twenty blocks away

Title: Sugar Sugar

Pairing: 6yr old Junhao

Genre: fluff horendous levels of fluff

Summary: Five year old Minghao and Junhui have a system, one which involves Minghao evading having to eat his vegetables and gain a best-friend

To say that Minghao dislikes vegetables would be a gross understatement; he absolutely abhors eating anything green. He doesn’t believe it when his mom says carrots will help his eyesight—he can see like twenty blocks away—or that eating them will make him grow big and strong like his dad. So he doesn’t understand why his mom always packs vegetables for his lunch when she makes him suffer with the stupid green things for dinner.

Minghao survived just fine last year in second grade eating snacks and sticky jelly sandwiches so he doesn’t understand why this year it has to be different.

“Is your mom a veterinarian,” Mingyu asks, mouth drawn in disgust as he peers into Minghao’s lunch box.

Jihoon sighs from across their brightly orange coloured lunch table “It’s vegetarian.

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Where The Sidewalk Ends (Pt. 1)

A Dean x Reader series

A/N: I have no idea what to classify this as, but it’s definitely going to be a series. It’s not an AU!, and will take place in Dean’s hunter world. This was just an idea I thought up and literally spent a good portion of last night writing it. There is a lot of me in this reader, and this fic is very special to me. I didn’t intentionally want this to turn into a series, but it definitely did. I was really nervous to post this, but thanks to @manawhaat for being an awesome beta, and @kayteonline and @balthazars-muse​ for encouraging me to post it. You guys rule. Let me know what you think, don’t be shy. I’d love to hear if you want me to continue this! xo

Word Count: 2,229

; language (maybe?)
; talks of drinking
; recreational drug use (marijuana)
*I think that’s all but let me know if I missed any.

Tags (for people I think would enjoy this): @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid​ @oriona75 @fvckinpayno @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog​ @salvachester
*if you want to be tagged in the future, let me know.

*gifs are not mine.

Friends had picked you up to take you to a bar you really didn’t want to go to, but they lured you in with promises of free beer and karaoke - something they knew you never participated in anyway. Sometimes, you wondered if they took you out just because they pitied you. So what if you sat at home watching Netflix all day, reading your favorite books and pretending you were in their world instead of yours? It was your comfort zone; your bubble, and you hated when it was disturbed.

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what happens now, like logistically?

A little something for youguysimserious because it was her Birthday this week, and she’s just generally a fantastic lady.

Basically, because I obviously wanted to tie my brain in knots, I decided it’d be fun to look at what might have gone down after Felicity saved Oliver. Y’know - like, logistically. 

Rating: T (for Teen. Also for Terrible idea) | Riddled with Arrow season 3 finale spoilers, naturally | Not my characters etc. | Unbeta’d, so please forgive any typos. | Title is a line from Crazy Stupid Love.

Save the city. Save the guy.

Now what?

Stand in the middle of the docks, still wearing the freaking A.T.O.M. suit, and make heart eyes at Oliver, for starters.

Felicity’s well aware that the whole thing is a little absurd. And considering that her day started with her super-fast meta-human friend releasing her from a dungeon in the top secret headquarters of an international group of assassins, that’s really saying something. Or actually, was all that was yesterday? Ugh, stupid timezones. Anyway, the point stands - this is ridiculous.

But it’s good-ridiculous for a change, so Felicity lets herself have a moment to just beam at Oliver. Who is very much not dead, very much thanks to her.

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Arrow Hellatus Project - Arrow Summer Rewatch (by olicityalamode & geniewithwifi) Week 9 | The Scientist

‘You know about misleading, don’t you?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘He’s not from CSI, he’s an assistant, whose bosses don’t know you’re in Starling. And there is no similar case in Central City. So tell me, Barry… What are you really doing here?’
‘I told you my mom was murdered.’
‘By you father.’
‘He didn’t do it!’
‘You said that the police didn’t find the man who killed her.’
 ‘The police think they did. My dad has been serving a life sentence. They didn’t believe me.’
‘About what?’
‘I was eleven. One night… Something just came into our house, like a tornado. A blur. Somewhere inside the blur, I saw a person. My dad went to fight it. I tried to get him, when suddenly… I was twenty blocks away from our house. Nobody believed me. They thought I was trying to cover for my father. But what I saw that night was real. As real as the man that ripped down that metal door with his bare hands. That’s why I look into cases like this. The ones nobody believes are possible. Maybe if I can just make sense of one… I might be able to find out who really killed my mother. And free my dad.’

