bed for two

Do you think there’s an exercise culture anywhere in the Shire? Do you think there’s like a handful of hobbits who are uncomfortably swole 

you know i don’t think i’ve ever actually seen batman with a water bottle, even though you know that Mister I-Am-Prepared-For-All-Things-And-Eleven-Steps-Ahead-Because-I-Knew-You-Would-Only-Expect-Ten would never let himself or any of the robins get all dehydrated and headachey and muscle crampy. i’ve seen bruce wayne with a water bottle, but never batman, in full costume, standing on a rooftop with a matte black stainless steel double-walled bottle of water with a l'il yellow bat sticker on it. you know he tried a bat-shaped canteen and then gave up on it because it was too hard to clean. too many nooks and crannies. ‘but wouldn’t he make alfred clean it’ if you think bruce is capable of making alfred do any manual labor that he doesn’t want to you are sorely mistaken. took one look at that dumbass canteen and he just left the room. oh no, master bruce, i would never deny you the complete ownership experience of whatever the fuck this is that you thought would be a good idea this time. you go ahead and wash that yourself. two days later he’s got a sensible water bottle well-insulated enough that he doesn’t have to worry about condensation fucking up his grip. in an emergency it can be used as a bludgeon. robin has a water bottle but no one knows what it looks like because he never fucking brings it even though they have this conversation every goddamn night and it doesn’t matter if you get free slurpees from every gas station cashier you’ve ever saved from a robbery, that is not hydrating, drink some goddamn water and if you complain about having a headache later you’ll have only yourself to blame you horrible little sugar gremlin. 'okay but which robin’ all of them, they are all like this, barbara and steph never have a problem with bringing some goddamn water like a sensible person, why are boys like this.

things writers can (probably) relate to

-making the facial expression your character’s making and trying to describe it

-writing entire scenes in your head as you shower and not remembering most of it by the time you get to your computer

-deciding you can’t do something you’ve been looking forward to until you write what you told yourself you were going to write, resulting in you laying in your bed doing nothing

-having two completely different ideas for your story to go in and both seem equally good but you can’t do both and you also can’t choose

-having docs with stories you know you’ll never finish but not deleting them anyway, even if they’re only a couple sentences long

-getting random bursts of productivity that could go towards homework or cleaning your room or writing and you know you’ll only be able to do one

-getting inspiration from the most random things

-writing at inopportune times because a perfect line or dialogue just popped into your head and you have to get it down before you forget it

-“what are you writing?” “……..a story”

- “what do you want to do when you grow up?” “uunnghnnggguughhhhh”

-reveling in the embarrassment you put your characters through

🐰 Sweet Dreams Usagi 🐰

2

Keith and Shiro decide to go to the beach. During the day, Keith gets a spider-man popsicle (because is nerd af) with temporary tattoos in it. Shiro suggests to use them, he loves his boyfriend so much.

7

I guess you could say that the Dream Egg from the Moogle Chocobo Carnival wasn’t… eggsactly what I was eggspecting. 

…I’ll show myself out.

As they walked along the bridge Adrien glanced between Marinette and the locks shining gold in the afternoon sunlight. “My father would say this bridge is an eyesore…” Marinette looked at him in surprise. “well not the bridge so much as all the locks. ‘An immature, sentimental act committed by delinquents that ruins the bridge’s otherwise elegant appearance’ - or something like that.”
“Oh…” Marinette gazed at all the locks with a slight frown.
“I like the locks though,” Adrien continued nervously, “there’s a lot of negative… ideas associated with locks: having secrets, being locked out, being trapped…” he looked down at the wood planks as they passed under his feet, and then at Marinette walking thoughtfully beside him. “but someone decided to use them to symbolize something good: safety, commitment…love… it’s just… it's…” Adrien’s voice trailed off as he watched Marinette tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and wrap her arms around herself.
“Romantic?” She finished, looking up at him with a smile.
Adrien felt his face warm and he looked away, “Yeah.”  

(Artist note: I imagine Adrien has had a lot of bad dreams involving locks and has looked up the symbolism behind it. Marinette probably has had some such dreams herself, but not nearly as bad or as often.)

Dean had always thought that a good quality comforter was the most luxurious thing to wake up under. But ever since he started waking up like this, his thoughts had changed entirely.

As sunlight gently peeked through the curtains, shining a cautious soft beam of light over the queen sized bed, Dean felt Castiel’s large, black wing loosely drooped over his body. The feathers were softer and warmer than anything a comforter could ever get him, large enough to cover his upper body and part of his legs. He smiled lazily. The feathers brushed against his bare skin as he stretched and moved around to shift closer to its owner.

