guffawed at this part

Bright Sunshine

the series read as follows:

SupermanMondayCheezy PouffsBaconStumblingTrail Mix …  PunchFridayPreparationUncle MudlerNormalBackseatMudler-senseThe FBIUnthinkablePatienceElephant JokesCooking Rickety TablesMr. SkimmerBert and ErnieMidnight Confessions … The Moon

a/n:  for anyone new joining the fray, I wrote a series starting last fictober called ‘Life’ (here’s the last in that series but they’re all listed) … then I finished it … and continued with ‘Life, part 2′ and that’s listed above … you might want to read those first :)

@today-in-fic @fictober


Betty got an eyeful the next morning, having helped Maggie roll down the street towards home. Getting her in the house, she went in search of the intrepid duo to let them know Maggie was back. Looking through the backdoor, she expected to find the pair eating at the patio table or maybe Mulder mowing the lawn.

Instead, she found them fast asleep, having returned to the hammock, bare limbs tangled, Scully’s naked hips residing comfortably on top of Mulder, his hand splayed across her back, cheekbone to chest, hair draped across collarbone, satisfied smile on Mulder’s face, arm hanging off the edge.

Not a stitch of covering in sight.

She really ought to discretely wake them up, given Scully’s backside would be sunburned in the very near future if she left them like this. Wondering just how to carry out such a delicate procedure, she first went back in the house, shushing Maggie, “so, they’re out back in the hammock and for lack of propriety, they are …” she really should be more embarrassed by this, “well, naked. Do you have a towel or blanket I can put over them because, from where I stood, it looks like your daughter is going to have a very uncomfortable sunburn very quickly.”

Maggie, not sure whether to laugh or be mortified, pointed towards the linen closet in the hall, “there are some spare beach towels in there, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Betty, amusement growing, “back in a minute. Would you like to come out and watch them wake up the minute the towel hits them?”

She was a terrible mother, “actually, yes, I kind of would.”

Helping Maggie to the door, Betty then went back out, stealing across the wood, prepping and finally releasing the towel across the bodies.

Scully didn’t even move.

Mulder managed to lift his head, then, taking in towel, friend and future relative, squinted in the bright sun, looking at the pair of older women, “morning.”

“That was very anti-climactic.” Betty gave him a smile, “but I guess it would have been worse if you’d both fallen out of the hammock.”

Mulder grinned, “that happened earlier. Not fun … well … at first anyways.”

Betty shook her head.

Maggie shook her head, then, “whenever you two wake up, come inside. I’m going to make some sandwiches.”

Of course, this penetrated Scully’s unconscious brain and lifting herself from Mulder, she looked at him through a veil of hair, “sandwiches?”

Chuckling, he pulled the towel closer around her, “your stomach is my favorite part of you right now. Come on, Maggie is making lunch.”

“Maggie? Mom? You mean mom is here?” Taking in her surroundings with a speed that made her hair spin, she spied her mother, “oh, God, really?”

“Yes, dear, really.”

“Kill me now, please. Swiftly if possible but dead, buried and gone.”

Betty loved the Scully household, “let me go get you another towel.”


Lunch really should have been more awkward for him but once Mulder had pajama pants back on, he couldn’t keep the grin off his face given the amount of red Scully remained throughout the meal. Betty had happily disappeared to the yarn store, leaving them absolutely no buffer, which Mulder found highly amusing, Scully incredibly terrible. Once plates were clean and ice tea drank, she finally cracked, “yes, we had sex on the back porch last night. Yes, you found us naked and asleep in the hammock. Yes, I am sitting at the kitchen table eating roast beef and provolone sandwiches with my future husband and my mother who saw my bare ass in the sun. Yes, it was embarrassing but can we just move on?”

Mulder put his head on the table, shoulders shaking in laughter, “cut right to that chase, Scully.”

Maggie just looked at her daughter, “future husband?”

Scully simply leaned on Mulder’s vibrating shoulder, “yeah, I was thinking that I’m going to marry Mulder one of these days, might be a few years from now but still, eventually, I’m going to marry him.”

Reaching over to pat Mulder’s arm, “welcome to the family, Fox.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

With a shining smile at her daughter, “we should probably start cooking for dinner tonight. We have a full house, plus Walter.”

“That’s it? That’s your reaction to me telling you I’m getting married?”

“Dear, I’ve been waiting for this for years and expecting it for months. It’s not as much of a surprise as you might think.”

Scully sat back in her chair, faux grumpy look on her face, “can nothing surprise you anymore?”

“Well, I was a little shocked to find you on the back porch this morning but even that, not really that Earth shaking.”

Mulder outright guffawed, booming laugh echoing across the kitchen as Scully finally grinned, “we’ll keep trying, how’s that?”

“Fair enough and good luck. Now, I was thinking pasta salads, some type of meat, jello and light desserts. What do you think?”


