this is what a two run double looks like

the boys reacting to getting an ice cream headache during a date with their s/o?

For sure! This one was fun, I hope you like it!

Korekiyo Shinguuji

  • you two are actually having a really great time, conversation is going well, you’re getting along, and you seem to share a lot of interests!
  • so you’re a little surprised when he suddenly stops talking, deathgrips his ice cream cone so hard it shatters and practically explodes all over the table, and just slams his head down on the table.
  • you’re pretty sure he just died.
  • but no, not dead, you can hear him muttering to himself in his puddle of ice cream, crushed waffle cone, and probably tears.
  • “Is this the blackest side of being a human being?”
  • “Is being alive what it means to truly suffer?”
  • “With life…comes torment?”
  • who the hell is this man.
  • after a few minutes of dead silence, he perks back up and continued friendly conversation.
  • his face is covered in ice cream.
  • please help him.

Rantarou Amami

  • the second it hits, he tries to play it like absolutely nothing is wrong, and fails miserably.
  • his version of “acting casual” is acting WAY too suspicious.
  • he just kind of slams his hands down on the table and tries to put on a convincing smile, which looks absolutely agonized.
  • he’s sweating like a dog and just staring at you.
  • he looks like he’s trying not to scream.
  • finally you ask if he’s okay, to which he just kind of squeaks “MHM!” in response to.
  • he is definitely not “mhm”.
  • eventually it goes away and he relaxes, completely convinced that he fooled you.
  • you don’t have the heart to tell him that he didn’t.

Ouma Kokichi

  • he literally smashes his ice cream cone against the table like a beer bottle and just screams “HOLY FUCK.”
  • and frankly you’re pretty startled!
  • he’s just gripping his head and standing there looking like he had an aneurysm and frankly you’re pretty concerned! because he looks like he’s gonna collapse or something!
  • he doubles over and just kind of screams dramatically before sitting down, putting on a bright smile, and dismissing it completely.
  • everybody is staring at you two.
  • ice cream? what ice cream? he didn’t have any ice cream. what’s an ice cream?
  • scream? of course he didn’t scream, why would he scream?
  • you’re just imagining things.

Shuuichi Saihara

  • he looks like he’s legitimately going to cry.
  • he stands up, a sniffling trembling mess, and tells you he needs a moment before running off to the bathroom.
  • you are stunned.
  • you two had just been talking, having completely regular conversation, and he had just broken and run off just like that.
  • he came back eventually, laughing nervously and explaining it was nothing but a headache.
  • what a puss.
  • but you love him anyway.
  • you buy him a new ice cream too! but only becaus he was gone so long that his melted on the table…
  • you’ll have to clean that up.

Kaito Momota

  • he’s 100% the kind of guy who somehow manages to get an ice cream headache literally every time he has ice cream.
  • that being a fact, you have NO IDEA why he would invite you out for ice cream again!
  • you warned him a million times, eat it slowly, and he promised you that this time, he would! no ice cream headache.
  • well, needless to say, he lied.
  • within two minutes of even having the ice cream, he had the corresponding headache.
  • he doesn’t say anything, just puts his head in his hands, but you totally know.
  • and you have absolutely no sympathy for him, because you warned him!
  • he recovers quickly, and you roll up a napkin and give him a quick slap on the head.
  • idiot.


  • is this…is this even possible?

Gonta Gokuhara

  • gonta’s never actually had ice cream before! he’s so excited!
  • plus gonta gets to have his first ice cream on a date with you! that’s so exciting!
  • which is kind of where the problem comes in.
  • because he’s so excited that he pretty much just inhales this ice cream, which is all well and good until the headache hits.
  • gonta feels utterly betrayed! you didn’t tell him ice cream would hurt!
  • you’re trying not to laugh because you feel bad, but this is adorable and stupid.
  • you explain to him that that’s just what happens when you eat ice cream too fast!
  • but gonta does not underst a n d-
  • maybe you’ll practice eating ice cream again another time.

Ryouma Hoshi

  • you’re a little confused when he suddenly just goes dead silent in the middle of your conversation.
  • he just kind of sighs deeply and stares at you.
  • then, quietly, he mutters. “fuck me running.”
  • you do not know how to respond to that.
  • you both sit there in a few moments of silence before finally it subsides after a mountain of your confusion, and he picks up your conversation again.
  • your boyfriend is a strange one.
Set Up (Peter Parker)

word count: 1, 587

summary: You’re crushing on a fellow student. You gush to Peter, completely oblivious to the fact Peter has a massive crush on you. Ned and Gilbert try their best to set you and Peter up. 

a/n: Yeah, inspired by current events. Writing is my way of dealing with life. Jealous!Peter Parker.

Originally posted by v-writings

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Valentine’s Day- Andre Burakovsky

Originally posted by thornescratch

Ok so I know this is a day late, but I worked yesterday so you get a late Valentine’s Day story from me! I’m not gonna lie, it’s super angsty. I have another story I’m writing that’s 10000000% angsty so take this while you can! Any who… there was a post recently that since Andre (on twitter) retweeted about body positivity, that maybe he likes bigger girls and as one, I will run it into the ground lol. I love this precious bean! Anyway, enjoy guys!

 Warning: Angst, lack of self-esteem

Part Two (It’s the Thought that Counts)


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anonymous asked:

My best guess on the desire to refer to people by the sex they were assigned at birth (I refuse to accept the frame of 'misgender') is that it's what hardcore Christian types have to do to comply with Telos or whatever.

Oh, come on.

The thing the right is doing is not ‘refer to people by the sex they were assigned at birth’.

When they see somebody, they assume their gender just like virtually everyone else does. Deep voice, facial hair, pronounced jaw, wearing male clothes? Gets a he pronoun. Shorter, different voice, different facial features? Gets a she pronoun. You do not use the rule ‘refer to people by the sex they were assigned at birth’, no one does. 

Here are some experiences we might want a word to describe. What if someone’s presentation is ambiguous? In my experience lots of people hazard a guess anyway and round the person off to whichever of ‘male’ and ‘female’ seems closer. Some people just feel extremely awkward and upset and act like the person is not a person. Some people ask and do what the person requests. Some people default to ‘they’. 

And what if someone’s presentation is quite clear, but does not seem to match their physical features? For example, they have a receding hairline and a strong jaw but are wearing makeup and a pretty dress? Here again some people are deeply uncomfortable and decline to acknowledge the person, some people presume the person is presenting in ways associated with being gendered ‘she’ because they want to be gendered ‘she’ and use that, some people ask and do what the person requests, and some people decide that this person is Really A Man and use ‘he’. 

Again, that behavior is not an assessment of the person’s sex assigned at birth, it is an assessment of what they kindaaaa look like. This has happened to cis women I know of. Their birth assignment didn’t help, since they didn’t happen to be carrying it around (and in some places you can change the gender on your birth certificate anyway). What’s going on here is ‘this person looks like a man to me so I’ll call them ‘he’ regardless of what they want or what they were assigned at birth or what’s biologically accurate.’ 

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Of My Dreams: A Morain Fic (1/2)

Rating: T (Will go up in Part II) 

Thanks to my dearest, @highfaelucien for betaing!


“This one or this one?” Mor asks, still in her robe, holding up a dress in each hand. She’s pulled her hair over one shoulder, gleaming gold in the light of the late afternoon sun streaming through the window. It’s just them tonight, since Cassian and Nesta are… busy. Elain has to bite back a smile every time she thinks about her sister and Cassian and their new bond. As soon as Mor had returned that morning, smirking and practically squealing to tell her, Elain had made her pay up, for the bet between them.

But now, since they have the day—and the night—to themselves, they’re going to celebrate their last night in Velaris with a dinner out on the town. Mor insists.

Elain contemplates the dresses and points to the pale dusty pink one, all loosely gathered silk that seems to float to the floor, a low V neck she’s sure will show off exactly what Mor has. As everything seems to do. “That one.”

Mor smiles, amused. “I knew you were going to choose this.”

Elain can’t resist the faint blush that rises to her cheeks, a common occurrence where Mor is concerned. “Am I that predictable?”

Mor’s laugh is bright, like a midday bell, and before Elain can process, she’s leaned forward and kissed Elain’s cheek. Elain catches the heavy floral scent of her perfume, musky now that it’s faded since that morning.  “Familiar, more like.”

Elain lets out a little woosh of breath that has her shifting, ducking her head to smile. Mor has done more to make her smile in the past week than anyone else has managed in her months in the Night Court.

She doesn’t realize that Mor is going to change right there in front of her until she has set both dresses on the bed, undoes the knot on her robe.

“Oh,” Elain squeaks, half in surprise, half in concerned embarrassment, when Mor lets the silk robe drop to the floor and Elain catches a few scraps of discreetly placed cream colored lace before she clasps her hand up to cover her eyes. Is she supposed to look away? Supposed to—

This time, Mor’s laugh is amused and Elain can hear the smile in her voice. “You can look, Elain, I don’t mind.”

