befriend him—such as moths to a light source. Perturbed at first by the notion of being deemed as an outcast—or persona non grata he would say to Jimin, showing off—it was a delightful feeling to experience being amongst the right crowd regardless of certain differences. However, even as he gave smiles to those around him and banal jokes in uneven English, his eyes would always seem to fall onto you.

“Who knew that Chicago was home to beautiful women?” said the actor to his friend. The weather was tranquil for it allowed the duo to lounge outside, grass prickling parts of their skin as they laid. Jimin, who was preoccupied on re-reading the script and mentality devised dance routines, simply hummed in acknowledgement. Taehyung continued on: “I mean, the world is full of gorgeous ladies, but Y/N just has a certain… Are you even listening?”

Keep reading

Title: 3 What-If’s I’ll Never Tell You

Prompt: 3 things a will never tell b 

Pairing: One-sided Ryuji/Akira

By: Admin

Ryuji wasn’t the thinking type. Others have said this of him, and he can’t help but agree. He’d always seen things as they were presented on the surface, unless a gut feeling had told him otherwise. 

He did or said what he felt was right, in the moment, even if it came back to bite his ass later – though he rarely thought that far ahead.

He lacked tact even when he tried his best to have it.

He didn’t put consideration into his actions or spend ample time making plans. He didn’t play with theories or attempt to wrap his head around complex anything procedures. Yet, for someone who wasn’t the thinking type, for some reason, he often pondered “what-if’s”.

Perhaps a tad too much. It stupefied even himself.

It was because of thoughts like these he realized there was more to himself than just the brainless banter he showed to his teammates; mostly Morgana, in point. That cat just had a way of nagging his mouth into action. 

There were many what-if’s swimming about Ryuji’s head, in total.

Yet the first three, all held one thing in common…

Ryuji glanced at Akira a moment.

1.     What if I’d never met him?

Kamoshida had been a devil staring him down in a crossroads for a long time. Ever since he’d shown up, Ryuji had made blunder after blunder, mistake after mistake, and in the wake of each he’d drowned deeper and deeper in regret. It was like he was sinking to the bottom of a marsh and Kamoshida was presenting him a pole he could only do two things with:

Submit to me, grab on.

Defy me, pummel further down.

If he had done the former, Kamoshido would no doubt have beat him raw with the prop he’d saved him with to make sure Ryuji knew his place – below Kamoshida, one way or another; whether it was gasping for breath on the floor or suffocating in an abyss further below made no difference.

Those had been his only two options for a long time, and eventually, he’d lost sight of the surface. No longer could he grab for the purchase, even if he wanted to, but Kamoshida still taunted him with it.

There had been so many – too many – instances where he’d wanted to snatch the pole and pummel Kamoshida silly with it, damn the consequences. Let him beg, let him bleed, let him feel the pain of his bones shattering under each blow.

And yet…

“What kind of mother are you, letting your son turn out this way?”

“Where’s your pride as a parent?”

“If it’s too hard raising him by yourself, then get married already – Lord knows a decent father figure would fix all the problems you obviously failed to.” 

“God. It’s like you’re not even trying to raise him properly.”

… the memory of his mother being barraged by the school faculty’s insults froze him in place everytime. The stillness in her shoulders when it happened, and the sound of pure disapointment in herself she made when they got home He could not, would not, do that to her ever again. And so, he continued to trickle deeper and deeper into his own hell; succumbing, and utterly alone. 

At least, that used to be the case. 

“…Pervert?” the teen gave him a straight look with a matching flat tone.

The case before Akira Kurusu appeared. It was as if the all-black muck of the abyss had been set aflame the moment he met him—

–and a path was slowly burning its way from the surface.

It took a while for Ryuji to realize the sudden shift, however. Nearly being killed by black masses in armor, meeting a talking cat, screaming from the pain of accepting his true self and deciding to rebel 

–it had all distracted him from realizing the gradual release of tension in his chest.

Until, once it was all seemingly over, he found himself breathing in clear air and feeling the sweet, sweet burn and, Akira holding his life-line with his secret smirk Ryuji had only just started to get glimpses of.

If he had never met Akira – he…

If another group had become the Phantom Thieves, he would have been okay. There was no doubt he would have continued to live on.

But he couldn’t see himself spending the rest of his life genuinely happy or excitement buzzing him out of bed every day like a rechargeable battery if that had been the case, like he was in the present.

Akira jumped small-ly when Ryuji settled an arm on his nearest shoulder and grinned placidly.  “Something wrong?”

Ryuji leaned to the opposite direction, but kept his arm on Akira’s shoulder. “Morgana ate my cod, but I’m not thaaaaat pissed.”

“That’s new,” Akira said blandly but with that undertone of mirth. “Who are you, and what have you done with—“

“Nope, nope, that’s definitely Ryuji. No one else can pull off that I’m too cool for school, cool with a k, hairstyle,” snickered Futaba maliciously from across the table.

“You little crab, I swear I’m gonna—“

“Don’t burn him too much,” Akira mumbled well enough to be heard. “I’d prefer not to carry my best friend’s ashes in an urn.”

Ann shook her head. “Why would you even keep his ashes…?”

“I’ve heard you can sell ashes for a lot of money on Ebay,” offered Makoto.

“Joker!” Morgana hissed suddenly. “Sell Ryuji’s ashes and get me another fatty tuna roll!”

Ryuji gasped and began calling everyone at the table traitors at the top of his lungs, when the second most prevalent what-if came to mind.

2.     What-if he hadn’t been my first best friend?

People develop a multitude of relationships in life. Some temporary, some distant, some frivolous, some deep. Ryuji had no friends in elementary, because that was when his dad was still around and the bruises were difficult to hide; the mental ones even more-so.

In middle school, it was slightly less barren. He had met Ann, and talked to her somewhat, but there were also other boys who likes manga as much as he did.

Some of them were later even members of the track team in high school – until Kamoshida appeared like a demon summoned from a sacrificial ritual. It was the abuse his teammates and he had suffered from Kamoshida that had brought them closer together. But unlike the day his father left his mother and him, when he screwed up and sucker-punched the coach and in-turn forfeited the future of the team, they ostracized him.

The only thing he had left after rehab for his leg was his sense of justice… and that only isolated him further.

In all the time before that, Ryuji hadn’t had someone he’d ever call his best friend. Before Akira, his mother alone held that title, and Ryuji never did nor never would feel embarrassed for it.