Hi! This one is to remind you that YOU are beautiful and worth it, no matter what people say or believe. xx


ENJOY!! :)


Harry knew that was the last word to come up to your mind whenever you looked at yourself in the mirror. Every time you rolled your eyes at his compliments it got more and more evident.

His heart ached each time he saw you trying to avoid your reflection in the glass, in an attempt to not remember the untrue fact you had taken for granted. It hurted even more when you refused to let him take you a picture, always putting as an excuse you wouldn’t look good anyway.

He loved your smile

But you didn’t, you always covered it with your hands.

He loved your laugh

But you didn’t, you replaced the ethereal giggles with low sniggers.

And he hated it.

He couldn’t believe how the mean words of people who were nothing to you, could create such a hideous impact in the wonderful being you really were.

Nobody should do that, nobody in the world had the right to destroy somebody’s life like that.

You moved your eyes away from the book you were reading, feeling his intense gaze all over you “Is everything okay?” he stayed quiet, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear “You’re so beautiful.” It was no surprise for him to see you roll your eyes as you told him to stop “Hey, don’t look away… I really mean it” you shook your head, sighing “Love, please… why can’t you see-” “Stop it! Don’t you think I haven’t tried to find anything worth it in myself before? I have, so many times… but there’s nothing Harry! not even a single thing. C’mon look at my face, look at my body-” Harry couldn’t resist anymore the sight of your eyes filling with tears as the words rushed out from your mouth. He cupped your cheeks, rubbing your cheekbones with his thumbs “Calm love, don’t cry. You are so worth it, so beautiful. Let me show you please, let me demonstrate you why you should love yourself as much as I do” you closed your eyes, a tear sliding down the surface of your skin “Please” he whispered, his hot breath fanning over your lips. You slightly nodded.

He pushed you delicately onto the sofa until you laid on it and he was straddling you “Where do I begin? there are so many things” you blushed, not used to that sort of words “Your eyes… they are gorgeous. Look at that sparkle in them. They say so much about you, about your kind soul” he placed a feather kiss on both of them.

His next stop was at your lips. He stared at them: its colour, its shape, its softness “Your lips are my favourite part, specially when they smile, when guffaws slip out of them” with his ringed index finger he began to trace them “You have no reason to be ashamed of your laugh or the way you grin, because it’s marvelous” the curvature at the corner of your lips gave a cheerful sensation to the boy “Lovely” he leaned to leave a slow, long kiss. His hands travelled to your hips and tickled the area making heavenly sounds escape your mouth “That’s the sound I’ve been yearning to hear for so long” he laughed along with you, filling the atmosphere in the room with your unique chuckles.

When the laughs ceased he looked at you straight in the eyes as he lifted your shirt, exposing your belly. You motioned to stop him, comfort walking out of your system. That was your body part you disliked the most. You reckoned It was repulsive, not worth of any love. “No, Harry-” “Shh” He slid down to spread pecks all over it “Your tummy is absolutely perfect” you flinched “No, it’s n-” “So cute and soft. The perfect pillow to fall asleep in” he nuzzled it.

“Wait here, I’ll be back. Don’t move!” the tattooed boy rushed out of the room and left you there thinking. A lump had made its home in the back of your throat as you listened to his loving words. You truly appreciated what he was doing, nobody before had tried to boost your confidence in such a sweet way. He was building a glint of optimism in you, something you hadn’t felt for what felt like ages.

Not too long after he returned, his curls bouncing slightly with every step he took. You looked over to see what he brought, finally finding one of your lipsticks wrapped in between his fingers. “What did you bring that for?” he returned to his straddling position “As words aren’t enough to you, I’m afraid I’ll have to “tattoo” them” you let out a shy smile, and before you could bury your face in your hands he was fast to stop you.

He got rid of your t-shirt and, for once in the last years, you didn’t feel uncomfortable. He positioned himself between your legs, in order to have better access to write all over your tummy “Your belly is… cute!” the next thing you felt was the cold tip of the stick tracing the word in your skin, the same happened after every word uttered “Pretty” “Lovely” “Stunning” “Alluring” “Sexy” the last word was accompanied by a smirk that brought redness all over your face. “Look at this, your tummy is filled of words that don’t even get close to how I feel about your body” He stroked all your curves and edges gently “However, there’s one word missing, the most important one. Could you refresh my memory?” You locked eyes with him, and for the first time in ages you meant it when you said “Beautiful.”  His green orbs filled with tears when he heard the word coming from you. You cupped his face with one hand and brought him closer, resting your forehead against his “Thank you baby, thank you so much” He kissed every single inch of your skin making his way back to your tummy, where wrote in capital letters the word, using your navel as the dot for the “i”.