Elain swallows, lets her hand drop, and stares into the thick carpet under their feet for a good three seconds before her curiosity gets the better of her and her eyes flick up. Mor is turned around, pushing her hair over her shoulder so it swings down her back, leaning over to find the opening of the skirt to slide it down over her head.

Since she’s turned away, Elain lets her eyes linger even though maybe she shouldn’t… on the dip of Mor’s waist and the wide flare of her hips where her skin softens. She’s wearing a more structured top, something for support, Elain assumes, and there’s a band of lace that curves around her hips, high and fitted enough that they don’t leave much to the imagination, giving way to dramatic curves and soft thighs.

Elain wonders for a brief moment, breath catching when Mor turns slightly, finally getting the dress over her head, what her skin would feel like. What it might taste like.

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The Brothers Bittle
  • Jamie is the kind of person who needs regular doses of undivided attention or else he starts getting Weird.
  • Like, one time Suzanne had to leave town for a conference for three days and Coach got really overwhelmed with teaching and coaching. But then around nighttime Coach realized the house was suspiciously quiet. Too quiet. He even put Wicked in the CD player and turned it up, but his younger son didn’t pop out of the woodwork like normal.
  • He found him on a sidewalk near the center of town, covered in red body paint and holding up a placard. Coach was just relieved he didn’t have to go down to the police station this time.
  • So from then on, the entire Bittle clan makes sure Jamie gets regular doses of attention. Bitty calls him from Samwell at least once a week to check in. Suzanne teaches him how to garden. Coach takes him out back and they throw the football around for a bit. It’s good. Jamie stays out of the public lock up.
  • Sometimes, someone will say “Do you think Jamies is a little…funny?” And if Jamie hears he’ll whip around and say, “I’m not funny. I’m hilarious.”
  • It becomes a code for the gay underground at his school. More than once Jamie hears his friend Cow sigh to herself when Linette walks by. “I’m too hilarious and beautiful for this class.”
  • Jamie, Cow and Horace all go to prom together, and someone’s parent laughs and says, “Look at Jamie! A girl on each arm! What a ladies man!” And then when the three of them pile into the car Jamie will sigh woefully to himself. “I’m too hilarious for this town.”
  • “SAME!”
  • But imagine Bitty goes to Samwell for 5 years instead of 4. Maybe he double majors or something, but whatever happens Jamie ends up attending Samwell too.
  • So then you have TWO Bittles running around Samwell, and when people talk about them they’re like, “Oh yeah. The Brothers Bittle. One is super athletic—he’s captain of the hockey team. The other one loves musical theater waaaay too much.” And then someone meets them at a kegster and they look at Bitty like, “So how’s the theater department doing?” And Bitty is like, “How should I know???” Someone meets Jamie and they’re like, “How’s hockey?” and Jamie is like, “How can you think about hockey when Grantaire and Enjolras are so in love?”
  • Everyone thinks Jamie is going to join the hockey team for some reason, and it really pisses Jamie off. It gets to the point where he quits calling sports by their sports names. “Oh yeah. My big brother plays knife-shoe-Oreo-fight. My dad coaches egg-ball-hand-throw. My mom met him in high school, when she was in acrobatic-encouragement-yelling. Oh, I learned to dance like this when I took lessons in noisy-shoe-clicky-clack.”
  • Dex doesn’t deserve this kind of treatment.
  • By midterms Jamie is on a first name basis with the campus cops. He keeps doing performative art on the quad and the police keep telling him to put on pants, gdi. Bitty dies of fraternal shame at least once a week.
  • Affinity Housing is this stretch of houses and there’s a theater house, a marching band house, two artsy houses, a house for psyc majors, the zombie apocalypse house, etc.  Think frat row but not for formal fraternities. Jackson is a senior in the theater department and he gives his dibs to Jamie.
  • The theater house is right next to the religious studies house, and they are mortal enemies because the theater house is always loud. Always.
  • Listen. If you think hockey players are superstitious, just know that hockey players look absolutely tame next to drama students. Opening night rituals include: the Passing Around of the Gummy Sharks, shouting “Thespian Lesbians” at each other at full volume, “Toy boat, toy boat, toy boat, toy boyt-FUCK!”, rubbing the top of Guy Monty’s bald head, and kissing the director on the cheek.
  • Bitty, being a big brother, knows this. He hugs Jamie tight the night before a performance. “Break a leg,” he says. “Oh, and Jamie?” He leans forward and whispers, “Macbeth.”
  • Campus police can hear Jamie Bittle screaming from across the quad. “Should we check it out?” a rookie asks. His partner sips his coffee and grunts. He’ll learn. They all learn.
  • After Bitty graduates and Jack is in the NHL for a season or two, they come out as a couple. Which wouldn’t normally affect Jamie but the reporters are super thirsty for deets and Bitty and Jack aren’t giving them anything. Jamie starts finding reporters in his yard, on his way to classes, lurking by the auditorium. It’s super annoying.
  • They catch him after an all nighter and Jamie is twitching with caffeine. He has his script and his astronomy homework out because he can’t focus on just one now and a reporter puts an audio recorder in his face and asks for a soundbite. His eye twitches. “How can you think about Eric and Jack at a time like this?” he hisses. “When dark matter and universal expansion ARE SO IN LOVE?!”
  • Jamie calls Dex “Dad” unironically. “My hockey dad,” he says when Nursey gives him a weird look.
  • Jamie for literally anything: “Hah, that sounds so gay. I’m in.”
  • Jamie kicks open the door of the Haus. “DAD I NEED YOUR POWER TOOLS!”
  • Dex is like, “Are you going to be weird?”
  • Which is how Dex ends up going to all the set building days for the Samwell Theater Department. He does it for Jamie, and Bitty sends him baked goods as an extra thank you. And the actors and techs keep giving Dex their phone numbers even when he explains he is in a happy, stable, monogamous relationship.
  • Dex needs a drink.
  • Bitty coming to visit is such a weird trip, both for SMH and the theater department. They learn too much about the Bittle household.
  • “Lol remember that time I told you serial killers lived in the Fruity Pebbles box?” “Omg Dicky you are such an asshole.”
  • “Lol remember that time I told you that you were adopted.” “Omg! That wasn’t funny!” “Jamie, you look almost exactly like Coach.” “Dicky, they didn’t have any baby pics of me! How was I supposed to know!”
  • “Lol remember that time I told you bats like to nest in people’s hair and then I dropped a squeaky toy on your head?” “Fuck you, Dicky.”
  • But then Jamie gets his revenge. He tells reporters about Jack and Bitty. Well, he lies.
  • “Jack is afraid of snow globes.”
  • “Eric Bittle is afraid of the dark. Also he wets the bed. Also he’s never kissed a girl!!! Also—wait, gimme back the recorder.”
  • “Jack Zimmermann has a tattoo of the Canadian flag on his lower back. So does Eric. They’re friendship tattoos.”
  • “When Eric was little he wanted to be a chicken. As, like, a career path.”
  • “Eric Bittle was adopted.” (“Sir, you and Mr. Bittle have the same face.”) “Are you saying all white people look the same?”
  • Jack, an only child, is really confused. “Why does your brother hate you? Bitty, stop—stop laughing. Bitty, I’m serious. You’re brothers, you shouldn’t fight.”
  • Jamie gets himself a Twitter account just so he can roast his brother publicly. Of course, it goes both ways. The chirping is relentless. Dad Bob gets in on it. Hockey fans are confused. Jamie is living.
  • There is a video on Bitty’s vlog, where he and Jamie are in the kitchen trying to bake something. Well, Bitty is trying to bake something. Jamie is being a huge pain in the ass. “I WANNA LICK THE BOWL!!!” “Jamie. Sweetheart. There’s literally only eggs and sugar in it.” “Ugh! Fine. Can I lick the spoon?” “…No.”
  • It devolves from there, to the point where Bitty and Jamie are throwing whole eggs at each other. There are drifts of sugar on the counters. The air is full of flour dust. Jack Zimmermann, professional NHL player, has is back against the wall, wide-eyed. “Why are you guys so violent?”
  • The video cuts to a pristine kitchen, and Bitty wearing a crisp, clean apron over crisp, clean clothes. He sets a perfect sheet cake on the counter in front of the camera. “And that’s how y’all make a sheet cake.”
  • Kent Parson follows Jamie on Twitter because they’re both sluts for absurdism. By the time Jamie graduates, the campus police know both him and Kent by their first names. Their performance pieces go viral. Jamie gets a spread in the Swallow. Bitty dies of fraternal shame again and he leaves Kent at least four angry voicemails.
  • Lardo finds Jamie at the Drama House. “You have zero respect for art.” “Uhhhh…” “I like that about you.”
  • Jamie calls everyone Dad. Bad Bob? Dad. Dex? Dad. The student director of the play he’s in? Dad. Lardo? Dad. The female lead and his love interest in the play? Dad. Lin-Manuel Miranda? Dad. Coach is frowning with the phone pressed against his ear. “How come I’m never Dad?”
  • Dex makes a face. “I seriously don’t have answers, Mr. Bittle. Why do you have my phone number?”
Without You: Bloodstone (Part 2)

Genre: AU, werewolf, fantasy, angst

Warnings: language, violence, suggestive content

Summary: Werewolves, contrary to popular belief, are usually gentle creatures. Except for a very specific set of circumstances, they would never hurt a human (on purpose). The few unfortunate times when mistakes were made put a permanent dark mark on the beasts and people began labeling them as monsters. What the human population failed to recognize was the fact that they were protecting us from something much more sinister. Luckily, a few survived and the gene was passed down hereditarily until one day finding its way to me… in the form of my best friend.