Castiel lay on his back, his other wing stretched out over the edge of the bed down to the floor, his naked body exposed, blankets kicked aside in his sleep. Dean looked at him from under the wing, his fingers automatically gliding over soft raven feathers and smooth lines, known little bumps and the thicker parts. 

Castiel looked peaceful. His lips were slightly parted as he slowly breathed in his steady rhythm of sleep. Dean lay there for a while, observing Cas as he let the warmth and softness of the feathers embrace him. He caressed he feathers still. Dean had been mesmerized by them ever since Castiel first exposed them. They were huge, majestic, and radiated a power Dean couldn’t compare with anything else. 

And yet, they looked gentle and fragile when Cas injured them and Dean picked out the ruffled feathers. Castiel had taught Dean how to groom them and use the preen oil, an activity Dean found himself to enjoy, often compared with soft chatting. Sometimes a movie would be playing in the background as they sat on the floor and Dean plucked feathers, pressing kisses in the crook of Castiel’s neck. 

Sometimes, Dean would take it a step further with his massages, out to get the little whimpers and groans from Castiel. He’d ended up with a panting, desperate Castiel several times, Dean’s hands full of feathers and his own body filled with arousal.

He loved it all. The quiet moments, the loud ones, the moments when Castiel held Dean with his wing or when they lay on the couch, curled up together with Castiel’s wings wrapped around them. Dean couldn’t get enough of them.

Castiel muttered softly and stirred, his eyes opening slowly.

The wing draped over Dean fluttered and shifted in Dean’s fingers. Cas turned to look at Dean, blinking the sleep from his eyes. The angel smiled.

“Morning sunshine,” Dean whispered and his own lips curved as well. Castiel made a soft noise and shifted closer. He stretched his wings for a moment, then covered Dean with his right one again and pulled him closer with the wrist of his wing.

“Good morning, Dean,” Castiel muttered, his primary feathers rustling. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah,” he answered and pressed a sloppy kiss to Castiel’s unshaven jaw. “How couldn’t I, hm?” He slipped his fingers into the pack of feathers carefully, and Cas smiled again.

“You seem to enjoy my wings a lot.” They moved again.

“I think they’re beautiful, you know that.”

Castiel shifted and pulled his wing in, gesturing his head. Dean understood and he got up so Cas could slide his wing under Dean. As soon as Dean sank down into the feathers, Castiel pulled him closer.

Dean’s naked body pressed softly against Cas, covered by the angel’s wing and casting a shadow over their faces.

Dean kissed Castiel’s jaw again, pressed a few more kisses down his neck and shoulder.

The wings replied to the touch, shifting and shuddering when Dean softly nibbled on the skin.

“It’s rare for an angel to show his wings this… casually.” Castiel spoke, his voice still thick with sleep. His eyes were closed again, enjoying Dean’s kisses. “It’s only for… special occasions. And special people.”

Dean looked up and feathers softly brushed over the back of his head and Cas looked back. He softly rested his hand on Dean’s waist. “You’re special, Dean.”

Dean didn’t know how to reply, shy suddenly. He smiled a coy grin and pecked Castiel’s lips.

“Think I’m glad about that.” He muttered, shifting back into the feathers. This was how Sunday’s had to feel, he thought. Calm and peaceful and warm and right.

He found Castiel’s hand and tangled their fingers together.

“Maybe we should get up for some coffee soon. I’m sure Sam’s already awake.” Dean whispered, his eyes closed.

“Probably,” Cas answered. “Just- not yet.”

Dean hummed in agreement and gently slid his free hand through the silky feathers. He didn’t want to think about the case they were working on or the monsters they had to fight. Not yet. Just a few more minutes.

from very far away

The Way You Said “I Love You” Prompts
@stileslydiah requested “18. From very far away”

Stiles looks good. His skin is sun-bronzed and his eyes are warm, happy – clear of the haunted edges. The footage isn’t clear, but Derek can tell that much.

 He’s crammed into the back of a car with a couple of friends he’s made out in Virginia; they’ve all just come through Quantico together and are headed to the airport, mostly to split up for the final time as they all head to their various assignments all over the country.

 Stiles’ arm jerks as he’s jostled by the girl – Nguyen, Derek thinks – on his right.

 "Are you gonna spend the next ten minutes talking shit about the catering? Because I can just shut the camera off right now. Or I’ll talk to your boy.“

 Stiles’ laugh rings out and he jostles her back, eyes dancing as they slide back to look into the camera. "Derek likes my shit talking, man,” he insists. “It’s one of my countless charming qualities.”

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