He looked at you fondly under his eyelashes  “YN Ignore the comments despising you, never let shit like that take over your feelings. Beauty isn’t on the outside; beauty is in every little thing we do that makes us different from the rest, it’s in each of the imperfections that make us real humans. Perfection doesn’t and will never exist, and thank God it won’t because if it did the world would be a completely boring and plain place. Look, there’ll always be different opinions about you, as well as about me and the rest of the world’s population, but you can’t allow that to bring you down and make you think you’re not worth it… because you are.”

His words made you break down. You hadn’t realised you had been waiting to hear something like that all your life until that precise moment. You brought him to you by the hem of his shirt and wrapped your arms around him firmly “I love you so much Harry. There aren’t enough words in the world to tell you how thankful I am right now.” He kissed the top of your head dearly “Y/N I just want you to love yourself as much as I do. I’ll be here, by your side, through the entire time it’ll take you to learn how valuable you really are”

Your hands found each other, fitting perfectly, as if they were made just for that activity. Such a simple action carried with it love, support and commitment.

“Love, don’t you ever forget, despite everything and everyone, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen”


lacommunarde  asked:

Coldwave, Len and Mick giving Lisa the birds and the bees talk

The question came while Mick was getting dinner ready and Len was sneaking a slice of cucumber, which he promptly choked on when Lisa spoke up behind them and asked, “Are you two gonna have a baby?”

Len spun towards the sink, hacking until he dislodged the food from his windpipe, and looked at his sister with wide eyes. “What?”

She giggled—baby psychopath that she was—and looked at them innocently. It was a lie. For all the sweet smiles and pigtails she’d literally nagged Len into learning how to do, she was a little demon. Mick said she got it from Len. Len was vaguely offended.

“Are you gonna have a baby?” she asked again, but she was pointedly looking at Len and his belly. Which, fine, so he’d gained a little weight since Mick moved in and made it his life’s mission to stuff him like a Thanksgiving turkey, but pregnant?

“No,” he sputtered and cast a panicked look towards Mick.

Mick was no help. He was too busy looking like he was torn between horror and laughing his ass off.

“Katie’s parents are kissing all the time and, now, she’s gonna have a little sister,” Lisa continued like her brother wasn’t having a minor nervous breakdown. “You and Mick kiss all the time.” In the privacy of their cramped little bedroom, damn it. He needed to have a talk with her about boundaries and knocking.

“Men can’t have babies, Lisa,” he told her instead with a forced calm. He could see where the conversation was going, could see it like a big, flashing sign, and he didn’t want to have this talk with her. She was ten and this crap wasn’t supposed to be his responsibility, but her mom had walked out and no one was ever going to get a sex talk from Lewis.

“Why not?”

“We don’t have the… We just can’t.”

“Why not?”

Mick snorted and Len shot him a dark look. A year ago, he would have turned Lisa towards Mick instead, because he had experience giving the damn talk, but there were fires and people that weren’t there anymore and he didn’t. He straightened his back instead and cursed Central City’s horrible school systems for not teaching kids anything.

What came next was by far the most horrific conversation he’d ever had with his sister—with anyone, really, and that included the humiliating talk with Mick’s mother when she caught them in bed that one time. Mick guffawed when he stammered his way to the part about parts and Len contemplated punching him.

“You have sex when you love someone,” he told her, even though it was advice he’d never stuck to in the past. He never put much stock in emotional connections, but one pregnancy scare in high school was enough to make him feel like he was developing an ulcer. He didn’t want his sister anywhere near something like that.

She tilted her head at him. “Do you love Mick?”

Mick went silent.

Len’s heart stuttered in his chest.

He was already in one conversation he didn’t want to be having. Talking about his feelings for Mick… They hadn’t even talked about it properly yet, more content to agree that they didn’t want anybody else right now and that was enough. He was good with that and he thought Mick was too, but talking about them and love… It wasn’t a talk to have in front of Lisa.

“That’s between me and Mick, Lis,” he told her, voice soft, but his eyes stayed on Mick.

“So you’re not gonna have a baby?”


She nodded and hopped off the chair. “Okay. I’m gonna go watch TV,” she announced before she walked out of the kitchen, effectively declaring the talk over.

He sank down into the chair she’d just vacated, put his head in his hands, and groaned, long and suffering. “I’m never having kids.”

“Really? Because I thought you did great,” Mick said with way too much humor. “I loved the part about bees sometimes liking bees or birds liking birds.”


That other really terrible time in the snow...

@moonstarturtle likes cracking me up at two in the morning, and it led to some really terrible dialogue.

So that is my excuse if anyone wants to make disapproving noises at Kalluzeb, get Hera Promoted 2K17, some unimpressed Rau, Zeb repeatedly commenting on the absurdity that is the human body, and Kallus being miserable in the snow again.

None of this has any reason to exist. Least of all because I live in the subtropics.

(Pssst: Ask Moon about fluffy winter Lasat.)


General Syndulla is sharper than most, Rau thinks. She doesn’t leave her back to the corridor even from the pilot’s chair, turning to him, mostly covered.