Yet it felt like a completely different experience, his friendship with Akira. Akira was quiet, more mature, and he didn’t have that feminine charm or adult mannerisms his mother did. They had shared interests and their conversation were intriguing – no one else shared his love the villains in manga, sadly. They got along exceedingly well and Ryuji felt as comfortable around Akira as he did in his own skin. It was odd, calming, and completely alien to Ryuji.

And because of this, he couldn’t help the swell of fear in his abdomen at the thought of their relationship never having took form.

Yet at the forefront of his thoughts…  

This last one was technically not a what-if – but it was. It really, really was. Not in its statement, but in its circumstance. If Ryuji had accepted his feelings sooner. If Ryuji had gotten over his ignorance. If Ryuji hadn’t stopped to think for once and had instead followed his gut like always. If Ryuji had pursued that tingling sensation he felt in his very blood whenever Akira touched him…

She might not be the one sitting there.

3. I love you.

Ryuji’s gaze fell to their Leader’s lap when Akira put an arm around Makoto. He nonchalantly let his arm fall back to his side.

Ryuji would never tell Akira any of these three what-if’s, but he would do what he could to treasure them.

“Everyone,” Haru interrupted out of the blue. “What song are they playing? I like it.”

“Ann, you’re the one who speaks English. Time to shine.”

“Um, sorry, but country isn’t really my thang.”

“Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad by Meatloaf,” said Akira quietly.

It was odd, since he couldn’t understand a lick of what came from the diner’s speakers, but for some reason… 

Ryuji couldn’t agree more. 

the other day i was mopping @ work and this bitch and her ugly rat children come in and one kind of distanced herself but followed me mopping and decides to try to slip on the water like i watched her make the decision to slip in it and she catches herself and runs to her mom like “MOM I ALMOST SLIPPED” and the mom got all angry like “WHERE ARE THE WET FLOOR SIGNS” well. they were everywhere. legit 2 by the entrance (which i was mopping as they came in so they saw me) and then scattered everywhere. if i wanted to i could of gotten the camera footage of her gremlin stalking me and deciding to pretend slip. i hate having to force customer service smiles in those instances like why cant people admit theyre the problem

No Place for a Baby

***can you write an imagine where the reader only has her sister left and then her sister dies. nothing romantic has to happen just Carl comforting her***  

You squeezed your fists tighter and felt the small flakes of dried blood crunch in the folds of your skin. You blinked for what felt like the first time that day and looked at your jeans. Your lap was almost entirely caked in old blood that had dried hours ago. The material was stiff against your thighs. You looked at a hand. A small, soft hand with smooth skin. Little chubby fingers and wrinkles at her wrist.

Her eyes were dull now. They felt as if they were staring into your soul. Your life was gone. The one thing that kept you going was dead now, and you had no idea how you were going to go on from here. Your goals now meant nothing, and survival was on the very back of your mind.

You felt a hand slip around your upper arm and tug slightly. After you hadn’t responded to it for a few seconds, a second hand gripped your other arm from behind and pulled you up to stand. Your back hurt and your knees screamed at you for sitting in the same position for so long.

You were finding it a bit hard to stand, for you haven’t moved in so long. These hands guided you up the stairs, and an arm wrapped around your shoulders to keep you upright and moving. You turned into the bathroom and looked to your right into the mirror and saw Carl. He helped you sit on the closed toilet and started the bath water. This was odd, knowing that you two have never talked to each other deeper than stupid jokes and basic conversation.

He looked at you with sad eyes and kneeled. He took his hat off and set his hands on your upper arms again. You didn’t move as they moved lower and started pulling at the bottom of your tank top. You lifted your arms as he pulled it off and left you in your bra. After that, he unlaced your shoes and took them off along with your socks.He pulled your arms to help you stand and he unbuttoned your jeans.

You watched the top of his head and watched how his curls moved along with his movements as he tugged your jeans down and you stepped out of them.

You hiccuped and tears started collecting at your lashes once again. He watched you as he pulled you toward the bath tub and helped you into it. He sat on the side of the tub and used a cup to pour a bit of water in your hair. After the water reached just under your breasts, he stopped the faucet, and you listened to the droplets of water from the piping hit the still pool.

You sobbed quietly as he rinsed your blood-dried and dirt covered body and ran his hands softly over your skin. Your head was tilted upward and your hands sat in between your crossed legs. How you hated the feeling of the warm water surrounding your body, your stuffed nose, and the sound of water moving along with the boy beside you. These were things she could no longer experience. She was gone forever. Her existence; taken in an instance, depriving her of ever falling in love, finding a hobby to be passionate about, a favorite band, or trying something new that once terrified her. You would never hear that light chuckle or see that blush on her cheeks that appeared when the weather was too hot.

You were empty. The overwhelming disappointment and sorrow that took you over was too much to handle.


The room was getting darker by the minute as you sat alone on the hard living room floor. Your hands sat on your folded knees nimbly and your eyes were straining to see the pattern in the short carpet’s woven design in the dimming light.


You jumped slightly at the intrusion and didn’t move. You hadn’t even heard him enter. Your mind was in fog, but a frenzy all at once. Your senses buzzed, but you still felt numb. You were within yourself looking outward at a life that hurt too much.

“At least drink some water?” He knelt across from you and held a glass in his hand.

Your eyes slowly moved from his hand he had on the floor to steady himself, up his arm, and to his face. Here you were, being the biggest burden to someone you barely knew. Not once have you ever done anything nice for Carl, and here he is. This boy that you always saw from a distance and admired for the fire in his bright blue eye after every horror he had been through.

Carl raised the glass a bit and moved it toward you as an offering.

You felt your lip quiver and you leaned forward, arms moving past the glass, and threw yourself onto him, arms wrapping around his neck and face buried. You heard the glass hit the carpet, but it did not break. You felt the water at your foot.

Carl sat for a second before moving his arms around you and leaning his head against yours. Sobs overtook you as he held you, but his warmth and the tightness of his hold was everything you needed in that moment. 

I’m back! This is the first of a few I need to finish. Sorry if this one’s a bit lousy. I need to get back into writing. Anyway, feedback is appreciated!


Reader X John X Michael

(GIFs not mine, credit goes to the creators)

The Peaky Blinders warn you that this imagine contains strong language.

A/N - I have included some dialogue from S3ep01 but I’ve altered it to fit the situation. I hope this is cool with everyone :)

Standing at the table where one of Tommy’s maids were pouring glasses of wine, you picked up a glass as you watched John saunter over to you wearing a flirtatious grin he saves just for you. It was Tommy’s wedding day and you were invited as a friend of the family, not only were you invited by Tommy and Grace but you were also asked as a date by both John and Michael. However you gently declined both of them for fear of causing further tension between them both. It was true that you did hold more feelings for John but until you were sure you thought it was best to not encourage either of them.

