#the tweety bird blanket are you fucking kidding me

[alltimesos]

one soft baby 💛

#the tweety bird blanket are you fucking kidding me #i have that exact blanket #ahhhh #luke hemmings #sierra deaton #lierra #luke hemmings fluff #luke 5sos #instagram #5sos #5 seconds of summer

[lilac-den]

Hello dear author! How would the ROs react if they came home from a mission to find the MC asleep in their bed snuggling one of their shirts? Thank you!

Cracks knuckles. . . I’mma assume relationship-stage. . .

Zeus: The mission had been tough, as with many other mission. Zeus is a soldier, a dedicated fighter. No iota of complaints have ever crossed their mind.

But this time? It’s the first they ever feel irritated to have this mission drag so long.

Zeus is a clean-cut method for the company to utilize - a top weapon agent in their arsenal. But even they can’t stomach the haughty attitudes of those who belittle the responsibilities at work. That, and the fact they’re also the reason they have drag the mission far longer than it should.

Even Ares was scowling over the governmental agents slacking their asses off. If it wasn’t for Zeus and co, this mission would have gone for a week instead of five days straight. Zeus has already made a promise to spend the whole weekend, and they plan to keep that promise.

The keys rattle and click against the lock, allowing Zeus to step into their apartment with an exhausted sigh. God, they smell. It won’t do good to visit their beloved in such a state. Stripping their suit jacket off, they made their way into their room...

Only to blink upon the sight before them.

There was [Name], all curled up on their bed with their shirt in their grasp. What was once a neatly clean bed, with settled and smoothed out sheets, is now all wrinkled about and the sole chaos in a room of the organized structure.

A light tinge warms their torso.

It’s so strange - that seeing something that disrupts their usually fixed atmosphere be so fulfilling. It’s as if the exhaustion of the mission is lifted, all for the thought of peace with their lover’s sleeping, quiet state.

Zeus allows themselves to step closer, sitting onto the edge of the bed and reach out to brush their forehead. Brows knit, most likely from the feel of their gloves, before beautiful orbs blink open.

“Good morning, [Name],” Zeus says, monotonous and stone-faced. An issue with those who try to approach them, Zeus doesn’t excrete ‘emotional reveal’.

But [Name] flashes that smile - sleepy but joyful. Was it from having a pleasant dream? Or perhaps [Name] believe their dream is of this moment.

“Welcome home...”

Regardless, Zeus knows the yearning they felt for [Name] is mutual.

Hermes: “Fucking assholes, thinking they’re so brilliant...”

The unsettling curses flow out of Hermes as natural as a raging river, their fingers frustratingly flipping through their set of keys as they frown, only to click their tongue and flip once more in reverse.

The mission has taken a massive toll on Hermes - sure, it’s a success but it would have been three days earlier if those scientists from the governmental branch have more brain cells. They completely disregarded Hermes’s suggestion and simply went ahead with their own ideas, singling them out.

Clearly, that didn’t turn out well due to how that simply put them through a grueling demotion and put Hermes in charge of the issue. While there isn’t any other problem to be found, Hermes has grown irate at the time that’s been wasted to the point each of the scientists couldn’t even dare to make a peep of gossip.

The only pro coming out of this is the fact Hermes had earned some vacation days - specifically this weekend.

The idea of spending the weekend with [Name] provides some small mood boost; it had been the only thing that kept Hermes going with those so-called top-notch thinkers.

But when Hermes steps into their apartment and enters the bedroom, they eye the body that lies on their bed.

Pajamas adorn the frame of their beloved, with a small note of bedhead and a black, very familiar T-shirt wrinkling in their grasp as they smile obliviously in their sleep.

[Name] fits so perfectly on their bed, Hermes almost forego taking a short shower just to climb in. Curse outdoor bacteria.

Thankfully, [Name] didn’t wake up while Hermes was showering - considering how it’s massively early and Hermes has spent last night driving back home, being the night owl they are, they could sleep like the dead.

A common thing their beloved has mentioned during their brunches.