She is, he thinks, a deceptively formidable warrior for having come from a slight and decorative-looking species.

“Where is the away team?” He asks.

“Still out. It’s up in the air on when they’re coming back with this ice storm playing hell with the sensors,” she replies, studying him in between glances at her console.

“Then what would you have me do?”

Her mouth quirks up at the corner. It isn’t an ungenerous mouth, General Syndulla’s. It’s surprisingly good humored for someone of her species given when he knows of their history.

“That depends on how badly you want to help.”

“I made my offer,” Rau replies.

The green woman considers him.

“Chop and I can keep the engines warm for liftoff. We won’t get much warning if something in orbit spots our heat signature, though. How good is your armor at keeping out the cold?”

“Adaptable,” Rau replies.

Hera’s smile tics a little wider.

“I sent Spectre Four and Spectre Seven out there to work on the worst of the ice buildup. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind an extra set of hands. If either of them looks too rough, send them back in. That sound fair to you?”

Rau nods, donning his helmet.

“Oh, and Rau?”

He turns.

Hera’s tilted in her seat.

“We appreciate this…everything.”

Rau has nothing in particular to say to that and so gives another curt nod, arming his suit’s temperature seals at the fingers and joints before opening the hatch to the roar and the snow.

He thinks he hears Chopper blatting something abusive behind him, likely about closing the hatch behind him. He does.

It doesn’t take long to find the other two, keying in to their comm frequency against the roar of the storm.

Zeb is a huge shape, striped against the snow.

Kallus is smaller. The Ex-Agent looks like he’s wrapped himself in a mess of belted blankets wrapped up to his nose.

He doesn’t bother telling them he’s there to help. Why replace a productive silence with a grudging one, after all? Instead he gets to work on the upper regions of the engine casing, with nothing but his thoughts and the roar of the wind in his ear.

At least…for a while.

“Where’s your meteor?” Zeb asks out of nowhere.

Rau very nearly asks him what he means before Kallus’s crisp core syllables cut through the storm into his ear in a reply.

“Next to my heart,” the tone is sarcastic, clipped, like this is part of some much longer conversation.

Zeb guffaws into Rau’s ear through the piece.

“Figured you would put it by the, y'know, dangling bits. Can’t have those freezing off-”

His sentence cuts off in the sound of an impact and a laugh.

“I don’t have it with me, don’t be vile,“ Kallus spells out in his slow, deliberately crisp way.

Rau frowns, pauses for a moment, and continues his work, chipping away with his harpoon.

The quiet lasts for about a minute.

“Bet you lot don’t even get in a winter coat, eh? You’re probably pink and naked all the time,” Zeb continues.

“I can’t believe a creature incapable of fully erect walking is lecturing me because I put a coat on,” Kallus replies through the channel.

Zeb laughs in Rau’s ear, posture still stopped like his knuckles are meant to be dragging. Rau hadn’t actually noticed. Something of the pitch tells him this is meant to be a private conversation. He realizes how private when the Lasat adds, “‘Cause I like you better without it.”

Rau blinks, pauses his work.



That’s none of his business at all, even if he recognizes the catch in the Ex-Imperial’s voice, the softness of the shame there as he whispers, “…Please.”

“Yeah. Dunno why I did that either. Why’d you though?” Zeb’s voice is demanding, a little rougher.

Rau can see around the hub of the engine how miserably Kallus is scrunching down a little further into his coat and trying not to get noticeably red around the ears, chipping away at the ice with great gusto, not looking at him at all.

“It seemed…the right thing to do at the time,” He manages quietly.

“Yeah.” Zeb growls.

His blows on the ice of the ship seem to get more aggressive, more ringing out against the wind.

Long silence stretches between them all, nothing but the howl of wind and the monotonous, mind-numbing cycle of the three of them chipping the crusts of ice from the warm engines, films of the stuff forming on Rau’s eyelids.

There’s a puff of static that’s someone’s breathing that makes Rau look around again, but it’s just Zeb with his cheek butting against the back of Kallus’s head - gruff, one-armed embrace.

Rau frowns and shakes his head slightly, returning to his work.

The chipping gradually restarts.

“…You alright or have you already lost all feeling in those scrawny little fingers of yours?” Zeb asks after a moment.

“My fingers work just fine,” Kallus replies, sounding exasperated, “I’ll warm them later by wrapping them around your neck and squeezing.”

Zeb laughs, the sound rough and warm, pitched low.

“Once we get back inside, I’ll turn the heatcrank up and you can put your fingers wherever you like, Meiloorun.”

The only response is a huff of static.

Rau makes a face and scrambles his comm before he has to year yet another round of terrible flirting.

It only takes another ten minutes or so before he’s completed his de-icing of the engines. Zeb and Kallus are already in the antechamber, both of them looking startled to see him even before he tugs his helmet off and stops the ice from his boots. Kallus’s pale face is miserably red with the cold, and he’s halfway out of unwrapping himself from his layers.