“Hey (Y/N) how’s it going?” John said as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’m good thanks, the wedding was beautiful wasn’t it.” You said blushing as you looked down at the floor.

“Yeah it was but not as beautiful as you’re looking right now.” John replied as you looked up and locked eyes with him. In that instance there was an undeniable connection and you knew you both felt it. The moment was however interrupted by Michael coughing, you and John were so fixated on one another that you failed to see Michael approach.

“(Y/N) do you fancy talking a walk in the gardens with me.” Michael asked choosing to ignore John.

Before you could answer John interjected. “No she doesn’t, as you can see she’s talking to me so go fuck off elsewhere!”

“I don’t recall asking you Johnny Boy.” Michael quipped back as they closed in on one another, getting so close that they almost looked as if we’re going to clash heads.

“Calm down the pair of you, I’m not going anywhere with anyone so quit it now.” You pleaded as you attempted to separate them.

“RIGH’ BOYS, KITCHEN, IN 2 MINUTES.” Shouted Tommy from somewhere in the room.


“Alrigh’ boys, you’re all here.” Tommy said as he stood amongst the hustle and bustle of the kitchen surrounded by the rest of the Peaky Blinders including John and Michael. “Today is my fuckin’ wedding day, now for Grace’s sake nothing will go wrong, those bastards out there are her family and if any of you fuckers do anything to embarrass her; your kin, your cousins, your fuckin’ kids. If any of you do anything, now that includes; no sport, no racing, no telling fortunes and NO FUCKIN’ fighting over that goddamn woman!” Tommy growled as he walked over to John and Michael pointing a finger of accusation.

“Yes John, Yes Michael I’m looking at you. I’m sick of you John getting all jealous like a sodding child while you go fuckin’ winding him up Michael. Don’t you boys think I didn’t see you arguing just now. I suggest you fight amongst yourselves in your own time and not on MY FUCKIN’ WEDDING DAY!” Tommy shouted as he slapped John and Michael around the head.


okay but consider this: INTERSPECIES FAMILY FRIENDLY SCHOOLS. For any family with any amount of supernatural family members - though it’s probably more of a haven for human couples who adopted a little monster kid.

Imagine some freshly graduated human elementary school teacher having to “settle” for a job at one of these schools. Being overwhelmed, confused, terrified, but eventually comes to love it there.

Imagine the fucking HANDBOOK on teaching classrooms full of every kind of supernatural creature.

“Molting season for harpies should be handled as such: Assure the child their molting is natural, and offer them the special molting-itch cream from the nurse’s office. Help the child collect any fallen feathers, etc….”

“Kappas only get ONE cucumber before nap time. Otherwise they will refuse to go to sleep.”

“Make sure playtime with especially carnivorous/predatory children is heavily monitored. Before they mature, most reactions are instinctual and the child cannot help it.”

“Seat the children accordingly…. do not place pixies too close to children who may find their erratic hovering distracting or tempting.”

“Aquatic children should be placed in the transportable aquariums so they can join the others for recess.”

“Insect-variant and snake species will have to miss school periodically during their molting process, as it can be very painful for them. Be sure everyone in the class knows to be extra gentle with them once they return, since they’ll be very sensitive to touch for a few days.”

“Remember that not all sentient supernatural children are humanoid. Take care in addressing little ones like chimeras, kemono, dragonfolk, or the like. They are not animals but fully fledged persons despite any difference in stature.”

“Slime children should all be placed in classrooms with tile floors and special drains for easy cleaning. However, do not keep these rooms isolated, make sure each room has a good balance of different species for optimal socialization.”

“Remember to teach children tolerance of one another, even if a certain species is particularly troublesome to them. (Only within reason; do not attempt this if two species are hazardous to another’s health, for instance.)”

“Night classes are held for children who find it more comfortable without the sun.”

“Remember to accept any hug given to you. Slime, tentacles, smell and all.”


I was holding back from writing this, because I don’t want to sound as if I’m patronizing s.q shippers, but I really can’t hold it in. It’s not only that I don’t see any sexual chemistry in that ship, it’s that I really have no idea what Emma can possibly get from a relationship with that bitch. 

Understanding for growing up an orphan? Bitch caused that. 

Magic lessons? Bitch was bitchy to her at first and shouting at her for not using her potential and then Emma got better than her anyway.

Understanding about dark magic, about losing someone you love? Bitch makes whatever happened to her as the worst thing ever and tells Emma she can’t possibly understand. 

Pep talks? Bitch is too busy getting them from Emma’s mom when Bitch should be like “You know, your daughter needs this comfort more than I do”.

No matter Emma’s characterization in the shitty wishworld, pushing someone too much so that they break down and cry is too fucking much and I just?? I understand desperate times call for desperate measures but don’t you think it’s kinda fucking cruel to have a desperate measure be taken by a supposed friend and then have the hurt one thank the other for shocking them so much they started crying on the floor??!? I mean, there could have been both the Bitch and Aladdin or Jasmine, for instance, in the shit world, and Aladdin or Jasmine was the one to shock Emma. And then he/she would have exited stage left after telling her “Yeah that was hella awkward and sorry I made you go THROUGH THAT” I MEAN WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCK. Real or not, how the HELL is it okay for someone to have to watch their parents die in front of them??? Isn’t this what nightmares are?? I know a nightmare isn’t real but that doesn’t mean I will wake up totally fine after seeing my parents dying in one, holy fucking shit.

And yeah after all that, I’m here to say I am 100000% pissed off after having seen s.q.ers say how “gay” this episode was. Ahem. The character you claim to love was butchered in terms of characterization and all you care about is your ship. She was weak and pathetic and the narrative made it look like it was love that made her that way, and oh yes, Hook wasn’t there to “make her weak”, and all you care about is your ship.

Originally posted by yourreactiongifs

Rated: G

Summary: Mike and Eleven have a movie night…that ends on an unexpected note.

“You two behave yourselves now,” Dustin razzed as he clattered up the stairs from Mike’s basement with the other boys.

“Yeah, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Lucas gleefully joined in, only a few steps behind him on the stairs.

“Shut up, Lucas,” Mike threw back, blushing in spite of himself.

The other boys laughed hilariously.