Dressed in their sleepwear, Hermes climbs into the sheets, careful not to move the shirt away from [Name], and wraps their arms around [Name] to let themselves settle into the comfort of their own bed.

“Hng...” Hermes’s ears perk at the sound that erupts after merely five minutes before they feel the body in their arm twitch, “Oh...Hermes, when did you come back?”

A sigh leaves them and they find themselves sinking into the softness, a heavy load of exhaustion upon them. Who knew the sound of their voice can make them crumble to instant relaxation? “Just now.”

A gentle touch on the head. “Tough mission?”

“Mm.” Hermes gives a noise of confirmation, relying on the stroking sensation through their hair for its warm properties. The body shifts, which leads to Hermes’s brows knitting together.

“Haha...!” A soft laugh escapes their beloved, a sound that leaves them fuzzy with delight. “Did you miss me too?”

“You took my favorite shirt.”

[Name]’s voice has a pause before concern fills it. “Am I not allowed to?”

The remembrance of [Name] cuddling with their shirt resorts to Hermes tightening their embrace. “Consider this punishment.”

A short laugh leaves [Name] again. “Seems more like a reward.”

Hermes gives out a sort of grumble and leans in without another thought, burying their head into the crook of [Name]’s neck. [Name] doesn’t speak another word, but the fingers that pet along their hair turn into a hand stroking from scalp to the back. A satisfied noise escapes with a minuscule smile.

Clearly, the one getting a reward here is Hermes.

Dionysus: “God, what a week.”

It’s one thing to go undercover as a hotel staff - it’s another to carry that role and attempt fixing most of the problems in said hotel. First had been a Frenchman and Englishman arguing over some preference of which country is better (Ironically - the Frenchman believes England is better while the Englishman believes France is better). Then, there was a lack of staff, which means more tasks to do than what most usually do.

It doesn’t help that Dionysus was in that situation because of some corrupt billionaire who couldn’t stop keeping it in his pants. Including the rare virus, he had spread to his ‘friends’.

It was just an absolute mess. Dionysus wasn’t sure how they’ll stomach seeing another messy bed.

After unlocking the door to their apartment and entering it, they lock the door behind them and head for the bathroom in their bedroom; Dionysus could go for a relaxing bubble bath. But when they step into their bedroom, they freeze with wide, shock eyes.

Lying on their bed, with a vibrant orange PJ shirt in the grasp of familiar hands, is the librarian in all their sleepy glory. Dionysus has always left their curtains open, so the sunrise’s rays are already shining into the room without making contact with the librarian’s blessed face.

Their heart melt. They smile widely and step closer to the bed. Bending down, they plant a kiss onto their beloved’s forehead, something which leads to forcing a groan out of their sleeping beauty.

Eyes blink towards Dionysus, blearily taking them in as the first thing they see - something Dionysus plans to keep doing.

A dazzling smile courses through their lips, flashing beautiful teeth. “Morning, sunshine.”

“Mnngh...” [Name] groans out, grabbing the blanket and curl out, though not turning away from Dionysus and simply rub their cheek into the shirt’s fabric. “No morning - too early...”

A humorous laugh leaves Dionysus as they bend down to leave a dozen more kisses. “Not even for some breakfast?”

A pause. An eye peeks open. “...Mngh.”

In translation: Always for food.

“Alright, I’ll make some animal pancakes.” Dionysus begins to move, but blinks from the slight tug on the end of their suit jacket. Turning back, they spy the hand that clings to it before lifting their head to face the smiling beaut. “What’s wrong?”

A wide grin appears and the librarian lifts themselves up, planting a light peck on Dionysus’s cheek. “Welcome home.”

The poor soul’s heart implodes from the cuteness overload.

Ares: “Fucking pansy shits, acting like kids with scissors...”

Ares just isn’t taking any more shit from the governmental branch. It’s bad enough they’re given weapons - now they have people wielding them, flailing about with a magnum, refusing to take better maintenance with them. If it wasn’t for the fact this was an undercover mission, Ares would have wiped their asses with armor-piercing rounds from an AK-47.