by cherrychapssstick

anonymous asked:

"Please put me down its just a sprained ankle" TsukkiYama. Maybe its Tsukki who gets hurt? I don't mind

Tsukishima sighs. “Yamaguchi–” 

“Tsukki, shut up.” 

“Yamaguchi please–” 

“You’re hurt, Tsukki, I’m carrying you home.” Yamaguchi’s voice is firm as he shifts Tsukishima in his hold. Tsukishima groans. 

“Yamaguchi, I live, like, twenty blocks away.” 

Yamaguchi scoffs. “So?” 

“Please put me down, it’s just a sprained ankle.” 

“Absolutely not.” 

Tsukishima lets out a heavy sigh. There is no winning. “…Alright.” 

“Thought so.” 

Fic: Shelter of Old (Hannigram; PG)

Will and Hannibal need a place to lay low for a few hours, and unfortunately, Will has just the spot in mind…

This was one tricky prompt, let me tell you. It’s something I’ve considered writing even before this prompt and passed over because I couldn’t get a feel for it–so what better time to tackle it than on Christmas day after a very tense evening and a whole bunch to drink. This for @ripleyandthecat, and is sort of Christmas-y. I hope you enjoy it! (I picked a name at random–if there’s a canon one I’ve missed, please let me know!)

Also on AO3

“I never intended to do this,” Will mutters, as he pulls up to the crumbling curb and puts the stolen car into park.

    He’s driven them twenty blocks from their hotel, away from the affluent, white neighbourhoods. There was a non-descript undercover car across the street from the entrance when they arrived, and Will just kept driving. Hannibal is absolutely certain the authorities don’t know who it is they’re after, or they never would have bungled the operation so thoroughly.

    Will, who apparently has more than a passing familiarity with these streets, drove like a man who knew precisely where he was headed. The neighbourhood is, to use a colloquialism of the locals, rather shady. Certainly not the most dangerous Detroit has to offer, but the houses here have seen better days–green-stained siding, cracked windows, front stoops littered with spent beer cans and broken bottles.

Hannibal takes in their surroundings as Will leads him down the uneven sidewalk. There are scattered Christmas decorations, no doubt an attempt on the part of the residents to bring some cheer to this desolate stretch of city and failing miserably. The chipped, fading lawn ornaments have seen better days, the gaudy strings of lights are more out than not.

“The car will be gone and stripped within the hour,” Will says. By the time the authorities know it’s missing, it will be as though it never existed. A thorough, if inelegant, solution to their predicament.

    Will leads them around the corner to a single story house painted a dusty yellow. This house is undecorated. There’s a broken glider on the front porch, and the screen door is torn and hanging crookedly from its hinges. Hannibal can sense Will’s emotions as he climbs the steps and raps three times on the doorframe, lips pulled in a tight line. Disgust, sadness, and most intriguingly, embarrassment.

    There’s shuffling from inside. Hannibal could hear the television from the street. This close to the house, he can distinguish the words. Some nature channel programme. An older man is grumbling. Hannibal can smell the faint scent of rot under saltwater, and when the door opens, he is hit with a waft of whiskey and old books, their pages musty with age.

    He is bald on the crown of his head, his remaining hair thin and greying brown. His skin is dark and worn from sun exposure. Wrinkles deep around his eyes and in the space between his brows speak of decades spent squinting into the light and frowning, but the lines carved around his mouth speak of an easy, friendly smile.

    Though most others might not notice the similarities, there is little else Hannibal can see but Will. In the shape of the man’s brow, his cheekbones, the curve and slope of his mouth. And in seeing this man, Hannibal can fill in all the gaps left behind and begin to draw a mental image of the woman who contributed equally to the genetics of his Will.

    “Dad,” Will says, tone resigned.

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