Link to: Storyboard (reference pictures) | Prologue | Previous | Masterlist | Next

Originally posted by hopeatuuli

Loyalty is often as blind as justice should be, as unstable as a lightning storm ought to be, and as misplaced as an opinion in the truth.

Chapter 2:

My companion, speechlessly angry for the first few minutes of our journey, guides me through the forest with the same uncanny ability Jungkook had started to display a few years ago, making me question whether or not she was one of THEM too.

Against my better judgement, I follow her without question, concern for my friend paramount in my mind, making me disregard my own safety. Then again, why would she go through the trouble of saving me if harming me was the ultimate goal? In retrospect, I still should have been on my guard, as stranger things have happened, but that doesn’t change the fact that I trust Munhee wholeheartedly.

Eventually, she calms down enough to pause, slowing to let me catch up, and quietly says, “I’m sorry I snapped. This will probably be just as difficult for you as it is for him.”

“What do you mean, Sunbae?” hesitance laces my question, denial still thick in my veins.

Munhee sighs, lifting herself on top of a fallen tree trunk, “Jungkook… I think he might have imprinted on you.”

My eyes bug and I almost fall, hands scraping against the rough bark before I’m able to steady myself and comfortably straddle the obstacle, entire body suddenly succumbing to a hot flash, “And what does that mean?”

She gives a small laugh, “It’s not as bad as you think. Forget what all the romance novels say. Imprinting is all about implicit trust. Wolves automatically attach to the first thing they smell after the initial transformation. Usually, it’s supposed to be another wolf. This helps with training, socialization, and the transition in general.”

“But I’m… I’m not-”

“A wolf,” she finishes what I can’t seem to get out of my mouth, “No, you’re not, but neither am I.”

This implies that she’s in a similar situation and, given the amount of those creatures that ran past us in the clearing, it’s not hard to imagine something might have gone wrong at some point. Whatever the case, knowing for sure that she’s human makes me a little more comfortable.

She drops down, offering me a hand, “I’ll try to keep the explanation simple for now. If Jungkook DID imprint on you, you’ll have two options. First, you can simply be a resource nearby, just in case anything goes wrong. This will cause him immense amounts of psychological stress, but it’s nothing he won’t get over in a few years. You’ll also be free to come and go… mostly.”

A few YEARS?

“Second option, you stay with him. This will make the transition much less traumatic for Jungkook, but you won’t be able to leave for a few days. He won’t hurt you, but he’ll try to kill anyone who comes near you. Still, again, this is only IF he’s imprinted on you.”

The image of the creature lunging at Munhee after she helped me get up in the Hepatica field comes to mind and my heart drops into the pit of my stomach.

“Almost there,” Munhee encourages as the trees around us thin, bleeding into a town that is completely devoid of human life. She continues walking, leaving me a few meters behind as I take in the ghostly scene. Traditional houses litter a ground that had clearly once been crisscrossed with dirt roads, which have dissolved into weed infested fields. Most of the buildings are not even standing, but those that are must be on some form of non tangible life support, so frail that I wouldn’t dare BREATHE inside of one.

“Come on,” she calls without looking back, but the lack of irritation in her voice is reassuring. “We don’t bite.”

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Dirty Laundry

Pairing: Reader x Bucky
Word Count: 1.3K
Warnings: Swearing

A/N: This is my very first piece of writing, please let me know what you think!

You sighed and rolled off your bed, reaching for your headphones and selecting your favourite playlist. You’d grown bored of switching between playing Candy Crush and checking Instagram, so you decided that you’d take advantage of being alone in the Avengers facility and try to get some housework done. Wanda, Sam, Steve and Nat had left on a mission five days ago; Clint, Tony and Thor had all been gone for more than a week, spending valuable time with their significant others. Vision and Bruce  were around, but they’d been spending most of their time in the facility’s tech labs. The only real company you’d had for days was Bucky. You and Bucky weren’t very close, but your friendship was improving. On the first day you’d mostly sat in silence with each other, which was uncomfortable at times, and not made any better by the crush you’d developed on the solider since the day you’d met. But after a while, and many cringe worthy replies to something he said, you’d become comfortable enough to hang out together and not experience any more awkward silences. He even asked if you wanted to go for a run with him this morning, to which you declined, knowing you had a huge training session with him that afternoon. So, for now you were alone in the West, residential wing of the facility. It was your week to do everyone’s washing, and decided to do it a few days earlier than usual.

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Before the Fall, by Noah Hawley.

It’s difficult for me to recommend thrillers to non-thriller readers. I grew up reading them and so have a high tolerance for the genre conventions. You know, men named Jack or Tom who will later be played by Denzel Washington or Liam Neeson. Shadowy figures from whichever country your grandpa thinks is sketchy. We need YOU, civilian man with no training, to help us with this investigation, or it will all fall apart. Machine guns referred to by brand, in case you were in the market yourself. A certain number of fridged relatives in order to grease the emotional gears of the plot machinations. Titles like DOUBLE-CROSSED and DON’T LOOK BACK and MAN ON THE RUN and TRIGGER HAPPY.

Look, I know.

But I think BEFORE THE FALL is a mystery/thriller I can recommend to non-thriller readers. “This,” I will tell them, “is a thriller!” Actually I will mean, “This is what I always want thrillers to be.”

The hook is simple: a small plane crashes with two fancy business moguls on it. Also in attendance are their families and a down-on-his-luck painter. Only the painter and a four-year-old boy survive. The narrative winds back and surges forward in order to examine the events leading up to the crash and the consequences after.

It’s fast-paced and tightly plotted, which is always on the menu of Genre Thriller Cafe. But BEFORE THE FALL also has a playful turn of the phrase, a decidedly character-driven story, and something to say about the media. It means that while you’re devouring this particular menu item, you’ll find that you might have to stop to chew, a welcome request in a genre that in both print and film has been overflowing with lump-free puddings since the 80s. I’ll be putting this one on the plates of both my thriller-loving friends and those who normally stick with more literary fare. 

anonymous asked:

Goodluck with your new blog!!! may I have a scenario for Dazai finding someone about to commit suicide and talking them down from it?? Thank you and I hope your blog goes well!

Thank you for the well-wishing!! God this is from the blog was fresh ;;; Now that exams are over, I have more time for scenarios, so they’re coming much more often, I promise! So sorry for all the scenario requestors that have to wait approximately three billion years… 

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Birdsong | Jimin, You

Start of something new?

You had been Jimin’s roommate ever since the beginning of the year because the dorm you were staying in had an odd number of girls and an odd number of boys with one extra room. It just happened that way, but you hadn’t been more thankful for anything else before. Because of this mix up, you had the opportunity to become best friends with him and that in itself was happiness beyond one’s imagination.

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thatsopurple  asked:

Could you please write more Frazel?

Alright, I really had a great idea for a story for this. And I want to thank @shitsnavi​ for being my beta as I write this.

Hazel waited anxiously for her boyfriend, Frank, to come over. They’ve been dating a little bit over a year now and she loved every second with him.

Frank was very sweet and kind to her, even if there was a two year gap between them. He always treated her like a princess even when she didn’t want it. It was a great gesture but sometimes Hazel had to do things on her own.

Just like she did twenty minutes ago. Her hands were sweaty and her body was trembling as she thought about what was going to happen when Frank walked through that door. The worst case scenario kept popping up in her head, but she tried to shake it off. Frank would never hurt her in that way.

Thankfully, no one was home. Her older half brother, Nico, was at work and her father wouldn’t be home until dinner. Until then, Hazel had the whole place to herself which is exactly what she wanted.

She was lost in her thoughts as she tried to figure out the best way to present the situation, but ultimately it relied on Frank. Then the doorbell rang, causing her to jump.

She got up and went to the door, making sure it was him first, then answering it. Just seeing him caused her dread and happiness at the same time.

“Hey.” Frank sounded concerned. “You sounded nervous on the phone. What’s wrong?”

“Why don’t you come inside first and then we can talk?” She opened the door wider for him to pass through.

He walked in, taking off his shoes at the door, before heading to the couch. Hazel walked behind him, trying to hide her worries.

“Hazel, what’s wrong?” Frank stressed. “You don’t look too good. Are you sick?”

She sat down on the couch and Frank followed suit. He took her hand. His eyes were full of concern as Hazel was trying her hardest not to cry and let the tears fall before they should.

