this is probably only funny in my own head

anonymous asked:

Can you write a quick AU where yoongi is a survival expert and y/n is a novelist and they get stranded? It be nice to have more than one...??? Hehehe

You stared numbly at the wreckage below. Steam, snow vaporized by the white hot twisted remnants, rose up into the air carrying with it the distinctive aroma of meat.

You gagged.

Beside you, Yoongi was rummaging through another pile of plane, his face betraying nothing except collected concentration. It was no different than the expression Min Yoongi usually wore and you could feel your churning guts still marginally. He was a survivalist. Of all the people you–a bookish small time author with the stamina of a sloth–could have been stranded with, you couldn’t have gotten any luckier. 

This morning you were hoping on shadowing him for inspiration for your next novel only to be dropped into your own plot. This could be really good for my career… unless we die.

“What are we going to do?” you whispered hoarsely.  You retracted further into your parka, pulling your arms from your sleeves and flush against your chest. “You look funny,” he remarked, tilting his chin at your armless sleeves. Your brows knitted, “I don’t know if now is a good time for jokes.” Turning back to his task, he chuckled, “you’re probably right.” “So, what are we going to do?” you repeated. “Head back down the mountain from where we came,” he responded. Unsteadily, you approached him, boots sinking down the snow up to your knees. “Can I help?” “Yes, please.”

He was always so polite–almost to the point of having no personality, but the intensity of his pitch black eyes seemed to indicate otherwise. Despite your insecurities (or perhaps because of them), you found yourself inarguably drawn to Yoongi: his steady hands, soft and deep voice, and his smile. It was rare, something that made it all the more special. You’d only known him a week, so you tried your best to keep your trust in him, just that. For survival.

“I need to find the other snowmobile ski part.” He waved the one he had for emphasis. “Oh, I just saw it,” you mumbled under your breath, carefully retracing your steps as you pulled your arms back through your jacket sleeves. “Here it is, it’s still attached…” You gave it a half hearted tug. The crunching of snow grew louder as Yoongi moved toward you. “I got it,” he murmured, gently nudging you aside. After a grunt and tug, he pried the ski free.  At the same time, you wandered away, picking up seemingly random objects and tucking hem into your bag. “What’s that?” You looked down at your hands, “it’s the snowmobile battery.” Yoongi wrinkled his nose, “you should leave it. It’s too heavy.” Unsure, you clutched it tighter, “we can use it for fire.” He gave a nonchalant shrug, “if you can carry it.” Significantly less confident than you had been previously in your find, you stubbornly thrust it into your backpack.

“Okay, so the snow is deep. Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll wear the skis like snowshoes and then you can follow behind in my tracks.” “What about them?” your voice dropped quieter all of a sudden, the wind almost carrying your words away before they reached Yoongi’s ears. His eyes softened, “people will have to come back for them once we’re down.”

“What if…”

“They’re dead,” he whispered firmly. You looked down at your hands, gloves now sporting holes from the fire you’d patted out on the rest of your body. They were shaking, but not from the cold. “Come on,” he urged, “we should try to make the tree line before sundown.”  

The place on the mountain where’d you’d crashed was high, high enough where the only vegetation grew low to the ground, purple and a dull dark green standing out like bruises on the landscape.

At first, the snow wasn’t especially deep, but the steeper the mountain became and the more pines surrounded you, the more difficult it became–even while following Yoongi ski prints–to keep from sinking waist deep in the icy bluffs. At one point it was so bad, you were afraid Yoongi would lose you and leave you like the people in the plane.

Glancing over his shoulder, Yoongi looked just in time to see you disappear into a six foot deep tree well. You yelped in panic. “Help! Don’t leave me! Yoongi?”

All you could see was the almost circular shape of the sky, too high up to reach. Every time you tried to crawl up, the sides of the hole would crumble, filling with more powdery snow.

Finally, Yoongi peeked over the side. “Are you alright, (y/n)?” “No,” you snapped, fighting back tears of frustration. Useless, you felt utterly useless. There was no possible way you could keep up with Yoongi. Athletic and capable, he was constantly having to stop and wait for you as you were sucked into pockets of snow. You were too chubby, too nerdy. Hiding your face, you sniffed miserably, “sorry.” “Ah, c’mon, it’s alright,” Yoongi reached down and grabbed your arm. Slightly red, you recoiled, “you should just leave me and come back when you get help.” For a moment, Yoongi just stared, his black button eyes piercing yours. “Don’t be stupid,” he finally answered, grabbing you again. This time you complied, struggling to climb over the wall of frozen snow while swallowing your mortification.