They make their way into their apartment, dumping their duffle bag onto the end of the coat hanger as they strip off their jacket, frustratingly untying their tie. It doesn’t make shit better when they had to have a long drive under the hot, fucking sun and get home just as night falls.

They couldn’t even visit that cadet of theirs on the day of their return - fucking bastards.

“I swear, I’m gonna beat the shit-” Their words stop short upon stepping into their room to eye the form occupying their bed.

The little hacker actually took over their bed.

With their shirt.

In their PJs.

Did they miss Ares that much?

“...Heh.”

A shark-like smile appears on their face and they step into the bathroom. Even after their shower, the cadet is still sleeping. Fully dressed to sleep with dried hair, Ares sighs and climbs into the bed before wrapping their cadet’s body.

“Fucking sap.” Ares mumbles, closing their eyes as a brief smile appear on their face.

???: The apartment door opens and closes without missing a beat, the figure tiredly stepping into the dark flat despite how it’s early morning.

Footsteps tread silently to the bedroom. And there, ??? makes the discovery of the figure on their bed, the brief moment of alerted panic shifting to a calm fulfillment; should have known their tweety bird misses them.

??? steps closer to the bed, reaching up to gently squeeze the bridge of the librarian’s nose. Watching their nose wrinkle, ??? nearly snort with amusement before kneeling onto the ground and fold their arms onto the edge of the bed, resting their chin on their folded arms to continue admiring the blissful sleep of their lover and how that smile - that bright, dazzling smile - make the world whole once more for ???.

(Bonus)

After a decent amount of time, ??? finally moves. They pull one of their larger drawers open and pull out a trumpet. They don’t really play instruments; it was mainly to annoy a notable friend of theirs. Licking their lips with eyes glinting with devious intent, they open their mouth...

Needless to say, ??? enjoys their method of waking their early bird.

#silverking #ROasks #ROreacts #Rela Stage

[sodalitefully]

Santa Slash is coming to town...

This fic is the Christmas-themed spiritual successor to my Easter Bunny AU.  Special thanks to @slashscowboyboots for supporting all my holiday nonsense! 

Four snapshots from Slash’s Christmas prep marathon through the years:

🎄🎄🎄🎄

Jingle bells.  

Fucking jingle bells.

There were FIFTEEN of them on the stupid-fucking-candy-colored costume he had to wear at this godforsaken excuse for a seasonal job.  “Earn some extra cash,” they said.  “It’s easy, you barely have to do anything,” they said.  "You'll be perfect, you already look the part!" they said.  

"They are about to find a size-ten jingle-toed bootie up their ass,” Axl said – to himself, as he rushed into the storage room turned "dressing room" and buttoned up his itchy red and green vest with one hand while sipping an Orange Julius from the food court with the other.  

“Hey, Axl! You’re barely late today, awesome!”

And then there was this weirdo.

Axl could not for the life of him explain why a shopping mall in Indiana elected to hire a skinny dude in his 20s with a dark complexion and a nose ring to portray Saint Nick himself, but whatever the reason, Axl was stuck working with this fruitcake until Christmas Day.  Sure Slash was nice enough (oh yeah, and his name was Slash, or at least that's how he introduced himself without offering any explanation or even a last name), but he was way too enthusiastic about getting paid minimum wage to let strange kids sit in his lap at a grimy old shopping mall.

Uh, not in a weird way, Slash was good with the kids, really.  But sometimes... it seemed like he was taking his role a little too seriously.  

"How come you don't have a beard?" the first customer of Axl's shift, a little girl in a Tweety bird sweater and blonde pigtails, asked suspiciously.

"That's a good question,” Slash said, scratching at his bare chin. The neck of his Motörhead Beyond the Threshold of Pain Tour T-shirt was visible over the faux fur collar of the Santa costume, and his shiny black boots clearly came from a military surplus store. “I get asked that a lot but the truth is, it just isn't a flattering look, trust me.  I tried it once, and the elves could barely look at me in the eye." To Axl’s incredulity, the girl actually accepted that answer.  "Now tell me, what would you like for Christmas this year, sweetheart?"