She looked down at the floor, too scared to look him straight in the eyes when she whispered, “I’m pregnant.”

They were both quiet. All they could hear was their breathing and the air conditioning turning on when the house temperature reached above seventy-two degrees.

Hazel looked up from the floor, tears clouding her vision as she looked at Frank to see how he was feeling about this. He had a puzzled expression on his face but his eyes showed his true emotions; confusion, fear, anger, nervousness.

“Frank?” Hazel croaked.

He looked at her, trying to figure out what to say. “P-Pregnant?”

Hazel nodded. “I was late and I haven’t been feeling good for the past couple of days. I got worried and took two home pregnancy tests and they both read positive. I even doubled checked.”

“But, we were so careful. I bought a brand new box!”

“Maybe there was a hole that we didn’t notice.” Hazel told him. “Or something we overlooked.”

Frank gently pulled his hand away so he could run both of them over his short cropped hair. He looked a lot like how she felt; scared out of her mind.

“What are we going to do?” She asked. “Are we going to keep it? Put it up for adoption? Have an…you know?”

He looked at her right in the eyes and said the three words Hazel didn’t want to hear, “I don’t know.”

She stared at him as she started to break. All the emotions she tried to keep pent up while she took the pregnancy tests by herself and waited for him to come finally showed. She cried into her hands, terrified that their lives were now ruined because of one mistake. One mistake that they made a couple of weeks ago on their one year anniversary.

Hazel felt the couch move as Frank moved to hug her. She buried her face into the crook of his neck and wrapped her arms around him. Her shirt was damp from their tears. They were two terrified teenagers who messed up.

They didn’t know how long they stayed like that. All that Hazel knew is that when they finally pulled away, their eyes were bloodshot and their cheeks were stained with tears. Frank got up to get them water, but he didn’t touch his cup.

“Maybe we should sleep on it.” Frank told her, his voice thick from crying. “This is all too much right now to think straight.”

She nodded, not trusting her voice. Even after taking a huge drink, she didn’t want to risk crying again.

His phone went off and Hazel could see it pained him to look at who was calling. He took a deep breath and answered it.

“Yes grandma, I’ll be home soon. Bye.” He said with much confidence, like he wasn’t crying a minute ago. But once he hung up, he was back to looking as terrible as he was before. “I got to go. My grandma wants me home.”

“Do you have to? Now?” Hazel’s voice cracked in different places. She didn’t want him to leave. She wanted him to stay and hold her and tell her that things were going to be alright.

“I don’t want to go, but I need to before I get an earful later. I’ll text you later, okay. We can figure out what to do.” He said. He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” She whispered.

Frank got up and went to the door. He slid on his shoes before heading to his car.

9.Tell Your Friends - Yoongi Mafia AU

One - Two - Three - Four - Five -  Six - Seven -  Eight  - Nine - Ten

“You say my  life’s a mess but I’m still looking  pretty in this dress”

“Can you walk a little faster?” Min Yoongi had hissed to you as he stopped just under the unlit neon sign that hung above the black out windows that acted as a door.  There was no doorman and you assumed this was because it was three in the afternoon, and Yoongi ushered you inside quickly.

The building itself was new, though whoever had built it had gone to lengths to make the outside look like a central European house from the nineteenth century and it was painted in a pristine white and there were, because you counted, no windows to be seen anywhere in the building. Or where you assumed they were, was hidden behind the five long thin billboards that were printed with silhouettes and purple and pink flowers that hung from the roof and descended down the four story building to the floor. 

Tucked into the middle of Gangnam, it looked like your average nightclub from the outside, a high end nightclub where you’d pay more than needed for a glass of whiskey and go there to rub shoulders with the rich while sipping the sweet alcohol to burn your throat and worries.

The walls were padded, that was what your eyes were drawn to first as Min Yoongi had descended the stairs with you close behind and through two double doors, disregarding the other ones that lead to the higher levels of the building.

It was in pristine condition, even for an entrance way and as you looked back the way you came, the side of each step had a white light embedded into it, running from left to right near the top of each step, not quite at the bend yet,  like a stairway to heaven, except heaven to you was anywhere else

It was December first and it had snowed for the first time in what felt like forever and as you exited your morning class, the only one of the day, he’d called you, just like he’d said he would three days previous.

He hadn’t bothered with a hello.

“Tuesday afternoon you have no classes, I’ve given you enough time to recover”

He hadn’t bothered to to check any of this with you either and it bugged you with how much he knew and how little he’d needed to consult with you to get it.

“Time to go to work kid” 

You were rigid and stiff as your mother softly touched your arm the morning she’d left. Someone you had known all your life, whom you saw everyday for eighteen years and a good few of the other ones. It felt wrong. But either way you’d felt a distinct repulsion against it. Like when your father had hugged you a week earlier, returning home so he could go back to work. And your mother, tears in her eyes asked for the fifth time that morning if you were sure.

 It had almost been a month. And though you weren’t nearly as healed as you liked, you were sure. 

 Your parents protests wouldn’t hinder your own judgement as Jung Hoseok became more and more friendly with you and that even was a stretch. More so than the piles of emails of course work from your teachers you hadn’t bothered opening yet. More so than the time you thought you saw Min Yoongi’s head duck into a black car as you exited your apartment. 

It was a headache and the more you put it off, the worse and more prominent it became. 

Your coat was a deep charcoal and his hair was back to the exact same colour and he’d held the door for you as you entered the room of spinning lights and purple glow. For the first time ever Min Yoongi was impatient.

Everything else was like a blur of dark purple and neon lighting and silver and light reflecting from everything. Tiny silver circular bulbs hung from the high ceiling, mismatched but purposefully so, some longer than others, some closer to the floor than the rest, like worms of shiny metal stretching to reach something. The island bar was a black marble and had tiny strips of off white running through it.

 The balcony that stretched all along the back of the room was covered in tiny shards of reflective silver ovals and diamonds, tinged purple, you guessed it was because of the colour scheme of every chair and booth, along with the giant neon sign that hung right above every liquor or wine imaginable.

The Butterfly

The whole room stretched back a good couple metres and doors were everywhere with equally bright or dull signs above the them leading to different rooms and areas and gentlemen’s quarters and you’d suppressed a scoff at the sophisticated name. 

Drowned in a sea of glass and purple blue light, it smelled like white wine and lavender and gave off the highest vibe of intimidation you’d ever gotten from an empty room.

“You want your usual boss?” he was tall and smiled and had dimples that were brighter than the glass he was polishing. He spoke to the other man in a familiar tone, like he’d asked it hundred times and would be doing so for another hundred.

“Save it Namjoon, I’m here on business” he voice was the same when he spoke to you in the car, though he’d calmly gotten out three blocks away from the building in the middle of traffic, expecting you to follow him accordingly.

He spoke to everyone the same way. Bordering a disinterest, it never got there and he always stayed at passive, never a reaction other than maybe a chaste scoff you took for his way of showing amusement or a quick narrowed eyed blink that was his way of telling you to stop, whatever it was you were doing.

Other than his natural bored, expressionless face, that was all the reaction you’d gotten out of Yoongi. You didn’t think you’d get much else.

“Ah” the man had placed the spotless glass down on the counter, the clink strange in the empty room, though a thousand more would be heard that night and it would be drowned in an ocean of multiplications of itself “Business”

You liked the way Kim Namjoon had first looked at you, like he knew something you didn’t, but not smugly, more casually than most would, he just knew and he looked at you like he knew you and that was okay.

That was very much okay with you at that moment because you didn’t know anything.

“Angel in?” was Yoongi’s enquiry with the bartender. Namjoon had glanced at you before answering the shorter man.

“You know it” he’d grinned

“Of course, when is she not?” was a one breath sigh of a reply. You weren’t sure who he was speaking to.

He’d placed one hand on the bar counter, silver rings, one on his thumb, another on his middle finger now tinged a light lilac as he splayed his thin fingers across a beer mat, hovering the palm just above the cold counter.

You had not removed yourself from your position two feet behind Min Yoongi at all times.

“She in the back?” he’d questioned.

“Where she always is” was Namjoon’s casual answer.

Kim Namjoon had ashy hair, cut short at the sides and left long at the top. It was half wet, almost frizzy and he ran his hand through it painfully slow and you didn’t want to look at the way his shirt clung to him but you did.

A nod to Namjoon and Yoongi had tuned to you, crushing all hope of staying in that part of the bar any longer. He’d beckoned you with his hand and walked past the bar with his back to you and Namjoon had winked and you’d let your eyes bore into the back of the shorter man’s skull.

He was in jeans that day and his coat was long and thick and made of a deep black that matched the imprints of lips along the corridor as you left the main part of the bar and passed locked doors with beautiful calligraphy painted on the white wood and dim lights that barely let you see where you were going.

Again, there was no windows because you had counted.

“Take off your coat”

Yoongi had spoken quite suddenly and it startled you more than slightly as he stopped just before a black metal spiral staircase.