You sat to catch your breath and composure. “I’m sorry,” you repeated. “Don’t apologize,” he shook his head offering a small smile, “I actually should have offered to carry you a while back.” You adjusted your hat, the awkward situation compelling you to find something to do with your hands. Yoongi patted you on the shoulder, “you came all this way without complaining once, you’re a lot tougher than you look.” You blinked owlishly, “than I look?” Yoongi laughed, genuine and short, “you’re write books for a living, if you’ll excuse me.” Shrugging, you grinned, “I’ll take it.” “That’s the spirit,” he cheered, pulling you fully to your feet. The exchange warmed you, “you’re just being nice.” “No, I meant it. Here, take the backpack and then I’ll carry you on my back.”

“You won’t get tired?”

“It’ll keep me warm.”

Originally posted by jeonbase

yescherryboomiero-deactivated20  asked:

spamano! for the send me a ship thing

Who holds…

The umbrella, when it rains-

Honestly, probably Romano lol. I feel like Spain would hold it funny and get Romano all wet, which would get him pissed. Romano would be like “Give me that!” And then hold it only over his own self.

The popcorn at the cinema - 

Romano. He’d want to have full control over that. Eventually, Spain would steal it and eat most if not all the popcorn, as Romano became more and more invested in the movie.

The baby, when it cries - 

In my head, Spain and Romano were more dog people than baby people. :V Spain, probably. Romano would hover nearby. If they were in bed—which is where most couples are when they get a baby—Spain would hold the baby and Romano would lay nearby and be touching both of them.

The ice cream cone, when they share - 

Are you kidding? Spain; ice cream gets everywhere when you’re holding a cone. Romano is a classy dude, he doesn’t get covered in ice cream.

The remote, when they sit down to watch a movie - 

Spain probably messes with the volume, so Romano steals the remote and throws it away so neither of them can fiddle with it.

The basket, when they go shopping - 

They both hold the basket! Romano can cook just like his brother, so they each have their own baskets so they can get their own foodstuff. They usually combine all of their stuff when they return home, but in the store they go spelunking for their various tastes.

The door, on dates - 

I feel like I’m cheating on answers lol. Romano is a pretty savvy dude, so they would probably switch just about every time. If Romano is pissed, Spain will open the door for him, which leads to the impression of a very angry man and his happy bruiser following behind him.

The other’s hand, most often - 

Depends. Absentmindedly, Romano will take Spain’s hand and pay with it. Spain will grab Romano’s hand when they enter a public setting, because Spain, deep-down, is possessive. He had his pirate days, after all.

Their breath, upon seeing the other on their wedding day - 

*Squints at wording* Your fluff makes me want to write angst.

Back on topic, Romano at first. And then when the priest gets into the vows, Romano just wants to get it over with, and Spain gets more and more excited as the time when they kiss draws nearer. Because Spain is a dork.

The camera, when they take pictures together -

Spain likes to sneak pictures of Romano when he isn’t looking. Later, when they’re apart for business, Spain will send these pictures with sappy captions on them back to Romano.

“Look at this angel on my mind.”

“You look so cute in this one, all focused!”

Romano, meanwhile, is usually the one to take them together, when he’s drunk. Because he’s a dork and he loves taking pictures with his dorky boyfriend.

5. - Arrogance, Assholes & Acquaintances.


His tongue rounded my sensitive flesh and before I knew it his big plump lips wrapped around my erect nipple and their he began nibbling, sucking and pulling. My head fell back on the pillow, I involuntarily flexed my hips up and found my centre pushing against very.. very ..very large member. 

Looking u with those deep brown eyes, my nipple popped out of his mouth as he gave me a smirk, knowing that the cause of my wide eyes was due to the discovery of his length. “You think you can handle it?”, He rasped against my neck as I rounded my arms around his toned back and lightly clawed my nails down his spine.

“Oh you have no idea”, I moaned out as I twirled my tongue against his own neck and felt myself arch my back so I could grind my hips into his own. “Mmm my Ballerina is a freak? Damn thats so sexy”, His husky voice send waves of arousal down my body and busting at my centre.

Keep reading

Funny Days

When you look forward to rain
Thunder and lightening
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When a song
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When energy becomes dangerous
Blackout poetry incorporated
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When that’s probably for the best
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When dreams
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Scare you into disconnecting dots
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Through golden fields
Wild tangents
Empty circles
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For the benefit
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Shooting silent films
In your head
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Telling good stories
With a sour face
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Explaining poems
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With twelve hour drum solos
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Coasting thoughts
You swore you wouldn’t
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Without much thought