As usual, Axl tuned out at this point.  Fake a smile for the overprotective parents, take the painfully awkward commemorative photograph, try not to look like he would rather die than hear Slash try to gently explain that Santa will probably not be delivering a pony this year one more damn time, rinse and repeat – until about an hour later, when the unthinkable happened.

The less said about about the incident, the better.  Suffice to say, one of the darling angels tossed his Christmas cookies, and some of the resulting mess wound up soaking into the front of Axl’s elf costume.  As if he needed another reason to hate his job; this was just adding insult on top of injury (that is, the injury to Axl’s pride as a result of being forced to wear the most ridiculous-looking costume he’s ever had the misfortune of laying eyes on). 

“That’s it. I quit.”  He grabbed the elf cap off his head and slammed it on the ground, then stormed through the exit gate past the sign wishing customers a "Holly Jolly Holiday Season," the bells on his costume ringing merrily as he stomped his feet.

“Hey, wait!”

“No,” Axl growled, but he did turn around to look back at Slash, still sitting in the plastic candy-cane throne unbothered by the mess or the sniffling child now mostly placated by a peppermint candy.  "What."  

Slash offered him a bright, beguiling smile.

"What do you want for Christmas, Axl?" 

-----

Nothing said "holiday cheer" like wandering the tinsel-adorned labyrinth that was a Walmart superstore a week before Christmas, with Paul McCartney's "Wonderful Christmastime" echoing through the tinny PA system and surrounded by other last-minute vultures hopelessly scavenging the picked-over aisles.  

In Izzy's defense, he actually finished all his shopping early this year, for once.  But then his two little brothers begged him to drive them around town to find the perfect gift for a girl at school that they apparently both had a crush on, and like a fool he agreed. 

He was regretting it now.  Anything would be better than subjecting himself to nearly an hour of top-40 Christmas music.  The jingle bells were jingling, the carolers were caroling, the B-list pop stars were spitting out god-awful covers of Christmas classics, and don’t even get him started on the commercials. 

He wasn't about to walk around in public with his fingers shoved in his ears (at least, he wasn't that desperate yet), but he did squeeze his eyes shut and pinch the bridge of his nose, trying to force himself to relax.  Just take deep breaths and think of The Rolling Stones... 

"Hey, uh, you doing okay?"

Izzy opened his eyes reluctantly.  In front of him was a young man wearing a concerned expression and a Santa hat, stuffed onto a massive pile of dark curls.  

"I'm fine.  Just finding out if it's possible to die from overexposure to Christmas music."

"Ahhh."  The man nodded in understanding.  "It's not, unfortunately.  I've tested it, trust me."

"Do you work here or something?" Izzy asked.  A leather jacket and ripped jeans didn't look like an employee uniform, but his hat matched the store decor and he didn't have a cart or shopping basket.  

"No, I'm actually a seasonal distributor.  Just checking in to make sure everything's in place before that last holiday rush, you know? Shit always gets crazy at the last minute."

"Tell me about it," Izzy responded, as if he knew a thing about marketing as a cynical 16-year-old.  But he had first-hand experience with last-minute crises, and as if to prove it, his brothers came running up to him at that moment.

"Jeff!  We can't find anything good, what should we do?"

"What's the problem?" the stranger in a Santa hat asked, looking genuinely concerned.  

"We don't know what present to get for a girl at school," the boys explained.

"Hmm..." He tapped at his chin.  "Why don't you just – oh wait, you're underage.  Well, how about you bake her some cookies or something?  That's what everyone does for me and I have no complaints."

Desperate to remove himself from this musical hell, Izzy jumped on the idea.  "Yeah, you could do sugar cookies!  And decorate them like horses, she likes horses right?” The boys had only mentioned that a dozen times; Izzy was starting to wonder if this girl even had any other personality traits.  