“You’ll be here for a while and if you manage to slip past someone you’ll freeze to death outside.”

You wanted him to be joking.

You’d taken off the heavy garment and handed it over to him in a slow movement, not looking him directly in the eye.

You had never seen Yoongi make a joke before and you’d have liked to think he was incapable of such a feet.

Three sets of eyes had stared at the two of you and you’d pulled your sleeves low over your wrists, the three men smoking down the hall slightly out of your line of view but prominently in the back of your mind.

His dress shoes had made little noise on the ascent up the thin steps and your own shoes had caused a jingle to emit from the metal of the stairs and each time it was heard, you could see Yoongi’s shoulder tense and you’d tiptoed up the rest before he’d leaned against the banister at the top and gave a long sigh.

Min Yoongi did not want to be there and you knew it. It would be obvious by how many times he’d check his watch in the hour to com.

He hadn’t bothered knocking as he pushed open two white Venetian doors that flicked back like ones you’d find at a restaurant used for entrances and exits to a busy kitchen. You’d followed quickly.

It was the only window you’d ever see in the whole building, though you were never allowed to go far, but it was bright and mid afternoon static, cloud filled sun had seeped through, slightly dull and in need of the lighting which was on above it, the winter air bit into you like ice would.

The polar opposite of every other part of the bar you’d seen, it was all pink. A dressing room of sorts, the walls were barely visible as racks upon racks of pastel pinks and baby blues and cool jet blacks had taken up the innocent colour scheme. Trimmed white and painted pink, everything gave off the innocent child like wonder a six year old’s bedroom would. 

If that bedroom had been a lingerie shop.

There was one white vanity table and she’d sat with her back facing you both applying lipstick. It had dainty flowers and leaves carved into the varnished wood and took up a third of the farthest wall and she’d paid no heed to you as you watched her.

Her voice was honey and years of cigarettes combined and you were shocked it emitted from her small blood red lips, it was the only part of her face you could see, past her slim shoulders and bobbed black hair.

“You ever heard of knocking baby?”

Yoongi had approached her, your coat around his arm as he placed it down on a white leather chair near the window and spoke to the woman in a sarcastic tone of voice.

“You’re the picture of lovleyness like always”

She’d scoffed.

“But how bout you stop painting your wrinkled lips and do your job?”

She’d finally turned around then, black heels coming into view, tight black pencil skirt the same colour as her fluffy jumper, fur you’d assumed. She wore gold jewellery, not a silver chain in sight and her earrings were bigger than your eyes as you watched her turn around on the small padded white chair. Elegant long legs were crossed over one another and sheer stockings brought your eyes to her knee length attire and god, she was the best looking fifty something pimp you’d ever seen.

“You got an appointment baby?” frown lines were carved deep into her face as she smirked.

She’d flicked her eyes up to Yoongi for this sarcastic question.

“Do I really need one Angel?” he was smug but she didn’t let him remain that way

“Yes peach you do. I’m a very busy woman you know?” she’d glanced towards you and brown eyes warmer than freshly brewed coffee and sharper than the man’s next to her were a shock.

“And I’m a very busy man. Can we move this along?” was her impatient reply.

Her laugh was like having a song to play on repeat until you’d gotten sick of it and even though you doubted this would happen, it was strange but enticing, she gave off the most sophistication you’d seen a woman her age pull off.

And god, did she pull it off well.

“Aw, poor boss’s gotta a busy schedule. Come back to me when you have to take it in the ass five times a night.”

She’d stood up and you’d stiffened at her path towards you.

“Please Angel, you haven’t had a client in ten years” was Min Yoongi’s scoff across the room.

“And you haven’t had a client ever. I guess that’s lucky for us isn’t it sweetie?”

She’d ignored her superior and looked at you with a motherly affection you weren’t sure was fake or just natural instinct but either way she’d blocked your view of the man leaning against the vanity table.

“Name’s Angel, peach. What’s yours?”

You weren’t a client, but she spoke to you like one and it made your blood turn to electricity and your veins pump static.


Past perfectly drawn red lips, a Cheshire grin had licked itself across her mouth and her teeth were as white as the painted nails she’d taken both your hands in. She was golden brown, and it made her bright nails stand out against her skin more and the gold matched her so nicely it was sinful.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you (Y/N)” sultry eyes made you fidget and stiffen against her loose hold on your hands.

“Don’t take it personal, but I just call everyone something other than what they tell me” she’d winked, and it made you wonder how she was able to ignore Yoongi’s impatient stare.

“What are you gonna call me?” you’d asked.

She’d paused looking you over, up and  down, and repeated it until you were more than uncomfortable.

“Pretty. But I think I’ll settle for doll”

“Are you done introducing yourselves yet or will I leave so you can pay Angel for her services?”

She’d whipped around, though much shorter than him, though still in heels, he hadn’t batted an eye as she approached him. She’d bypassed his figure at the last minute, choosing to skim through the many fur coats next to the vanity table. A pastel rainbow of faux fur, her eyes caught yours from behind it.

“You always knew how to ruin something. Even as a kid” she’d spoken as she went back to gazing through the clothes she’d seen a billion times.

“It’s one of my many talents” was Yoongi’s shrug.

“Many? Oh well someones being generous” she’d bitten back playfully.

You’d never seen someone interact with him in such a way and it baffled you, no matter the twenty year age gap on her part, how he had not pulled out a gun and told her to stop speaking ill of him. He’d let his ego take a blow, but only by someone he liked.

“Speaking of generous, keep her modest will you. I’d rather not deal with anymore incidents like last Friday”

You didn’t need to ask and you didn’t want to know so you instead twiddled your fingers and wrapped them around each other and unwrapped them and by the time you’d looked up, Min Yoongi was passing you.

He hadn’t bothered with a goodbye and you stopped him without needing to speak his name

“Wait, you’re leaving?”

He’d gotten halfway down the stairs before turning back, your coat in his hand, obviously keeping it from you, keeping to his word as well and sent you a confused look. Head lolled back slightly, he’d gazed up with hooded eyes, tired eyes, there was no pity in yours.

“Yes. I’ll be downstairs”

You’d paused, knowing he was impatient, knowing his mind was half his gold Rolex watch and knowing he would probably walk back down the few steps remaining once you’d uttered you’re embarrassing words. You’d spoken in a whisper, not wanting to look at his expression before he stomped off to the bar with a scoff.

You’d tried to form words but your eyes were half closed already and your ribcage locked as you tried to breath in and focus on the cold steel rather than the cackling coming a few feet away, thick and rigid, a smoker’s laugh. A man’s laugh. The three from before probably.

His presence may have been daunting, but it was familiar and it was as much as a safety as scissors were a bunch of flowers, deceivingly connected in some way, they weren’t what you were looking for but you were alright with settling . You’d take his calculating eyes over uncharted territories.  

“What kid?” he’d stared up at you in a condescending nature and he’d leaned against the metal railing.

You hadn’t answered.

“You want me to stay?” he’d scoffed.

You’d heard the soft footsteps on the steps and his looming presence had stopped in front of the doorway you were blocking and you could sense he was looking at you. You’d stepped aside so he could brush past you.

“Christ you’re demanding aren’t you?” his coat swung against your legs as he re-entered the room.

Min Yoongi was ironic, or hypocritical, as he’d sat with his black turtleneck jumper and and rimmed glasses and explained in a snappy quick series of sentences that you were now very much obliged, or rather more seriously so, expected to give up every Friday and Saturday night of the next, he’d looked down at nothing as if reading from a paper that wasn’t there, however many weeks it would take, all Min Yoongi knew was that you’d be there well past Christmas.

Jeon Jungkook doesn’t exactly have a timetable, he’d mentioned when you’d asked about when exactly you’d be expected to show up. You’d been laying low for over a month and he’d probably caught wind of you by now.

It was like putting a bulls-eye on your forehead and wrapping you in a pretty red bow so you wouldn’t stain when he came to off you.

At least when he found you, and Yoongi was blunt about this, if he managed to somehow, there was no somehow in his original statement but you added one for your own piece of mind, they’d be dealing with it in their territory. 

Meaning if you got your brains blown out, the cleaner wouldn’t mind all that much.

“Arms out, doll” she’d stood with the measuring tape wrapped around her hand and the pieces she’d chosen she’d placed in between her teeth. You’d obliged, choosing to face away from Min Yoongi so you couldn’t read his expression.

“So it’s tomorrow night?” Angel had caught your arm in a viper’s grip as she leaned down to your waist line from your shoulder. You’d asked hesitantly, going over the conversation he’d had in the car previously with you.

“Like I said in the car, tomorrow is just a test run” he sounded bored

“Test run how? Can I really fail at this?” you’d turned around as Angel instructed.

“Yes, you really can and I wouldn’t put it past you to be honest” he looked bored too.

You’d decided to ignore that moved onto questioning him once again.

“And I just sit at the bar?” you’d breathed out a sigh of relief as Angel finished measuring your legs.