Zeb seems more focused on rubbing feeling back into his splay-toed bare feet, curmudgeonly frown running deeper than usual.

Rau ignores them both, and the way they stare after him, striding past with his helmet under his arm.

He doesn’t need to know anything about those two or their strange history or rituals

“General, the Ghost is ready for your command, and awaiting departure, sudden as it may be.”

“Thank you, Rau.”

Rau turned on his heel, paused.

Kallus offered him an uncertain nod, a faltering core-world gentility and formality. His speech is slow and careful again.

“I…wasn’t aware we were being assisted by anyone. Thank you, Guardsman Rau.”

Rau offers him a nod in return.

“Agent Meiloorun,” he counters, keeping his expression neutral as the Lasat’s ears flick into immediate alert and his bulging eyes widen.

Kallus’s cold-bitten face goes pale for a single moment before it flushes even redder in horror.

From the cockpit, Syndulla’s little C1 gives a purely wicked noise of glee that wouldn’t sound out of place coming from a particularly unruly child.

Rau turns back on his heel, face perfectly bland, noting the quirk to the general’s mouth.

She knows, he realizes.

He wonders how public the comms actually are.

“Will that be all, General Syndulla?”

“I think that’s plenty, Rau.”

He notices dispassionately the way ex-agent’s mouth has flattened into a pinched, distressed line, staring at the floor like he dearly wants it to swallow him up. The way the huge alien by his side keeps rubbing the back of his own head, pointed ears drawn far back.

Karabast…” the alien breathes, “Look, I can explain,” he hears the Lasat mumble somewhere behind his back as the door slides shut.

Rau marches back to the recreational table, where Sabine Ren’s pointed little face is bent over a dejarik game. It brightens when it sees him.

“So, how’d it go?”

“General Syndulla had a task for me. It is accomplished.”

Rau studied the board, frowning.

“Your interloper is too far forward. What have I told you about overcommitting?”

Sabine sighs and blows her colored bangs off her forehead.

“The same things Kallus says, probably?”

Rau allows himself a thin smile.

“He has his own problems.”

Sabine’s eyes widen, and a bark of laughter escapes her.

“Oh they did NOT.”

Rau says nothing.

Sabine covers her mouth with her hands, laughing hard.

“Don’t you tell anyone. We’ve got bets on for how long it takes Kanan and Ezra to notice.”

Rau quirks an eyebrow.

He might have to help her with that.

“May I ask what was your wager for me?”

Sabine shoots him a grin.

It isn’t nearly as generous as Syndulla’s. Just as sharp, just as quick-witted, but it sounds like the General when she counters with.

“You…may ask?”

Lesson Number One - A Zelink Oneshot

It had been a season since his nuptials to Zelda, and he was convinced that he was the happiest man alive. Marriage brought many wonderful things in the eyes of propriety, and it made his life much easier. But with the end of these societal boundaries that had bound him for so long came the end of his excuses. Being married had forced him to confront one of his most embarrassing failings: that he was woefully inept when it came to anything in the bedroom.

Whoops my hand slipped and I wrote more bashful Link. 

Only God can judge me. 

Check out the AU premise here, and the tag here! Lots of great writing and art! 

Writing after le cut.

Keep reading

Tyrion & Jon Snow

I was re-reading A Game of Thrones, and several quotes from an early Tyrion chapter made me think of a post secretlyatargaryen wrote regarding Tyrion and the fantasies he used to harbor of his abusers (Tywin, Cersei) dying violently. It was met with negativity toward Tyrion, which I think perhaps can be negated with even the most superficial of readings. 

The following two quotes are from Tyrion’s chapter as he rides from Winterfell with Benjen, Jon, Yoren, and recruits to the Wall.

Tyrion pushed the bearskin aside and climbed to his feet. “I used to start fires in the bowels of Casterly Rock and stare at the flames for hours, pretending they were dragonfire. Sometimes I’d imagine my father burning. At other times, my sister.” Jon Snow was staring at him, a look equal parts horror and fascination. Tyrion guffawed. “Don’t look at me that way, bastard. I know your secret. You’ve dreamt the same kind of dreams.”

“No,” Jon Snow said, horrified. “I wouldn’t…”

No? Never?” Tyrion raised an eyebrow. “Well, no doubt the Starks have been terribly good to you. I’m certain Lady Stark treats you as if you were one of her own. And your brother Robb, he’s always been kind, and why not? He gets Winterfell and you get the Wall. And your father…he must have good reasons for packing you off to the Night’s Watch…” (Tyrion, A Game of Thrones)

Tyrion was the last to retire, as always. As he stepped into the shelter his men had built for him, he paused and looked back at Jon Snow. The boy stood near the fire, his face still and hard, looking deep into the flames.