To his relief, a spark lit up in his brothers' eyes.  Cookies were a perfect idea, and suddenly they were dragging him away to look at cookie cutters and sprinkles.

Izzy turned around to shoot the helpful stranger a grateful look, but when he looked back, the man had disappeared with no trace, leaving not even a furry white pompom behind.

-----

Slash glanced out the window and grimaced – it was cold as a witch’s big bouncy tit outside, nothing but snow and ice as far as the eye could see. He pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and took another swig of hot Irish coffee.   Damn the North Pole, there was a reason he took his summer vacations in Malibu.

But despite the miserable work conditions, Slash was nothing if not dedicated to his job.  In front of him was a sack overflowing not with toys but with the most recent letters to Santa, straight from the North Pole's post office.  With Christmas only a few days away, his daunting task was to go through the whole mountain of letters as quickly as possibly in order to take their special requests into consideration before it was time to start loading up the sleigh.  

Well, there was no time like the present to get started.  Slash stretched his back and got comfortable in his coziest armchair (by throwing his legs over one armrest and slouching until his head rested on the other), absentmindedly tapping the end of his peppermint stick on the edge of an ashtray.  He grimaced when he brought the stick back to his lips and realized his mistake. 

With a sigh, he dropped the peppermint stick back in the ashtray already full of cigarette butts and ruined candies, and unfolded the first letter.  In barely legible green marker, the message read: 

Dear Santa Claus,

My name is Steven and I'm 5 years old.  Please give me a skateboard for Christmas.  My brother has one and he won't let me borrow it to learn tricks.

Hmmm.  Five years old was a little young for a skateboard.  Knowing Steven, he'd probably knock his teeth out by New Year's...

...Slash shrugged.  Why not?  All things considered, he would have killed for a skateboard when he was five, so who was he to say no?

-----

Duff was seven years old when his older brothers cornered him in the backyard and gleefully informed him that Santa Claus was a fraud.  It was all a lie made up by parents to convince their children to behave during the year, they explained, and the toys were made on factory lines not by magical elves.  Their mother gave them a hell of a scolding afterwards but it was too late, the deed could not be undone. 

He tried to play it cool, but the truth was, Duff was very distraught as Christmas Eve inched closer.  Could his siblings be right?  He didn't want to believe it, but if he was being honest with himself, he'd suspected as much for some time.  He braced himself to accept the hard truth come Christmas Eve – but only if he was presented with definitive proof.

When the fateful night finally came, Duff and two of his brothers laid out their sleeping bags behind the couch, where they'd be hidden from view if anyone tried to approach the Christmas tree.  They all swore not to fall asleep, not even for a second until Christmas morning... And it wasn't until his brother started snoring that Duff realized he was the only one still awake and silently anticipating the moment of truth.  

It was imperative, of course, that he stayed hidden and didn't make a sound, or else risk giving their plot away.  But... it was past midnight, dinner was hours ago and Duff's empty stomach was starting to distract him from the task at hand.  He couldn't stop thinking about all the food he would get to eat with his family on Christmas Day: the glazed ham, mashed potatoes, apple pie and Christmas cookies... 

In the dim light, Duff could just barely make out the plate of cookies for Santa, waiting in front of the tree.  The cookies were still there untouched, all six of them... Surely no one would notice if Duff ate just one?  

He tiptoed over his sleeping siblings, as silent as the snow falling outside, making his way around the sofa to the plate on the coffee table.  But just as he reached out to pluck a gingerbread man from the assortment, he saw a shadow of movement out of the corner of his eye.  There, beside the Christmas tree in the flickering glow of multicolored string lights, was a mysterious figure in a fur-lined coat and a red cap.

Duff stared at the intruder, slack-jawed.  The cookie clattered back onto the dish, and at the noise the stranger whirled around to face him. 

"Duff!  What are you doing still awake?" he demanded.  Duff took a breath to answer – or more likely to ask how the man knew his name – but before he could, the man peered over the couch, narrowed his eyes and frowned.  "Oh I see what this is. You thought you would catch your parents pretending to be me!" he accused.  "Well, here's the real truth: adults are always wrong and you should never do what they say!" 