“That’s the plan”

“And that’s all I do?” it seemed strange to you, the little yet detailed instructions varied. You were over loaded with things you didn’t want to know, or told little to nothing about the most vital parts of your job.

“Yes that and for all I care, you can come back from the brink of alcohol poisoning every night as long as you’re in here when I say”

“What, he bribing you with free drinks?” Angel had scoffed, seemingly done with your measurements now and was instead walking around the small isle of clothes.

“Yeah, and a little extra on the side” he’d glanced away from Angel for a moment to stare at you and you had stood in your socks watching him right back. Your pushed your jumper sleeves over the tips of your fingers and furrowed your eyebrows.

He’d said anything you wanted.

And you intended to hold him to that offer, so long as you held up yours.

“Hoseok said you went by Seungkan’s yesterday”

It wasn’t any sort of question, but just a bland statement he seemed all too cool about. His tone of voice didn’t expect an answer and you wondered if he’d just said it to stir some sort of rise in you but you’d simply taken the clothes Angel gave you and decided that Min Yoongi wasn’t getting an answer anyway.

Because you didn’t have one.

You’d exited your final class and your feet had slowly edged you towards the east side of the district and before you knew it you’d walked by his building and your feet were sore from the doubled path back home. It was mindless walking, as if the action would take you away from all of this, though you knew it was just your vacant limbs taking care of themselves while your mind buzzed with a million and one different thoughts. That was a thing that could get you killed and you’d exited the dressing room in the same mindless manner.

Angel had let her smile overtake her small face as you pushed back the velvet curtains and stepped out in the pristine white two piece and you turned to the mirror with anticipation. The high waisted skirt clung to your hips and stopped mid thigh to show off more of your leg than you wanted, you were grateful for the high necked top in that moment. The shoes were uncomfortable, high heels and complete with fur on the toe strap, it was awkward walking in the sheer tights she’d given you, tiny white dots dabbed along the material like shapeless snowflakes.

You hadn’t asked for an opinion, it was a high end club and you had to wear high end clothes so you did not arrive expecting to argue with Min Yoongi or anyone for that matter. You’d simply frowned, unimpressed by the soft fabric or the pretty detailing, you were playing dress up, you were, in retrospect, a doll.

He’d eventually gotten up, the silent room an easy way of making his presence know as he shuffled over to Angel and bypassed her for the rack of coats beside her. Slender fingers had trailed their way through the tops of hangers as he pushed a couple aside and gazed at more, his face hiding all sort of deliberation, like he was choosing ice cream toppings, he didn’t really care, he’d take what he got.

Min Yoongi had approached you then, dropping the pastel pink faux fur on one shoulder and looking at you in the mirror in a sort of condescending way, head tilted upward, eyes hooded and the same old brown you found too icy at most times just like his expressions. He was careful but careless and it made no sense.

“Well you’re no pretty woman but you’ll do” he’d nodded.

“Pretty Woman is about a prostitute” you’d countered.

“And what do you think you look like right now?” he’d slowly sauntered back to his place on the chair.

You’d tugged the coat tighter around your 

“I don’t know” you mumbled, half a whisper and more than half bitterly, you frown remained.

You knew what you looked like.

“Remember, this is all just for show” He was right.

You weren’t just dressed like some expensive hooker.

“It’s all just a game” He was right.

You weren’t sure how you felt wearing the branded clothing, it was an unsettling feeling.

“You just sit there and blend in” He’d already told you this.

You’d shifted as goosebumps ran up your legs.

“That’ll be enough for Jungkook” He’d already told you this.

You’d stared at your feet to avoid looking at yourself, who were you fooling?

“And once he gets word of your whereabouts”

You knew what you were dressed as.


He’d spoken for you long and enough and you doubted he’d ever actually stop.


One - Two - Three - Four - Five -  Six - Seven -  Eight  - Nine Ten




Thank you so much for reading!

Please let me know what you thought

**This chapter is dedicated to @optimisticwithcoffee who turned the unspeakable age of seventeen today, so godamn old now. Hope you had the best day ever, you really do deserve it. Thank you for always supporting my stories and being a lovely friend. This one’s for you kid!

Daddy's Cravings

This is a little drabble for @deathtonormalcy56 to help her celebrate her 200 Follower Celebration…She gave me the prompt chocolate in a Dean x Reader .. So here it is! ….  Congrats and I hope you enjoy it!

PAIRING: Dean x Reader



TAGGING: @deathtonormalcy56 @frenchybell  @chelsea072498 @supernatural-jackles @atc74 @jensen-jarpad @p-b-and-cas @sdavid09@motleymoose


“Damn it to hell son” you mumble to yourself as he kicks you again for the thousandth time today, in your lungs of all places.

“He’s really moving today isn’t he?” Dean inquires as he runs his hand across your enlarged belly.

“You have no idea!’

“Well you only have two more weeks to go baby” he tells you trying to be encouraging. “Personally, I’m so ready this whole sympathetic cravings bullshit to end. I think I’ve gained fifteen pounds.”

“Really? You are gonna sit there and complain about fifteen pounds? I’ve gained thirty two!”

“Opps. Sorry, baby. Don’t get mad at me” he said laughing. “Sit here and relax. I’m gonna run to the store real quick.”

“More chocolate?”


He grinned and was out the door again.

One week later ….

“Dean! What are you doing?” I asked as I walked into the kitchen.

“Umm, nothing?”

“Yea, right. That’s all you seem to do is eat chocolate. When’s the last time you ate any vegetables?”

“Do we have any chocolate covered veggies?” he inquired with that crazy smirk of his.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do with 2 of you running around here!”

Two days later ….

“Sam, have you seen Dean? Everyone is here and it’s time to open the presents.”

“He said he’s on his way.”

I looked towards the door and noticed the Impala pulling in.

“Finally. He’s here.”

Dean walked in and headed straight to the food piled up on the table.

“Damn, Y/N, you need to hurry up and have this baby. He’s always liked chocolate but damn, this is insane” Sam commented almost doubled over laughing.

I started laughing with him. I couldn’t help it. He was worse than any pregnant woman I had ever seen.

In the middle of all the laughing, I suddenly felt warmth running down my thighs.

“Oh shit! Sam go get Dean now!”

“Why? What…”

I guess the look on my face said it all. He scrambled over to get his brother.

The next day ….

“Baby, you did so good. He is the best looking thing in this world.”

“It took two of us to make him, honey.”

“Hey, guess what?” he asked as he leaned down to kiss me.

“What baby?”

“I’m not craving chocolate anymore.”

I looked up at his beautiful smile and those gorgeous green eyes and couldn’t help but feel blessed for my family!

anonymous asked:

Mcdanno prompt: Danny is pining for Steve. Steve is pining for Danny. However, they both are totally oblivious to each other. Until someone in five-o finally gets fed up with the mutual gawking and decides to say something.

ok you don’t know what you’ve done because mutual pining is my mother. fucking. jam.


so a lot of people would expect kono to be the one to finally snap right? or even grace, maybe rachel. no. no, no, no, my friend.

chin is the one who finally breaks.

danny and steve are arguing about something that could not be more irrelevant to the case they’re discussing around the big computer - something about the need to lower danny’s cholesterol because of reasons having to do with grace, he doesn’t really listen close enough to get the specifics anymore - and that’s it. chin has officially fucking had it. there is a time and a place, and trying to find a missing kid isn’t either one.

“oh my god please just shut up!”

danny and steve turn to look at him. steve almost seems hurt by chin’s outburst. “chin?”

chin’s not even sure he can verbally express how frustrated he is with these two. how long can it possibly take for two people to realize they’ve been in a relationship since the day they met, that they’re married all but in the name of paperwork. for fuck’s sake, steve is giving danny tips on how to lower his cholesterol, on stretches he can do to give his knee a little more range of movement, the both of them taking grace out for shave ice and surfing every sunday morning while most people are either in church or just waking up for the day. steve goes to all of grace’s school events. danny goes over and spends so much time at steve’s that he may as well be paying half the bills!



“cuz?” she asks.

“please go get the ad that’s sitting on my desk,” he asks, turning back to the computer to open up his super secret file not subtly named “i work with fucking idiots”. there’s a lot of files in there: pictures, a number of documents that may have been illegally appropriated, but he’s looking for a specific file. ah, yes, there it is.


chin double clicks the thumbnail, and takes the ad from kono when she comes back into the room.

“what?” danny asks, finger pointed at the screen. “what the hell is this?”

“shut up and listen,” chin replies.

as chin goes on to say exactly what he’s been thinking all morning, he runs through a slide show of a number of pictures of danny and steve together. some show them hugging, in celebration or just because, he doesn’t know; there are a few of the two of them and grace, danny and steve both looking at her like she hung the moon; and then there are the pictures of danny and steve together, wearing soft, fond smiles as they sit close together, heads almost bumping. there’s a comfort there that chin’s seen for a while, kono too, and, well, anyone else who’s been around steve and danny for more than ten minutes.

he can see the moment it starts to click with the two men in question that maybe, just maybe, chin has a point. danny rests a hand low on steve’s back - the way he tends to do when they’re walking into a crime scene and steve inevitably tries to go in the wrong way - and steve leans in to it, like he tends to do when they’re out getting beers after wrapping a long case.

the final picture shows danny and steve standing out on steve’s beach, feet in the water as the tide comes in, looking relaxed and familiar as the sun sets beneath the horizon. they’re standing so close to each other that they’re practically leaning on each other to stay upright. he hears steve’s soft “huh” from behind him and breathes a sigh of relief. maybe, just maybe, they’ve got it figured out.