“See ya later, Mike.” Will was bringing up the rear, and merely grinned without adding a comment. “Bye, El!”

“Bye,” she called back from the couch as she and Mike returned his wave.

Bye, El,” Lucas and Dustin chimed on their way out the door, drawling her name and making exaggerated kissy noises before giggling together madly.

Mike shook his head and met her eyes sheepishly as he went to go join her on the couch. She was sitting with her back against the armrest, a magazine splayed open across her upraised knees, and she returned his gaze with a corner of her lips turned up, unsure whether to be exasperated or amused at their friends.

“Sorry that took so long. I really didn’t think that campaign would last that long,” he apologized, sitting next to her feet, and turning sideways on the cushion to face her. “Were you totally bored?”

Keep reading

What the f*ck is table manners?!

Brought to you by the three Bakuras. By that I mean yes Ryou Bakura included. You might wonder how on earth would the mild, sweet Bakura got involved here? Well you will find out now! 

1. Ryou Bakura

Okay, I admit that this guy at least bother to tie his napkin before the meal. However…

… I would really appreciate it if this guy doesn’t eat the steak with such Dull Eyes of Unhappiness. Seriously it’s a meat and it’s delicious! There is no reason for you to eat it all creepily… unless this is vegetarian Marik not cruel enough to left him all hungry, but still is not happy at all by having to control him eating meat. 

Eating with creepy expressions like this might scare the people sitting with you and make them lose appetite, so this might count as a slightly unmannered action. Just slightly.

Now let’s move to the next instance where he eats in the anime…

Apparently this is when he came back from the hell of eternal card games and being so hungry he just open the damn fridge, sit down on the floor and began eating them all without even bothering to find a table. Not even any napkin in sight!

See? See how happy he is?! Who bother finding a table when you could just enjoy all the food?! Look at his expression and the way he is holding that banana lovingly!

That banana must be very happy…

… even though it causes a victim later. (photo from here)

And the last time we see him eating in the anime. That table must be prepared for like 3 people and he can eat it all?! Holy spit. He is also going to put the meat or whatever it is and the spaghetti inside his mouth at the same time without very much caring how it would make him look like a glutton. But who cares again?! He is happy!!

2. Yami Bakura

This guy unlike his host isn’t shown eating much, only one scene, but that scene is so extremely memorable and showing that he has even worse table manners.

One thing I would like to make clear with you first is that, in the anime, the “tsundere” attitude of Bakura is extremely played up, showing clearly in the scenes with Marik. Not even an innocent piece of steak could be immune from his tsundereness, which is why he glares at it so hatefully even when it’s just a piece of food.

“What the fuck are you looking at you little shit?! Hey don’t you dare being cocky on me now, you are just here because I’m hungry, not because I love you!”

“Hah, I see! Still continue being cocky, huh?! I’ll show you what I can do!!”


“Motherf@#%@#^king and now they call it rare steak?! Rare my ass! I want my goddamn steak to be extremely bloody, to the point that I feel the blood more than the steak itself!!! I’m so gonna kill whoever the fuck made this fucking well-done piece!!!”

So, I guess this is Yami Bakura’s definition of rare steak…

… which, even by my standard, still looks very creepy.

How did he not get any meat juice on his shirt, though?! :v Anyway we could see that everyone would be scared shitless when they see a man who tear apart his steak as if it massacred his family, and who could guarantee that he won’t turn his fangs to you?! Very inappropriated manner.

He got nothing on his past self, however…

3. Thief King Bakura

Here we have the definition of bad table manners, a thief who is always very hungry that he would do anything for his food!

After messing up in the Pharaoh’s Palace, he angrily goes into an inn and just as angrily, throw a golden bracelet on the table…

And threatens the owner for food, which is very rude and might get an angry remark back instead of food. Don’t underestimate TKB’s hunger.

Did you see what the owner says though?! “It’s worth more than my whole inn!” MORE THAN AN INN FOR RA’S SAKE. So we could make out that TKB couldn’t give a fuck about any valuable thing if it doesn’t bring him food. Food is always his first priority.

So of course, when the food is brought out, he can’t be any happier!

One of the cutest panel of TKB. He is eating so violently, stuffing as much food into his mouth as he can like a hungry lion. This behavior would definitely earn some eyebrows from the prissy adults and whispering like “children nowadays…” but does he care?! Why should he?! Fuck table manners, he is enjoying the goddamn chicken!

Luckily he isn’t noticed by the adults, but still be noticed by the asshole who are jealous with his food… and decide to come there stealing his food and all his gold.

(I forever admire that smile on YB’s face though. And anyway what the hell is with the size of the table?! That bracelet is worth a whole inn, so why does he only get a tiny ass little table?! The owner is cheating, really.)

Interrupting someone’s meal is always one of the rudest things a person could do, and TKB is of course not pleased. But we all have different ways of dealing with the situation, so what would TKB do?


I change the dialogues a bit to make it more suitable for this post.

So, in conclusion, all Bakuras have certain kind of bad eating behavior. But TKB definitely takes the cake. Threatening the chef just for food, ready to exchange a very valuable bracelet just for some chickens and potatos, stuffing them all down his stomach like he hasn’t eaten in years, and killing people just because they mess with his meal… yeah, definitely sounds like a guy you would want to sit with during meals!

What did we learn from this?! That’s right, you shouldn’t eat with the Bakuras if you value your life. xD

anonymous asked:


Originally posted by shirokirito-sao

hey my friend, i hope your still not having a hella crappy week and im sorry i couldn’t get these here sooner. if you ever need someone to talk to, i’m here! also these turned into more of dad headcanons. ALSO LISTEN I KNOW THAT GIF IS NOT APPROPRIATE But look at him