Tyrion Lannister smiled sadly and went to bed. (Tyrion, A Game of Thrones)

A pretty obvious parallel set up by GRRM, and within two pages of each other in the same chapter. Obviously, when Jon looks into the flames, he is not thinking of his father or sister as Tyrion did - Jon has been shown to have a loving relationship with Arya, and his numerous callbacks to Ned’s lessons imply a good relationship there as well - but Tyrion was on the nose in identifying the main two people Jon had (minor and major) problems with growing up.

This comes back around later when Stannis Baratheon offers Jon the north; Jon refuses under the excuse that Winterfell is Sansa’s, but his following chapters show he can’t help but think about Catelyn and Robb’s constant reminder of his bastard status and how he would never deserve or inherit the north as Ned’s heir, despite secretly wanting it.

All in all, no. It is not creepy that Tyrion had these fantasies. For any child being abused, I think perhaps it’s a coping method. These fantasies of dragonfire made Tyrion feel strong and mighty when all he has ever been considered is stunted, twisted, and ugly.

Request: Can you do one where it’s based on the episode changing channels (where he puts sam and dean in t.v shows) and he puts the reader in a disney movie (like cinderella) and he would be the prince because he likes her? Please
Author: Abbi
Warnings: Absolutely none, unless you hate Disney, or fluffiness, or singing. If t hat’s the case, I would definitely recommend not reading this. It’s also a bit cheesy but I REGRET NOTHING.

Authors Note: I LOVE THIS REQUEST SO MUCH I HAD TO DO IT. I absolutely love writing this one, its fab. And, as I said before, I have the week off and hella time on my hands, so I elaborated on the request a teensy weensy bit by doing  pieces FROM ALL THE DISNEY PRINCESS MOVIES!! I saved the Cinderella bit for last though, because she’s my favorite and I love her and dbsguolabuerip. This just made me really happy. I hope it makes you guys happy too! And for the record, if any of you are curious, here is the order in which the Disney princess movies come into play:



-Princess and the Frog

-Hercules (yes, I do in fact count Hercules, and for a good reason)




-Snow White and the Seven Dwarves

-Beauty and the Beast

-The Little Mermaid

-Sleeping Beauty



Keep reading

Home, Chapter 8

AUTHOR: Losille2000
GENRE: Romance/Drama
FIC SUMMARY: Tom returns home grouchy and exhausted from a cramped flight after four months on the road for work. Unfortunately, there’s already someone sleeping in his bed.
RATING: M (sex, language)
AUTHORS NOTES: Thank you all for your support! Please see the note at the end of the chapter.

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anonymous asked:

I don't know if you'd have to time to, but tbh I would love to see someone do Quicksilver for the "I couldn’t afford to buy a pumpkin for us to carve so I stole 20 from the local farmer and ran" prompt.

Peter Maximoff X Reader – Pumpkin

A/N – I got roped into babysitting for two days so I’ve only just written this up now. Anywho, happy Halloween and sorry that it’s short.

Warnings – None

Rating – T

Originally posted by quicksilversmom

“What’s your favourite part of Halloween?” you asked Peter, who had just finished decorating the entire mansion in the time it had taken you to put up one cobweb.

“Hmm,” he pondered the question in an exaggerated manner, then zoomed over and picked you up bridal style, “The costumes.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. In fact, I think that this year we should dress as Brad and Janet from Rocky Horror.”

“Their entire costume is just underwear.”

“Exactly,” Peter waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

You laughed and kissed his lips lightly, “Well, I was thinking something more… spooky.”

“Ahh, well in that case I’ll leave costumes up to you,” he put you down gently, “Come on then, what’s your favourite part?”

“Pumpkin carving,” you answered without hesitation.

“Seriously? I thought you were going to say pranks or scaring children.”

“Isn’t that the part you like?”

He put up his hands, “You caught me.”

You moved back to your previous statement, “I don’t know why but pumpkin carving’s the best part, it just feels right, you know? Like at Christmas when you put the tree up or on the fourth of July with all the fireworks.”

“In that case I’ll go out and get you a pumpkin right now, you just wait in the kitchen and I’ll be back in a flash.”

“Really?” you beamed.

“This is our first Halloween together, we’re going whole hog,” Peter stated excitedly, before putting on his trusty goggles and vanishing out of the room.

Peter knew about your love and enthusiasm for each holiday; in fact, most people that knew you did. It was for that reason that he wanted everything to be perfect, the only problem however, was that once he’d got to the surprisingly empty Walmart, the pumpkins cost a lot more than he expected and all of the good ones had gone. He stared inside his depressingly empty wallet, wishing for once that he could switch places with the professor and buy you the entire batch. Although Peter knew you wouldn’t be angry or disappointed, he couldn’t bear to go back empty handed; he wanted everything to be perfect for your first Halloween together as a couple.

