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WTT / WANT TO TRADE EXO DMUMT Donโ€™t Mess Up My Tempo ver PC photocard Have: Allegro - Suho Junmyeon Moderato - Suho Kai Andante - Chen Kai Jongin Want: XIUMIN Moderato / Chanyeol Allegro or Moderato From Canada Canada & US only



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WTT / WANT TO TRADE EXO DMUMT Donโ€™t Mess Up My Tempo ver postcard Have: Jongin Kai, Kyungsoo DO, Jongdae Chen Want: XIUMIN MINSEOK domestic or international From Canada Canada & US ONLY RT plz thanks!




WTT / WANT TO TRADE EXO DMUMT Donโ€™t Mess Up My Tempo ver PC Have: Allegro - Suho Moderato - Suho Kai Andante - Chen Baekhyun Kai Jongin Want: XIUMIN Moderato / Chanyeol any ver. From Canada Canada & US only RT plz thanks!



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anonymous asked:

Domestic Headcanon number 348: Bruce has a green thumb (insert groan here) so he cultivates his own coffee plants. Thor calls his particular coffee strain "The Heimdall" because half a cup makes you see eternity and taste the passage of time.

omg gardener bruce? i agree

fugio  asked:

Hello! For the three sentence fic, can i have a kurooyachi hospital/doctor au, please. Thank you! Have a wonderful day/night! :)

Thank you dear, you do as well! One of my favorite pairings!!

—————————————————————

Kuroo’s hands slid around Yachi’s waist as she leaned over the sink, her attention solely on the task of applying mascara without stabbing herself in the eye, his voice low and warm in her ear, as waggled his eyebrows at her cute kitten patterned scrubs; “Helllooooo nurse.”


He saw the eye roll but also the smile she couldn’t hold back as she swatted his hands, complaining, though her tone belied any real irritation, “Must you do that every day, doctor?”


Kuroo grinned, nuzzling his nose into the crook of her neck, drawing a mixed sigh of exasperation and fondness from her glossy lips as he murmured, “Doctor’s giving you news, he’s got a bad case of lovin’ you.”

(You mentioned the boys in sweaters and I got inspired to drabble, lol. Hope you have a good day, @ellieb3an!)

…..

The weather was chilling, fall wind sweeping through the city with just a bit too much bite to be fun, bringing winter ever closer.

Bakugou stood at the crosswalk, blowing warm air onto his hands as he waited with the other pedestrians for the crosswalk sign to change. His glasses and black knit hood made up his disguise for the day, and he unashamedly wore a Red Riot sweater; red with gear patterns on the shoulders and black sleeves and the back reading ‘Get Hard’. It wouldn’t have been terribly out of place at an ugly sweater contest, to be honest, but it was his boyfriend’s merch and it was almost as warm as a hug from the man himself. Kirishima had been embarrassed when Bakugou had revealed that he’d purchased his boyfriend’s hero merch, but he’d also given that little fond smile the nearly took Bakugou’s breath away every time it was pointed in his direction so he wore it often. It was thick and warm and perfect for a day like today; Bakugou’s quirk had always meant he was a bit more susceptible to the cold, and at this point he was wishing he had brought his thick gloves as well even though he’d only been going out for a quick trip to the store.

When the sign finally changed, he was quick to start weaving in and out of the other people to get across the street. The grocery bag in his hand had the remaining ingredients that he needed to make something warm with them to eat tonight, and he was rushing because he wanted to have everything ready before Kirishima finished his patrol.

As soon as he slipped into the door of their apartment, Bakugou got to work. He had a little under an hour before Kirishima was supposed to be back and his personal goal was to have everything ready on the table by the time his boyfriend walked through the door.

A hot pot was simple enough to cook. All he really had to do was get all the ingredients chopped and make sure he didn’t overcook any of them by putting them into the pot too soon. He added extra meat just for Kirishima and set about developing a nice broth, humming to himself idly.

“Katsuki!” Kirishima yelled as he opened the door. “I’m home!”

Bakugou startled at the redhead’s sudden entrance but was able to get out a “Welcome home” and hide his surprise by the time Kirishima poked his head around the corner to see into the kitchen. He was early.

“Come see what I found!” He exclaimed excitedly, grinning widely.

“What did you do?” Bakugou asked, wiping his hands off as he came towards the hallway. He fought back his irritation with himself that Kirishima was back earlier than he’d expected and the food wasn’t quite ready yet.

“It’s your sweater!”

It wasn’t his sweater exactly, but it was a pro hero merch sweater with his signature orange ‘X’ from his costume across the chest with the remaining thread black. Kirishima positively beamed.

“And look!” He turned it around to show Bakugou the pattern of explosions that decorated the back. “I can’t wait to put it on!”

Bakugou rolled his eyes, even though an affectionate smile was creeping its way on his face. “Go freshen up then. Food’s almost ready.”

“Yes!” Kirishima cheered, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to Bakugou’s cheek before heading to their bedroom. He returned just as Bakugou was putting their bowls on the table, wearing his new sweater along with thick wool socks and comfy sweatpants.