  • Warren is still awestruck that he has you, that you agreed to marry him because he didn’t think he’d ever get to be happy or have someone so perfect.
  • Listen, Warren is already whipped to begin with by you, he’d do basically anything you ask him to, get you anything you want, the boy acts all tough, but he’s wrapped around your finger.
    • People thought that was as bad as it was gonna get, but when you guys have your first child and it’s a beautiful baby girl, Warren is awestruck. More whipped on his baby girl, he’d do anything for her.
  • Warren has probably tried to fly around with his daughter at least once, when she gets to be about five, it’s all she asks for.
    • “Take me flying, daddy!” She’d yell it for hours and well, you weren’t there to say no, so how could Warren say no?
      • Warren picks her up and cradles her in his arms, only hovering over the floor, but when you walk in and the look on your face just tells him that you’re gonna murder him later.
        • “Mommy look at daddy’s wings! I’m flying!”
          • That’d make you crack just a little, but jesus christ, warren, don’t ever take our daughter even an inch off the floor again.
  • His kids love his wings, it’s one of the things that helps him get closer to acceptance of his mutation, knowing that these little bundles of joy really love him, all of him.
  • On one instance, your baby was crying in the middle of the night and Warren offered to go and comfort her.
    • He walked into her room and picked her up, cradling her small body in his arms and just curled his big wings around the both of them, rocking her back and forth and it calmed her down instantly.
      • That’s probably where the root of your daughters love for Warren’s wings come into play.
  • Warren is the type of dad/husband to where if anyone even remotely hurts one of his girls in any way, he’s gonna deck him, hard.
    • Probably not a good influence for the young ones.
      • You always scold him for it, but come on. He looks really hot all protective and shit.
  • Warren loves his family more than the entire world, would do anything for them. He never had that great bond with his family so having this unconditional love is overwhelming, but he truly, couldn’t be happier.
Different Light (Chanyeol) ~Part 1

This goin’ be another angst/fluff scenario series. Again, I’m sorry for posting late today.


Five year old me was sitting near the yellow slide in the park. I had a bear stuffy in my hands and was pretending it was alive and walking.

Rooaarrr! Watch out tiny villagers, Mr. Bear is coming through.” I held my stuffed bear by their paws and made it move across the grass through a make-believe town. I was making stepping sound effects when another pair of hands reached down and snatched the bear from my hands.

Hey! Give him back!” I clenched my fists as I abruptly stood up, glaring at the other five year old in front of me. He held Mr. Bear by the head as he let out a smirk. He was inspecting the stuffed animal as he looked back and forth from me to it.

No! Bears are for boys. Are you a boy?” though he was five, he knew how to be sarcastic. His tone was not at all kind and I felt like punching him but I couldn’t, my mom was watching.

I don’t care! Give him back!” I demanded once again, stomping my feet as I held out my palm to him. He held Mr. Bear further away from me as he stuck out his tongue.

Not a chance, you should play with girly things, like dolls.” he shook his head. Now I was really going to lose it, my fists clenched again as I took a step forward. But before I could throw a punch, another pair of feet stepped in front of me.

I realized it was a boy when I looked up. His arms were spread out, indicating that I should stand back. I didn’t know what he was going to do but I didn’t want to step back. That was my bear and I’m going to get him back whether the other brat likes it or not.

So I did the next thing my mind told me to, I stepped to the side and right up besides the boy that had his arms held out. He looked over to me in surprise but when he saw the determination on my face, he grinned before looking at the other kid.

You give back her toy right now. It doesn’t matter if it’s a bear, girls can still play with stuffed animals.” the boy stated, putting his arms down by his side as he spoke. The other boy flinched slightly but glared at the both of us. I held my palm back out and this time, the boy handed me back my bear. He then started walking away, mumbling to himself about how “it’s a stupid bear anyway..”.

I then turned to the boy next to me and smiled.

Thanks! I’m (Y/n).” I introduced, hugging the bear in my left arm and holding out my right. He looked at it and grinned again before putting his hand in mine, shaking it as he introduced himself.

I’m Chanyeol. From now on, I’ll be your knight in shining armor.” he huffed out his chest to look tough but all we did was laugh.

That was how I met my best friend today. I’ve been together for nearly twelve years.

“How did we not know that our moms took this picture? I mean they were sitting right next to each other!” Chanyeol exclaimed as he placed ran his thumb over the photo again before flipping the page.

The two of us were on our stomachs on my bed, flipping through the photo album as we reminiscence about the story behind those pictures. Our parents were downstairs, preparing each other to go to this dinner party that we, luckily, didn’t have to attend. So Chanyeol was basically having a sleep over tonight.

“Say, what happened to Mr. Bear?” he asked as he looked around. I smiled and pointed to the top shelf of my bookcase.

“He’s over there. I can’t cuddle him anymore, he’s gotten old and fragile. Be careful.” I explained as he got off the bed, his warmth leaving me, and went to gently pick up the bear. If one were to look closer, there were stitched everywhere on the stuffed animal. One ear was half ripped but sewn together to make it look more bad-ass. One of the eyes had popped out a few years ago and I came up with the great idea to buy an eye-patch and sew it onto him.

“He looks like an awesome pirate now!” Chanyeol exclaimed as he placed the stuffy back into place. He then moved back to lay down next to me and we continued to look at each picture.

Within a few minutes, the sound of heels clicking sounded beyond my door and then it opened.

“Hey kids, we adults are going to head out now. There’s some pasta on the stove if you’re hungry. We won’t be back until tomorrow morning so sleep soundly.” my mom smiled as she walked closer to me and kissed my forehead. Before we exited, she looked back and grinned at us.

“You two are so cute together! Nothing developed yet, honey?” she asked me with a smirk. My eyes widened before I blushed.

“Mom! Bye!” I shouted, motioning my head for her to leave. Chanyeol was laughing at my embarrassment but I can see that his cheeks were lightly pink too. My mom left the room laughing as she went downstairs. I shook my head before looking back at the photo album.

His eyes were lighting up every time the page was flipped, going over the pictures that triggered his memories. His cheek looked so soft. Just a smile, that was all it took for a tiny warm feeling to make its way through my body. I didn’t realize I was staring at him until he looked over. My eyes quickly went back to the album to inspect the pictures that I missed. I could feel my cheeks tinting pink because he caught mes staring at him.

Half an hour later, we were eating pasta in front of the TV, watching a movie that we both talked through. Soon enough, we were both out cold on the couch. Our head resting on opposite ends of the armrest, sharing one blanket.

Since his limbs were so long, he draped them off the couch and onto the coffee table.

The next morning, I was the first to wake up. It took me a few minutes to register that I had fallen completely off the couch and slept on the floor for the remainder of the night. Chanyeol had somehow moved himself to take my place and I finally knew why I was on the floor.

“Little asshole shoved me off the couch.” I muttered before standing up to stretch. Looking over to him, I suddenly felt the same warm feeling inside. I didn’t know what this feeling was and was wondering what the hell I am doing feeling like this when I look at him.

You two are so cute together!” my mom’s words from last night rang through my ears once more.

I shook my head at the thought, deciding to go freshen myself up before going back to take my revenge. I gelled his hair into spikes and since the gel dries pretty quick, he’s going to have to stay like that until he washes up. I then spayed some shaving cream into his palm before ticking his nose.