“and, in conclusion,” chin says, stepping forward so that he’s standing in front of them. “please take this and get the hell out of here.”

danny takes the colorful paper out of chin’s hand, giving it a thorough read. “a free night at the Hilton? what do you want us to do with this?”

chin, with his best poker face, replies, “fuck it out,” and walks away to the sacred silence of his own office.

the next morning chin walks into five-0 and sees steve and danny arguing about the coffee maker. danny insisting that steve should have picked them up coffee on the way in, but nooo, steve just had to conveniently forget his wallet, so they had to rely on the coffeemaker at work, which, apparently, had finally kicked the bucket.

chin doesn’t even bother listening in. he just goes right into his office and rests his head on his desk. they may still be fighting, but at least they both look much more relaxed.

he’ll count it as a win.

send me mcdanno headcanon prompts if you want

Like your brothers

Liam imagine where is a pack member’s(can be Allison/Ethan) little sister maybe a fight where reader gets hurt and some fluff? Thanks!

ask // masterlist  (requests are open!!)

Pairing: Liam x Reader, Ethan x Sister!Reader, Aiden x Sister!Reader

Word count: 884 words

Warnings: arguments, character (reader) injury

a/n: sort of angsty sort of fluffy, who knows tbh

“At least my brother’s aren’t some deranged psychos,” Liam said, his chest heaving.

“Are you serious?” You asked. “What do my brothers have to do with this? This is about you being in the deadpool, not who I’m related to.”

“You’re turning out to be a lot like them though!” He yelled. Everyone else had deserted the room, hiding out somewhere else.

“Fuck you Liam. Go to hell.” You spat, your eyes burning at the memory of your two brothers. “You’re full of shit.”

Keep reading

Larsadie: Mornings together

One of the worst mistakes Lars ever made was deciding that him and Sadie should move in with him after high school. He never realised just how cute she was until the first morning when she walked out of her room in their shared apartment, yawning and rubbing her eyes. Her hair was a complete mess, and she was wearing a long shirt, light blue in color and a pair of pajama shorts that were yellow with white clouds, but she was adorable.

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anonymous asked:

I know you mostly hang on twitter, but could you tell me your opinion on whether if that "public declaration" of Steve's on FB was the sign he has FINALLY made a decision, it's just not what most would like? There was talk that maybe he chickened out of going for it with EBR and this is his unhappy decision- Knotted Yarn on Tumblr had some good theories posted. EBR did seem happy in Miami so maybe she's moved on? Where does it go from here? Thanks!

About this “happy family pictures” issue… I’m just gonna say it once and I hope we won’t come back to this theme any time soon.

The fact that I don’t believe this shit doesn’t mean that you can’t believe it. If you think that’s love - fine by me. I don’t believe this because I have my reasons which btw have nothing to do with stemily. 

If you believe in something then believe in it, if you don’t I’m not gonna try to make you, because it’s pointless and I honestly don’t care if you think I’m wrong, all people are different. Some leave comments like “relationship goals” under these pics. For me it’s not.

My opinion: if love means not supporting your partner in anything, promoting yourself through him, constantly complaining about doing nothing and making public scenes then please, shoot me.

I’m so freaking tired of ppl in this fandom who do this:

every time he posts a vid or a pic with Emily they yell: “omg they’re in love that’s so obvious!” 10 secs later he posts smth with his wife and they yell: “Stephen, son of a bitch, how dare you, stemily is over, our ship has sunk!” then he posts smth with Emily again and they’re back on the horse. 

This is idiotic in so many ways.You either get it or you don’t. Stop dramatizing everything, ppl. 

“Finally made this unhappy decision”? First he didn’t make any decision, second - it’s LIFE! what is “final” in life? Today is today, tomorrow is tomorrow.

“He chickened out”? Stephen is the last person I’d call a chicken. I mean, he practically walks with a sign that says how incredible Emily is and how he was enchanted to meet her. I’d call this “weird”.

“Emily finally moved on”? From what, I’m just curious lmao. I’m laughing at the person who came up with the story that Stephen is a coward who doesn’t do anything for him and Emily to be together and torturing her and 90% of the trash fandom happily agreed. I mean, what is this - a soap opera?

My problem is: because I’m making vids I notice stuff like looks, touches, tones of voices and etc. plus I’m a sucker for zooming (which btw is a curse bc you see things u can’t unsee like stunt doubles and lots of mistakes in tv shows). 

So we have only two vids with them together and excuse me if I don’t want my future husband to look like this when I appear on his vids:

I just don’t understand how is that new “happy” family picture different from the old ones? Because of what he wrote under it? I tripped on “fearless parent” and started imagining her breaking her nail and crying during the diaper changing and complaining that her kid is running around disneyland and etc. Are you even for real?

Do I believe that he’s happy? No. Do I think that’s how a perfect couple looks like? No. Do they have reasons to fake it? They do. But that’s my opinion and MINE ONLY. 

In another life

Request from @ellen-reincarnated1967 : Can I have a Dean and reader where they’re driving and just talking about life if they weren’t hunters?

Warnings: mention of attempted suicide

Tags: @iwantthedean @kbrand0 @emissary-from-hale @daydreamingintheimpala @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog @harley7509 @d-s-winchester @writtingsofspn @rizlowwritessortof
@the-art-of-fangirling @pada-ackles @soaringeag1e @bovaria @blacktithe7 @mooseleys

Authors note: I’m sorry this took so long. I hope you like it! (Please let me know if you want off the tag list)
An unusually warm October Friday night found you sprawled out in the back seat of the Impala, listening to Dean quietly hum along to something on the radio as you sped down the highway, headed back to the bunker after a simple salt and burn while Sam got over a nasty case of the flu. Just as you had started to drift off to sleep, you heard Dean say your name.

“(Y/N), you awake?” You sat up, rubbing your eyes.

“Kinda. I was almost asleep. What’s up?” You say him look in the review mirror, sorrow in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he said, looking back at you once more. You crossed your arms over the back of his seat and rested your head on them.

“It’s fine. What’s up?” You looked up at his profile, admiring the strong lines of his jaw and brow, eyelashes curved just enough to make you envious. He was quiet for a moment, and right as you were about to lay back down he spoke.

“If you weren’t here, if you weren’t a hunter, what would you be doing?” That caught you by surprise. Dean never really got “feelsy” with you.

“I don’t really know. Why?” He looked over at you, the street lights illuminating his eyes every couple seconds.

“Come on, you’ve got to have an idea of what you wanted to be when you grew up,” he said, looking back to the road. You were quiet as you thought about it.

“Well, I’ve always loved helping people, so I guess maybe a therapist or counsellor? I haven’t ever really thought about it. What about you?” Dean chuckled.

“You’re not gonna be surprised, but a mechanic.” You laughed, a full sound that set Dean’s chest on fire. “Told you,” he laughed with you.

“You’d be a great mechanic,” you told him truthfully. “You’ve managed to keep my piece o’ shit car running this long, so it’s not a stretch.” Dean looked over at you and smiled, waking the butterflies in your stomach. You grinned up at him, closing your eyes. Dean loved when you did that, but he didn’t see it often. It was something you only did when you were tired, really tired, and mostly when you got that tired you’d go to bed; rare was it you stayed up with him and Sam.

After a moment Dean announced that the Impala needed gas. “Good, I’m starving,” you told him. He shook his head and laughed, pulling off at the next exit. There was a diner attached to the gas station, so while Dean filled the Impala you got a table. When your waitress came over, you ordered a sweet tea for yourself and a beer for Dean, plus an order of onion rings. Halfway through your perusal of the menu, Dean slid into the booth across from you and chugged half his beer, you watching him over the top of your menu. He opened his mouth to say something but the waitress dropped the onion rings off and asked if you were ready to order before he could get the words out. She did the thing you hate: completely ignoring you while drooling over Dean.

“We need a couple more minutes, thanks,” you said, forcing her to look at you. She smiled tightly before walking away, Dean waiting until she was out of earshot before laughing. “What?”

“Our waitress. If looks could kill, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” You rolled your eyes, shoving an onion ring in your mouth.

“I hate when they do that,” you said after sipping your tea. Dean cocked his head at you, causing you to roll your eyes again. “Don’t act all naive,” you said. When you saw he looked genuinely confused, you took another drink of your tea before you continued. “Girls always ogle you. They stare openly and I hate it. You’re a person, not food. Have some respect.” Dean took an onion ring and smiled at you.