“You’re the best,” he said, and Bakugou didn’t know if he could ever get used to such a genuine sentiment, a pleased flush coloring his cheeks as he ducked his head.

“Just sit down,” he grumbled. Kirishima laughed, but he did sit and when Bakugou sat beside him he grabbed Bakugou’s hand, twisting their fingers together as they ate in a comfortable silence.

“Did you have a good morning shift?” Kirishima asked later as they sat together on the couch, warm and full and calm in the safety of their apartment. Bakugou hummed, leaning against his chest and feeling him just breathe.

“Yeah, it was easy, just a quick patrol and a little bit of paperwork,” he murmured. “How was your shift?”

“Mostly quiet,” Kirishima shrugged. “Saved a cat from a tree.”

Bakugou snorted. “Wish I’d seen that.”

Kirishima hugged him closer, snuggling tightly.

“I’m glad to be home,” he said easily.

Bakugou smiled softly.

“Me too.”

archiveofourown.org
Shamrock Equation Chapter 12: Ronea | Archive of Our Own
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

“Did something bad today, Papi…”
“Told you, baby boy, having a panic attack aint punishable.”
”N-no, not that, Papi. Something else.”
”Tell Papi then, sweetheart.”
”Don’t know if I can… You’ll be disappointed in me, Papi.”

Ronea highly doubted the bad thing was anywhere near as naughty as Juice’s angst ridden mind had him believe and he put his knitting down to stroke the boy’s hair.

“Killed anybody, baby boy? Committed arson, cooked crystal meth, made a robbery? Bought a copy of Fifty Shades of Abuse?”

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filteredred  asked:

Hi! I would like to recommend the Small Angry Gardeners series by SensationalSunburst, featuring future andreil in the suburbs, "living the domestic dream." It includes a particularly beautiful piece about their scars.

awesome, thank you for the rec!
-Maz

Small Angry Gardeners by SensationalSunburst (G | Incomplete | 6 Works)

Imagine II: Tom Hiddleston

Word Count: 606

It’s November and a terribly grey day in London. You are in the study of the house that you share with Tom in London. A giant window overlooks the street. There isn’t much happening outside on account of it being a weekday afternoon, the neighbourhood being predominantly residential and the incessant drizzle. The scene in the study, however, is in stark contrast to the gloominess outside.

The heating is on. A relaxed Tom sits off-centre in the lambent room on an ochre grandfather chair, his feet propped up on a slate grey pouffe. His arms are outstretched, yarn wrapped around them. His brows are drawn as he listens intently to your counterpoint. You are discussing something of global consequence—maybe the issue of e-waste dumping or possibly migration-related issues in Europe. Maybe you are exchanging ideas regarding the rights of women over their bodies or the more controversial aspects of racial politics. He adjusts his glasses intermittently. Several times he stops short of gesticulating when he feels strongly about something because he is mindful it will tangle the yarn.

Holst’s Venus plays in the background rather softly so as to not interfere with the discussion. A copy of Roland Barthes’s Fragments d'un discours amoureux is kept facedown on the centre table beside a now-empty cup of coffee. Earlier, he had been reading out snippets from the book. You were clarifying what you didn’t understand; your grasp of French is weak at best. There is also an ashtray with a few cigarette butts, an occasional indulgence of his.

You are cross-legged on the sofa. On your lap is a baby blanket that you are almost done knitting, a gift for a close friend’s newborn daughter. It was Tom’s idea to knit one; he was excited about knitting part of it as well. He will, however, depend heavily on you as he has no previous experience. Coincidentally, the colour of the yarn he chose matches the blue of his eyes. You haven’t mentioned this to him, and you don’t think he has realised.

Before you were lovers, you were friends. Both of you have decided to forgo marriage in favour of cohabitation. The idea of children, at least at this moment, appeals to neither of you. So it has just been the both of you with the addition of a cat.

The conversation progresses to more mundane matters after he glances at the clock. Will he be having dinner at home before he leaves in the evening? Yes, he will. Is he cooking? Well, if you are okay here by yourself then he’ll just wind the yarn into a ball and go and prep for dinner. It’s fine by you. The yarn is promptly rolled into a ball. On the way to the kitchen, he places a hand on your shoulder and gives it a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

Staccato conversation ceases entirely when you hear the tap running. Drawers are opened and shut, pots and pans are moved around. Then a low hum, and you catch strains of a song you think you’ve heard as Tom gets busy.

The drizzle has turned into a downpour. You’re hoping whatever he’s cooking he’s used up the mushrooms and broccoli. They will be past their “use by” date tomorrow.

A few beeps indicate that the oven has preheated. Then his voice, loud and clear—

“…your lips next to mine, dear
Won’t you kiss me once, baby?
Just a kiss goodnight…”

You wonder if you should ask what’s for dinner. You leave it be. You don’t really mind surprises.

“…You and I will fall in love”

All is truly right with the world.