Within seconds, his hand came up to smack himself on the face. Splattering shaving cream all over the place. There were splotches on the couch, on his face, on my shirt, on his face, on the coffee table, on his face. I died laughing when he suddenly woke himself up with the slap.

“What the hell?!” he yelled, sitting up straight to figure out what the heck just happened. When he knew, I just sighed before his hand, the one that wasn’t smeared with shaving cream, came up to run through his hair. When his fingertips touch the slightest spike, his eyes widened as he started to feel them. I burst out laughing again, holding my stomach at his appearance.

“(Y/n)!” he then suddenly stood up and aimed for me. I knew what was coming so I booked it to the kitchen. He was hot on my heels before I could even run out the other kitchen door. In an instance, his arms were thrown around my waist, stopping me in my tracks as he held me up in the air. My feet were kicking as I laughed. He, with one arm, held me over his shoulder while he waked up the stairs.

“You’re paying for this!” he pointed all over his face before he placed me down onto the bathroom floor.

“What is there to fix? You look better than you did before, Yeollie.” I snickered before directing his face to the mirror. If he wasn’t surprised before, he definitely was now. His eyes widened before I saw him, right before my eyes, faint a little inside as his hand lingered in the air, contemplating to touch it or not.

“Oh, stop it, Yeol. You’re being so dramatic, it’ll wash off.” I waved my hand as I splashed a bit of water on his face. He then pushed me out of the bathroom to clean up himself.

When he was done, he came out with a towel over his head. We decided to go out for some breakfast right after his hair was dried.

In the middle of eating our food, Chanyeol suddenly sat straight up, grabbed my shoulder and hid himself behind me.

“Chanyeol, what’s wrong?” I asked, placing down my fork as I tried to turn around to look at him. But he was making it difficult since he kept trying to be right behind me as if he was hiding from someone.

“Stop moving!” he muttered to me before sitting up right. He then leaned down to my ear.

“It’s her…It’s Yuna from my math class..” he whispered as he motioned his head towards the counter. I looked and saw her standing there and ordering her food, next to her was a guy. I eyebrows furrowed before looking at him.

“What about her?” I asked, somewhere inside of me hoped he wasn’t going to say something like-

“What do you mean ‘what about her?’?! She’s like…one of the most prettiest girl in school! We’ve spoken a few times…I…I kind of like her…” he confessed quietly to me. My eyes widened as I felt something in me weep as I heard. I quickly wiped away the shocked face I had on and acted as any best friend would.

“Hey, Yuna!” I called out. Chanyeol instantly slapped his hand over my mouth to shut me up. Just as Yuna and the boy got their plate of food, they heard me and looked over.

Their eyes widened as they saw me in my state. Me, waving them over with my hand as Chanyeol had one hand over my mouth and the other trying to stop my arm from waving. I didn’t know why I wanted them to come over but my mouth had acted before my mind did. Yuna smiled and she ushered the guy to come over. They sat in front of us in the booth. She before Chanyeol and I was sat in front of the guy who I now recognized as Mark. We had only one class together but he never talked. He’s actually very quiet in school.

By now, Chanyeol’s cheeks were pink and I, somehow, found it adorable.

The four of us were sat there for another thirty minutes just chatting. Well…Just Chanyeol and Yuna talking when he finally got comfortable. Mark and I just awkwardly sat there, poking at our pancakes in silence. It was when all our food was gone that we all stood up.

“Hey, do you have any plans today?” Chanyeol asked her. I perked up at the conversation, wanting to hear what they were planning.

“No, not really, why?” she asked with a smile. Damn her with her nice looking smile.

“Great! T-then, you wouldn’t mind going with me to the mall?” he asked her with a nervous laugh. The smile never left her face.

“I’d love to!”Just with that, Chanyeol hugged me a quick goodbye before the two were off. He left me and Yuna left Mark. He and I stared at each other before back at the two walking away from us.

“I just unintentionally set my best friend up with his crush…Then why do I feel so irritated about it?” I thought to myself.


[Part 2] [Part 3] [Final]

I hope it was good for you guys. ♥


Originally posted by jungkooktouchbutts

anonymous asked:

holy shit, that sole being tortured one ruined me. good job! could we possibly get a follow up with the aftermath of the torture? I'm all for angst but please don't make it too angsty, I don't think my heart could take it.

(Lol it was torture to write badum tss. But thanks. Hopefully this isn’t too angsty? I can’t tell anymore, it gets away from me sometimes)

Hancock- He plies them with all the liquor and chems they need to make the pain ebb, but he’s mindful of just how much they take. Wouldn’t help anyone if they got out of that den and overdosed a few days later. Goodneighbor is closest, so he lets them sleep in his room until they can get up and around on their own. “Wasn’t your fault,” he tells them quietly a few days later as they laid curled up under his sheets (in a position he’s had dreams of a couple of nights, under happier circumstances). “Ain’t nothing you could have done to keep it from happening. You know that, right?” They hesitate, leaving it to hang a long moment without an answer. He squeezes their arm tenderly. “I want you to remember that.” He leans forward, presses a firm kiss to their forehead and stands. He checks with Fahrenheit to make damn sure not a single rat escaped that nest of sadistic fucks. He hopes Sole sleeps a little easier with them gone.

Nick- He stays close enough to catch them when they stumble. “Take it easy.” They fight him, say they need to get to Sanctuary as soon as possible, that they have work to do, but Nick coaxes them into sitting and taking a breath. “Don’t push yourself. After everything…” He sighs, a hand resting against the back of their neck, cradling their head. “No one expects you to be a superhero all the time. If you need time, you take it. The world won’t fall apart without you for a little while.” They stare at him with slowly crumbling defiance, until they can no longer hold it together under the weight of his gaze. They sink forward against his chest, and he strokes their head in loose circles until the tears come.