The man – could he really be Santa Claus? – he planted his leather-gloved hands on his hips as he scolded Duff.  "And don't even get me started on teenagers..." he griped, casting a stare over Duff's shoulder where his older brother's leg was sticking out from behind the couch, tangled in a blanket.  

Tears started to well up in Duff's eyes.

"Please still give them Christmas presents!  I know they said they don't believe in you, but they've been good, I promise!" he begged.  Santa's expression softened.

"Aw, I know, kid.  I promise they'll still get their presents, alright?  Let me just finish up here and then maybe you can help me out with those cookies, sound good?"

Placated, Duff sniffled and nodded, scrubbing his eyes with his sleeve. He hopped onto the sofa, swinging his feet and watching with awe as Santa pulled beautifully wrapped gifts out of seemingly nowhere and stacked them around the tree, one after another until all eight of the McKagan children were represented. He took a step back to take in his handiwork, made a few minor adjustments, then turned back to Duff: “Voila! That’s the magic of Christmas. Now pass me that plate, would you?”

Santa sat down next to Duff and propped his boots up on the coffee table. When Duff held out the plate of cookies, he selected one decorated to look like Santa Claus, white beard and all, and promptly bit its head off. 

“I love my job, but delivering presents is exhausting,” he sighed, accepting a glass of milk from Duff’s outstretched hand. “I’ve already covered Asia, Africa, Europe, and most of the Americas, so I’d say I’m due for a break.  Cheers, Duff.” He held up his glass and Duff tapped it with his half-eaten cookie. 

“To a merry Christmas and a happy New Year!”

🎄🎄🎄🎄

#which sounds better: #santa slash or slash claus? #what do yall eat on christmas? i realized while writing this that i have no idea what people normally have #sodafics #guns n roses #gnr #guns and roses #slash #saul hudson #axl rose #izzy stradlin #steven adler #duff mckagan #gnr fanfic #christmas

[beameized]

tagged by @ma-je-s-capharnaum

5 things you’ll find in my bag

a cute blue powerbank

my uni ID

my trusty calculator

 dorm keys with a levi keychain

 red ribbon clip

5 things you’ll find in my bedroom

tons of college books

lotsa anime posters

that handwritten sign that says if I top the board exam, I get roughly 1M pesos

my spare keys with akamayu keychain

my pink tweety bird themed blanket 

5 things I’ve always wanted to do in life

get drunk

direct a movie or like any film production

learn video editing from real like in school

write more stuff

maybe confess to her but nope

5 things that make me happy

the people in my life

her (but it hard too lol)

anime

voltron

the fact that I’ve yet to fail college

5 things I’m currently into

Voltron

little witch academia

literally ton of josei, shoujo and seinen mangas

anime too

some kdramas (watched weightlifting fairy and planning on Goblin)

5 things on my to-do list

study for my recitation tomorrow morning its 12 am what am i doing

finish all my AMV edits and those I am planning

watch all the anime I have on my long list

pass the cpa boards

her, if she okay with it I hope lol

5 things people may not know about me

My nickname is literally Mei even when I was a kid, I was called Meimei and I carried it over so no it wasn’t a weebo name I chose when I  was obsessing over naruto

SapphireSoulmate has nothing to do with SU. It is a tribute to Sapphire, a character from Pokemon Special and my fixations towards destiny and soulmate shit when I was younger.

I’m bi, kinda, but my parents don’t know sssssshhhhhhh

I am on a limbo with being catholic and agnostic so sometimes you’ll see me being a shit because agnostic mood and other times you’ll see me randomly defending Catholicism but it is def sexist I cry if we all just took out all the bad traditionalist patriarchal shit I wouldn’t have to leave this religion

I’m an accounting student surprise why am I in fandoms and not studying the fuck when the board exam passing rate is like below the 40% belt more often than not? fandom is my outlet and I would probably break down without it yes?

tagging you YES YOUU!!!!

#mei is tagged #mine #mei rambles