A sudden thought occurred to Peter; on the five-mile journey from the mansion to the shop, he had passed several acres of farmland, rich in all manner of crops, surely the farmer wouldn’t notice or care if a few pumpkins went missing. Peter rolled on the balls of his feet for a few milliseconds, mentally arguing with himself, on the one hand he had promised not to steal after his previous history, but on the other he really wanted to be the reason that your face lit up with his favourite, albeit slightly goofy grin. With a resolute nod, he sped out of the shop and back up to the mansion; by the time he got back to you it had only been two minutes since he’d left.

You spun around on the spot, disbelieving that there were so many pumpkins in the kitchen; Peter was lying atop the counter, on his side with a pumpkin in front of his stomach.

You laughed aloud, “Peter, what- what did you do?”

“Long story short, I couldn’t afford a pumpkin for you so I went to the local farm and ‘liberated’ 20,” he winked in response.

You almost didn’t know what to say, “Why would you-”

“Hey, I can’t return them now, they have a Halloween duty to fulfil.”

“Yeah… but why 20? It just seems so… random.”

Peter thought back to the thrill of the steal, then with a casual guffaw he answered, “It’s your favourite part, so now we can carve as many as you like.”

You shoved the pumpkin in front of him to one side, then pulled him toward you for a romantic kiss, “As long as you don’t rush ahead and finish them all,” you whispered after you moved away from him.

“That depends.”

“Depends on what?”

He disappeared, reappearing behind you with his hands crossed over your waist, “It depends on whether I can expect more sweet action like that kiss.”

You folded your hands over his, craning your neck to face him, “How could I resist kissing a vigilante thief who stole something super important?”

“And what would that be?”

“My heart,” you kissed him again, tasting the all so familiar energy drink that he loved.”

We Need to Stop Meeting Like This

Lady Aeducan took a hard swill of her ale, sudsy grain and foam smacking the back of her throat. A thin veil of blood rose in her round face as it filled her cheeks and washed over her tongue. The chatter of other people in the tavern became a low buzzing noise. A warm tingle that rooted in her stomach from her first glass began to bloom and spread throughout her body. Yet when her head veered to the side of the stall, seeing the crinkles in Gorim’s brow, crowning his sad eyes, she found herself painfully lucid.

“My lady,” he said, the low rumble of his voice perfectly clear, even in her state. “Please stop. You’ve had enough.”

She winced, his truth stung despite her null senses. “Fine,” she blurted out, slamming the empty tankard on the stall. “Human ale is inferior, anyway.”

“Perhaps… I should just go.”

“What? No, no. Please just…” she felt her elbows wobble, her arms like warm jelly, as she recomposed herself. She snapped her back straight, limbs neatly folded, like the noble she used to be, though she still felt as though her muscles were glued together with melting paste. “Please stay just a while longer. I needed to resupply before I head… go to the mountains. It’s going to be a long trip, and I wanted to see you before I left. And Ancestors know I’ll need a few drinks to carry me through the ordeal.”

“What I mean to say is…we can’t keep doing this, all this. Meeting like this. I can’t keep closing shop when you come into town, then act like it never happened. It’s not right.”

Lady Aeducan’s nerves jolted, a cold chill splitting through her warmed body; the shock of it so quick and cold, it made her stomach turn. “We’re not doing anything wrong, Gorim. I pass through here all the time, and you live here. We’re just… taking a break together. Just two friends, taking a short break, having a few drinks, catching up, doing our best on this crazy surface world.”

The former warrior sighed, the stress resounding in the cracking rasp of his voice. “Hervor,” he said firmly. “Why don’t you want to meet my wife?”

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A Clash of Lightnings | Toradora!AU | Ch 3: Turbulence

This took an exceedingly long amount of time. To make up for it, have 7k! Thank professor-maka for giving this a quick look-through so I could finally make it live.

Read update here: AO3 | FF.NET

Read from the beginning here: AO3 | FF.NET

Soul had always believed that severability was a given, even when he was a kid. His childhood home was essentially an artist’s colony. Each of his family members was constantly wrapped up in their own projects, immersed in their own worlds, honing their talents with a focus only sweet solitude could deliver. They crossed paths at meals, in the bathroom, and during social events, but even then the Evans clan was aloof at best. The family didn’t used to be so fixated on their inward, artistic lives, but any traces of family unity started to taper off when Soul was still very young and vanished completely after Wes left home.

People weren’t built to stay together. They were just atoms bouncing off one another, briefly entering each other’s orbits before ricocheting down their own paths.

It was the magnetic anomaly that was Maka Albarn that completely turned Soul’s belief on its head.

After never crossing paths their entire freshman year, Soul now ran into Maka everywhere he went.

He collided with her after rounding a tight corridor in the language building (“Oof!” “Where the hell do you thi–Oh, hey!”).

Their eyes met in passing outside the library (“Sorry, I was just going this way.” “I’m going that way. Um, so…bye?” “Yeah, see ya.”).