MacCready- He hates himself. As much as he wants to be there for Sole, he can’t look at them. He makes sure they’re taken care of, well fed and healing properly, but beyond that, he stays at arm’s length. He can’t see anything but his failings in the bruises and barely healed cuts on their cheeks. He’s just reminded of everyone he’s let down in his life, Sole being the newest addition to that list. He speaks in clipped sentences and sits far on the other side of the campfire from them, hugging his rifle in his lap. Sole tries to coerce a conversation out of him, but like the nights before, he keeps his answers short. “Robert.” He twitches slightly. He knows what they’ll say even before they say it; “What’s going on with you?” MacCready huffs, “Of course you’d ask me that. You get butchered and you ask me what’s wrong.” They blanch at his response, but it’s started now and he can’t stop. “I should have… I don’t know what I should have done. I should have kept them off you.” He wipes stubbornly at the fat blobs of salt water welling in the corners of his eyes. “God, and I’m so damn selfish, I haven’t even thought about how you much worse you must feel…” Why did Sole put up with him? Why did Lucy, or 101, or anyone ever put up with him? They wrap around him from behind and his eyes grow wide. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, clinging to their arms, “I’m so sorry, Sole…”

X6-88- He doesn’t even ask; Once they’re both free and clear, he relays them both to the Institute. He doesn’t trust any waster with their care. Sole is taken to the medical wing and X6 is taken for repairs of his own. His injuries heal a lot easier than theirs. “Sir/ma'am,” he begins as they both sit on a bench in the lobby, near the shade of artificial trees, “Are you feeling well?” They are still covered in gauze, but X6 is assured the recovery process has been expedited considerably. “I’ll live. You?” “I saw it again. When I was sleeping.” His fingers curl against his lap. “I believe there is an anomaly in my programming. I have been considering turning myself in for assessment before it gets any worse. It could be a threat to the safety of you and the Institute if I am unable to perform my duties at an optimal level. Not only that… but in allowing you to come to harm, I failed my highest priority mission. You would be better off in the care of someone else.” They lay their hand over his. “If I ordered you not to get reprogrammed, would you have to do what I do say?” His brows knit at the question. “If I believe I am becoming a danger, then it would be irresponsible of you to give me such an order. But… if it was given…. I would be obligated to follow it.” “Then it’s given.” He stares at them from behind his sunglasses, observing the purple bruises flaring down their temple, and the way they frown at him. In this instance, he could easily circumvent their wishes. It would be the wiser decision in the long run. But he turns forward, staring at the reflections in the glass floor. He doesn’t want to forget them as much as they don’t want him to forget. “Very well,” he complies. For better or worse, he would hold onto the experience he’d like nothing more than to forget.

Danse- It’s difficult to move on from something like this, but Sole keeps moving. He admires them even more than before, and not just as a soldier. He insists on carrying most of the junk they (for some reason) always want to lug around and keeps them both on the routes which pose the less danger. If they find a fight, he takes point. If they look weak, he insists on a Stimpak. If the sun goes down, he stops them and sets up camp. They express with some annoyance that they liked it much better being the leader than the follower. “It’s only temporary. Just until you’re back in fighting shape.” He gives them a portion of his rations, and takes the first watch while they sleep, as he has for the last five nights. His caution near borders on paranoia, but there’s no way in hell he’s letting it happen again. He’d sooner die than see them in that position again.

Curie- She whispers curses and has to flick away the dewdrops on her lashes as she’s tending to Sole’s wounds. “I do not understand humanity at times. People should not hurt others like this. For any reason!” She’s confused, a little afraid, and every time she looks at the crosshatch of stitches, she finds her eyes watering again. She feels compelled to lay a kiss just above one of the cuts on their back and sigh against their skin. “I am so sorry this happened to you.” She’s gentle in her care for their injuries, but firm when she tells them they absolutely must stay on bedrest for awhile, and even if she needs to hold them down to keep them put.

Piper- She delivers on that promise of an ice cold Nuka Cola once they’re back in Diamond City. She makes sure the doc patches them up and curls up with them on the couch once they’ve got the greenlight to head home. Nat knows something very bad happened, so she keeps her distance and stays quiet, excusing herself to go upstairs and finish her homework. Piper pets Sole’s head as they lay in her lap. The glowing bottle of soda is left on the table, untouched. “We can talk whenever you’re ready. Talk helps.” At least, it usually did. She leans her head back, lightly runs her nails up and down their scalp until they both fall asleep. Nat makes them breakfast in the morning. It almost feels normal.

Deacon- “I think you look at least ten percent hotter. Scars are total sex magnets.” He runs his thumb around the burn wound, skirting the edges just enough that he doesn’t cause them pain. “You know what… it looks a little like a bunny.” Sole laughs, then immediately asks that he not make them laugh as they replace the bandages around their waist. What other choice does he have? If he doesn’t hear it, he’ll have nothing to focus on but the pain of his own wounds and their limping gait, both things he’d really like to forget for awhile. “You’re a real badass now. Nobody can call themselves a secret agent until they’ve been roughed up a little by bald guys with the ‘sinister big bad’ starter pack.” He slings an arm around their shoulders on the trip back to HQ. Both because he needs to remind himself that they’re here, they’re still alive, and so they can lean their weight against him to alleviate the hobble in their step. He prods them over the course of the next few weeks whenever they need to apply a Stimpak, a dose of Med-X, or a change of bandages.

Codsworth- He insists Sole lay down the moment they reach Sanctuary, and doesn’t let them get up for anything. Even trips to the bathroom are a battle, with Codsworth not wanting them to move an inch and Sole not wanting to piss in a bottle. He brings them breakfast, lunch, and dinner in bed, and on the sparing few occasions they absolutely need to get up, he’s there to be their crutch. “I was terribly worried about you,” he tells them as he’s folding and putting away clothes in a rickety handmade dresser. “I thought you… I thought I was going to…” Sole calls him over from his task to run their hand along his chassis. “I’m not going anywhere, Codsworth.”
“Please don’t. It was terribly lonely without you all that time… I would be quite… lost without you, sir/mum.”

Cait- She breaks three of her knuckles and fractures her orbital socket in the frenzied attack, but she insists it’s nothing compared to what Sole went through. After receiving treatment from a nearby settlement, Sole wakes up to Cait with an armful of liquor. She dumps them onto the bed and shoves a glass into their arms. “No better pain killer in the wasteland!” She fetches one for for herself and clinks it off Sole’s. “We’re gonna drink until we’re smashed, and then we’re gonna drink some more.” She opens up a bottle of bourbon and splashed a shot into both their glasses, and downs hers while Sole is staring at her. “Yeah, sounds like a great coping mechanism,” they chuckle dryly. “S'the only one that works worth a damn,” she rebuts, tipping the bottom of their cup up towards their lips.

Preston- He takes over many of the General’s responsibilities, and unless it’s of the utmost importance, he doesn’t bother them with it. He checks in every morning with the Castle’s doc to get a report on Sole’s condition, even after they’re well enough to get around by themselves, and ensures they have all the supplies to make Stimpaks and other meds. He wants to talk to them about it, make sure their mental condition isn’t as damaged as their physical, but his throat becomes unbearably dry whenever he tries. He finds them one day, standing on the Castle walls, as the sun was setting across the ocean and painting the waters with blazing color. He stands with them awhile, glancing between the visible scars and the majesty of the sunset. “I won’t let my guard down again, General. I promise.” His fingers wind around theirs and squeeze ever so slightly.