“Does someone have a crush?” He popped the ring in his mouth, watching your face contort as you tried to come up with something to say.

“What? Me? You’re my friend. I care about your feelings,” you spluttered, which just caused Dean to laugh again.

“The blush on your cheeks is telling me another story,” he teased. You felt his knee bump yours, electricity running up your leg.

“Shut up. You have a crush,” You muttered, saved from further embarrassment by your waitress coming back.

“Have y'all decided what you’d like?” She drawled, forcing herself to look at you before back to Dean, who smiled up at her.

“Yes, two double bacon cheeseburgers, medium rare, lettuce, mustard, ketchup. Onion straws if you have them,” he added. She blinked, surprised, quickly scribbling in her pad before walking away without saying a single word. You smiled again, closing your eyes as you propped your chin in your hand. When you opened them again Dean was watching you.

“What?” You asked him. He shook his head and drank some of his beer.

“I just never really realized how beautiful you are,” he said matter-of-factly. You huffed and ate another onion ring.

“Yeah, because being makeup free with messy hair eating onion rings at midnight is attractive.” Your voice dripped with sarcasm, but Dean rolled with it.

“I’m serious. I’ve seen you with makeup and yeah you’re beautiful with it, but your natural beauty outshines that kind of beauty. Anyone can be beautiful with makeup, but not everyone is beautiful bare faced the way you are. Your messy hair is my favorite, because it’s just so cute, especially up in that bun the way it is. And onion rings are the best, so there’s that.” You gaped at him, unable to speak. He stared at you, a smug smile on his face that irked you.

“Here’s your food. Anything I can grab for y'all while I’m here?” Since you were still unable you speak or even think coherently you started eating your burger, getting halfway through it in four bites. By the time you chanced a look up, the waitress was gone but Dean was staring at you, mouth slightly open.

“Why are you staring at me? You’ve seen me eat before.” Dean just shook his head and dug in, and the two of you ate in silence for a few minutes. Once the tab was paid - and your waitress shot down by Dean, much to your satisfaction - you were on the road again. You had gone to sit in the back like you usually do, but Dean had insisted you sit up front with him. You shrugged and slid across the seat, sitting near the window.

When you got back out onto the road, Dean popped in another tape and you settled into the seat for the long haul back to the bunker.

“So tell me, counsellor (Y/L/N), what do you like so much about helping people?” Dean asked. You laughed, leaning against the door and putting your feet in Dean’s lap. He rested his hand on your shins, unconsciously rubbing small circles with his thumb. You looked up to the roof of the Impala, trying to decide how to tell your story without the tears that usually accompany it.

“I had a friend in high school who was suicidal. I talked her out of it more than once. Found her one time, got her to the hospital just in time.” You paused and sighed, keeping the tears you felt pricking at your eyes from leaking out. “She actually hit me up last week on Facebook. She’s married, her second kid on the way. She wanted to thank me for helping her all those years ago.” You smiled to yourself. “So yeah. If I wasn’t doing this, I’d be doing that.” You chuckled. “It’s funny though, I always thought more about my future house than my career.” You finally looked down from the roof and over at Dean, who was already looking at you, a look of awe and admiration on his face.

“That’s amazing, (Y/N). It really is.” He looked back to the road for a moment, then to you again. “What do you mean, you thought more about your house?” You laughed again, turning in the seat to face forward as you stretched. You made little stretch moans and started to yawn, feeling an arm snake around your shoulders. You rested your head on Dean’s shoulder for a moment.

“You’ve never thought about your dream house?” You sat up and saw Dean shake his head.

“Baby’s been the only home I’ve known, until we found the bunker. I dunno. Guess I didn’t think I’d make it to that point,” he said. You ducked down, laying your head in Dean’s lap.

“Well, I’ve had the same idea for a house for forever.” You smiled up at Dean, and you saw a grin on his face. “I’ve always imagined a white farm house with a huge wrap around porch on a couple acres. Open floor plan, huge kitchen, screened in back porch. Airy bathroom, huge windows in the bedroom. Not super detailed but you get the gist.” You yawned again and felt Dean’s hand in your hair. He started stroking it softly, and you were getting sleepy again. “If you keep doing that, I’m gonna fall asleep,” you whispered. Dean hummed low in his throat and kept playing with your hair and before you knew it, you were out.

When you woke, the Impala was stopped and you didn’t know where you were. You were on your side and there was a hand on your waist, but you couldn’t tell anything else. You sighed and sat up, finding yourself next to Dean, the Impala parked at an overlook somewhere. “You sleep well?” You rubbed your eyes and nodded.

“I did. Where are we?”

“I don’t know. Probably only an hour or so from the bunker.” Your phone said it was about five thirty in the morning.

“Why didn’t we make it home then?” Dean sighed.

“I don’t want to yet. Partially because I don’t want to have to deal with a whiney Sam, partially because I like spending time with you.” He paused, then continued quietly. “Partially because I want to watch the sunrise with you.” You looked over at him, surprised.

“Why do you want to watch the sunrise with me?” Dean reached out his hand, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I like you. I have for a while, I just didn’t know how long you’d stay with us and I didn’t want to start something I couldn’t finish. This weekend with you kind of solidified my feelings. Besides, we never finished talking about our lives.” You smiled and rested your head on his shoulder.

“Okay, tell me about your life.”

“Well. Like I said I wanted to be a mechanic, but that’s all I really knew. I also always imagined a wife, but I didn’t think I’d have the opportunity. But you… You give me hope that I can have that.” Suddenly he got out of the car and went to stand at the overlook. You couldn’t move for a second, but you could see the tense set of Dean’s shoulders and followed him. Once you had wrapped your arms around his waist and rested your face between his shoulder blades, you spoke.

“Explain yourself, Dean. What do you mean I give you hope?” Dean sighed, holding your hands in his.

“Hearing you talk about your life if you weren’t a hunter made me realize I could maybe lead a normal life one day. But I also realized if I wasn’t hunting, I’d want you in my life. You’ve made my life so much better, (Y/N). I laugh. I sleep. Sam and I don’t fight as much. You give me hope.” He turned in your arms so he could face you and kissed the top of your head. “Thank you, (Y/N).” Letting go of his waist, you tipped your head back to look at Dean’s face.

“You’re welcome,” you said softly. You turned to face the overlook, Dean wrapping his arms around your shoulders. He propped his head on yours, and you stood like that, watching the sun come up.


“You have got to be kidding me.”

At the sound of Caitlin’s voice near her right elbow, Iris looked up from the computer screen to learn just who or what Caitlin thought had to be kidding her. She realized Caitlin’s tone of disbelief was completely justified once she saw Barry and Cisco stride into STAR Labs, hands in their pockets, which typically would have unfazed her.

Except for the fact that Cisco’s characteristic shoulder-length locks were no longer at shoulder-length, and Barry, well….

Though the change in his appearance wasn’t as drastic or immediately noticeable as Cisco’s, he was sporting a new fade cut. If he turned his neck to the side (which he did, proudly she might add, evidently he was pleased with his image), she could see just a hint of the hair section adjacent to his ears cut closely to his head, shaved even, in a way he had never styled it before.

And she was trying to figure out why that was the case, why this was the first time he ever wore his hair like this, because the way it complemented the wiggle of his eyebrows and the smug smile he flashed her made her want to seize him and crash her lips against his just to run her fingers through the spiky buzz of his cut.

“I thought you two were on a lunch break,” Caitlin accused, forehead raised. “What’d you order at Big Belly? Double bacon cheeseburger with a side of hairspray?”

“Relax,” Cisco assured her. “Besides, that would be totally unsanitary. We passed this new barbershop near the corner of Fifth and Hillcrest. The barber shouted out to me that I needed a haircut, told me I looked so much like a scrub that he’d cut my hair for free. I asked if he was serious and apparently he was. What do you think??”

He lifted his shoulders expectantly. Caitlin was markedly silent while all Iris could do was stare blankly at Cisco before turning her eyes back to her boyfriend, still taken aback by how attractive he looked.

Cisco dropped his arms, clearly disgruntled by their lack of enthusiasm. “I knew it was a bad idea,” he groaned, rubbing the back of his neck, apparently unused to having the skin there exposed. “That bastard’s lucky my hair grows at exponential rates, otherwise I’d make Barry run back a few hours…”

Iris shook herself out of her trance upon realizing what Cisco was suggesting. “Not like I’d let you do that,” she smirked, glancing at Barry with a bite to her lip, shamelessly admiring him from head-to-toe. “I am loving whatever this bastard did to Barry.”

As much as Iris knew the extent Barry was attempting to maintain a cool and self-assured exterior, that guise dissolved entirely at her flattery, culminating in a sheepish grin across his blushing cheeks.

Cisco gaped back and forth between the two of them, indignant. “For the record, I was the one who pushed him into that chair and picked out his haircut,” he grumbled bitterly. “You’re welcome.”

Author’s notes: This is in response to this Instagram video of Grant that graced my life yesterday.