She stepped on his foot by accident in the pasta line inside the dining hall (“Calm your stompy pigeon-toed feet.” “Don’t you dare tell me to calm my anything!”).

Soul had to wonder if Maka was planning these chance encounters, but judging by her look of genuine surprise every time they bumped into each other, she was just as bewildered by this pattern as he was. Stranger yet, when they did meet up accidentally and decided to talk or walk together for a few moments, the cadence of their footsteps and voices fell into a natural rhythm, as if the cogs of two stalling gears finally connected and began to thrum happily once more. 

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Coffee Shop AU

“Elsa, on the hunt for some booty, hmm?”

“Kristoff! Watch your mouth!”

“Oh, of course, mother!”

Elsa just shook her head and looked back to her tea. The two sat in one of the many coffee shops that littered the shopping district of Arendelle, though this one had a certain red haired beauty in it that Elsa was indeed having a hard time keeping her eyes off of.

“So, are you going to ask for her number?”

Elsa rolled her eyes and said, “No, Kristoff.”

The big man let out a hrmph and stood up, “then I’m going to” and he walked off towards the bouncy waitress.

Elsa had no time to react, she gawked at his audacity, how could he? And stared out the window in general protest to the occurrences of her life. Every now and then she’d steal a glance at Kristoff laughing with his newfound friend, the ass (not that she’d ever say such a thing out loud).

Just as she was considering the rudeness of leaving her apparently not so good friend behind, Kristoff came back over and dropped a slip of paper in front of her.

He smiled and leaned back in his seat, the picture of smug victory. Elsa scowled, she didn’t like him, no matter how much the time they spent together seemed to contradict that. He quirked his eyebrows at the paper and smiled all the wider.

Elsa reached in front of her and opened the paper, it read:

“Hey cutie ;) Your friend says you’ve been staring at my ass, you should call me some time!” With a number listed below.

Elsa gaped at the paper, gaped at Kristoff who nearly fell off his chair laughing, and gaped at the red head who was striding over to them right then.

Anna, as Kristoff would later inform Elsa, leaned down and with an absolutely sultry smile, purred out, “You can have my booty anytime,” Then she kissed Elsa’s hand and strutted away with a wink.

Elsa was completely red in the face and still gaping at the waitress. Kristoff was getting glares from the other customers because his guffaws were never ending. Anna, for her part, really liked the flustered look on the blonde’s face, this was fun already.

Bonus: Kristoff and Anna’s conversation:

“Excuse me!”


“My friend, the blond girl staring out the window, is really shy but wants to ask for your number.”


“Uh look, she’s a ton of fun to be around, obnoxiously proper, and easy to tease. But she’s also fiercely protective and she’s incredibly smart. So, if you’re at all willing to, you should give her a shot.”

“Hmmm, how fun to tease?”

“She’s been staring at your ass for the past half hour and I asked if she was hunting for booty and she told me to watch my mouth.”

“Oh, that fun to tease.”


“Well then, perhaps I will take you up on this, what do you suggest I write to her?”

“Anything with curse words or lewd innuendos tends to be the best.”

“I see, will you take this to here? I’ll be right there.”

“Of course!”


No Matter What the Day

Fandom: Naruto
Rating: K+
Characters: Naruto and Hinata
Length: One-shot.
Summary: She draws her strength from his smile. He draws his from her laugh.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Naruto.

A/N: I fell in love with Naruto’s character song that when I first heard it, I was so inspired to write - thus this was born! I hardly write in present tense, so a lot of the wording here is going to be kinda awkward.


She wakes up three hours after midnight to find the spot on his bed empty. Groggily, she sits up, limbs popping in disagreement at the sudden movement. It takes her quite a while to process her own actions, but eventually she tosses her legs over the comforter and puts on her slippers. Quietly and still out-of-sorts she paddles her way to the dim lighting of their living room, tugging her large shirt closer to her frame. Winter is approaching.

She finds her fiance hunched over a stack of papers with various scrolls surrounding him. His prosthetic arm clutches onto the white handle of his porcelain mug, with him taking occasional sips. He hasn’t noticed her standing by the door-frame, engrossed in his own world. She decides to give him time and chooses to watch him - she has watched him for so long, a few more moments hardly mattered.

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“When I was your age, used to dream of having a dragon of my own.”

“You did?” the boy said suspiciously. Perhaps he thought Tyrion was making fun of him.

“Oh, yes. Even a stunted, twisted, ugly little boy can look down over the world when he’s seated on a dragon’s back….I used to start fires in the bowels of Casterly Rock and stare at the flames for hours, pretending they were dragonfire. Sometimes I’d imagine my father burning. At other times, my sister.” Jon Snow was staring at him, a look equal parts horror and fascination. Tyrion guffawed. “Don’t look at me that way, bastard. I know your secret. You’ve dreamt the same kind of dreams.”