Dogmeat- He lays across Sole’s lap, and growls at anyone that comes close. Even settlers and friends in Sanctuary are warned to keep their distance. It serves Sole’s reclusive nature just fine after what they went through, and they’re glad to have company in solitude.

Strong- Human moves slow, tells him they “just need a minute”. He gets sick of it quickly, so he picks them up and places them on his shoulders, carrying them most of the way through the city until they reach the city with lights. “Other humans weak,” he tells them when they’re being treated, “If they were strong, woulda eaten you, like brothers do. But you alive.” He pats them on the back and pops at least a dozen stitches.

anonymous asked:

kurotsuki for 324 please xx


Imagine your OTP where Persons A & B sit together in class and Person A never brings anything so they always steal everything from Person B.

+ if Person B finally has enough

Kei’s eye twitched in irritation as he looked at his pencil case.

This was the twenty-seventh pen that had been sucked into the black hole of lost things. In a span of two weeks. And Kei never lost things, especially not his favorite pens.

Of course, he wasn’t losing them himself; the classmate sitting next to him was doing the job on his behalf. Said classmate was trying to catch his notice presently, as they were five minutes into their chemistry class.

“Pssst! Tsukki!”

Kei’s eye twitched again. There was the nickname he had forbidden his classmate from using.

“What now, Kuroo-san?” he bit out harshly.

“Could you lend me a pen?”

Kei wondered since when such an innocent-sounding question had begun to have undertones of doom for him. Well, 28th pen in a fortnight, I guess, he almost thought before shaking his head. There was no way he was going to lose any more stationery. 

This had happened almost every class since Kuroo Tetsurou had been assigned to sit next to Kei. He would borrow a pen because he never had any writing tools of his own, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but he would never return it. At first, he didn’t even ask; he would just reach over and take a pen. That had changed after about three classes. Kei could recall every instance he asked for the borrowed pens if asked to.

“Sorry, but that girl from class 2 was so cute, and she really liked the pen, so I gave it to her. But, be happy, Tsukki! Someone likes your taste in stationery!”

“Ah, I gave it to the guy sitting in front of me, who gave it to his girlfriend when she came over, who gave it to her friend, who dropped it somewhere.”

“I dropped it on the floor and can’t find it anymore! Oh, what if it entered another dimension? Wow, Tsukki, that pen is going to become famous when it returns!”

Kei responded curtly, “No”.

Tetsurou let out a whine and directed his puppy eyes at Kei. Finally, he resorted to throwing paper balls at Kei. This continued until the pen in Kei’s hand snapped into two. Tetsurou didn’t say a word for the rest of the class.

After class, Kei turned to him and said, “Please bring your own stuff, Kuroo-san, or have the courtesy to look after the things you borrow from others. I have lost more than two dozen pens because of your carelessness, and will not be lending you anything else.”

“Tsuk- “

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

Kei’s voice dripped with venom as he stared his classmate down (being the tallest person in the class had its advantages), and Tetsurou actually whimpered in fear.

The next day, a set of 30 pens sat on Kei’s desk with a post-it note stuck on it saying, “Peace?”

Beside him, Tetsurou wordlessly revealed that he had bought a similar set for himself to use.

The pens were exactly the same brand and model Kei had lent. He smiled.

Peace, indeed.

You guys, I find it hard to believe that Mycroft hasn’t seen Sherlock go through withdrawal once. He must have visited Sherlock, maybe the year he meets Lestrade, or one of those instances where Sherlock relapses.

Could you imagine how he felt when he saw Sherlock sprawled across his sofa/floor, convulsing, sweating, and crying.

He would have held Sherlock, although his brother would barely recognize his prescence. He would kiss those wet curls, but he wouldn’t say anything. He would stay with Sherlock and listen to the soft sobs.

Cyclonus + Tailgate drabble.

I saw the above post and it made me think of the routine Tailgate goes through in the morning to tempt Cyclonus (who is undoubtedly very cranky) out of bed.
I’ve drawn a little comic to go with this too, which I’ve yet to colour, but hopefully it will be finished in the next few days :) 

(777 words of silliness - SFW)

Tailgate sat at the desk in his hab suite editing articles others had submitted to The Insider when he got a comm. call at 11.49am. On the other end of the line, Tailgate was greeted by Ultra Magnus’s booming voice.

[[Sir?]] When Ultra Magnus was truly upset, he had an unnerving means of mumbling aggressively loudly, Tailgate couldn’t understand a word of it and Ultra Magnus was pushed into speaking more slowly.

[[Cyclonus, is he with you?]]

[[Yes, we’re in the hab suite, he had a late night last night, Cyclonus is still recharging]]

[[Well, wake him up!]] For an instance, Ultra Magnus regressed into irate slurring before forcefully dragging himself back into an ineligible tone, [[He’s supposed to be present for the monthly briefing and if he doesn’t get here soon this will be the fourth month in a row that he’s missed a meeting. I’m senseing a pattern here, Tailgate. I don’t like it.]]

Tailgate stared across the floor to the darkened side of the room where there was a mound of shapes wrapped under a duvet sleeping peacefully. He could see the blanket rising and falling, Cyclonus was still deeply asleep.

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BTS Jungkook 'House of Flies' Horror AU

A/N: In the spirit of Halloween I’m experimenting with horror. I’m still practicing but if you guys like it maybe I can write a few more things this month. Please let me know! <3  WARNING this is horror. While not particularly graphic it may be disturbing to sensitive individuals. This is a dark ride. 


Deep in your heart you didn’t believe in things that went bump in the night but it didn’t stop you from searching. It was the lure of the unknown, the thrill that what if, just what if you were wrong. Naturally this time of year was your favorite. The crisp air, crunching leaves underfoot, how the flavor of warm apple cider lingered on your tongue just a moment before you swallowed it down.

In love with all things fall and the creepy atmosphere that accompanied it, you talked your boyfriend into going to the house on the outskirts of town that everybody in the neighborhood avoided. It was abandoned, of course. Had been for decades after a brutal family murder rendered the home forsaken. The act so violent, so reprehensible that potential buyers could not feel at ease building their futures there. And so it sat. Unused and unwanted by a society that shunned places where such things could occur.

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