he is too perfect for life

3

“So that’s it? You’re simply going to pretend she has no father?”

“She has no father.”

“How incredibly naive and selfish of you.”

“Selfish?” She spun around to face her, her irritation and annoance with Dr. Brewer rising by the second. “How dare you!”

“What are you so afraid of? That he might actually want to be in her life? Or that he might try and take her away from you? Or is it that the truth might shatter the perfect make-shift family you are trying to build?”

“I don’t answer to you or anyone else on how I choose to live my life.”

“It is Tiffany’s life too, last I checked. What happens then, when she starts questioning why she looks nothing like your boyfriend?”

“I guess we will cross that bridge when we get there. For the time being, I don’t want to know. I don’t care to know.”

“Not even if it will have serious implications for her health later on? Like I said, selfish.”

By this point, Roxane was seething. “The fact that some random guy contributed half of her DNA means nothing. I birthed her and I’m raising her. That means that I get to decide what’s best for her until she’s old enough to decide that for herself. Not you. So drop it, or I’ll find another doctor for her.”


Cederville Heights Chapter 1.17: Chance

the princess stayed in the tower and read books about better girls, where their hands learned how to hold swords, where they rode in on horses. i gave her books as often as i could. she devoured them.

her princes saw her and pretended to be scared off by dragons. got too lost in the thicket. didn’t want to handle it.

“tell me what it’s like, out there,” she whispers to me for the millionth time. i take her from The Throne into her bed, tucking her in and making sure her feet are covered. 

“boring without you” i say as always, “but i did bring back a great story.”

i tell her about how the stars change beyond the equator. how there are places it looks like there are twin suns. how the desert crawls into you but so does snow. i talk about the taste of fruit and promise to bring her back some. she falls asleep while i murmur about rivers, and then in the morning i bring her from bed to Throne, even though she can do it on her own. sometimes she likes help, is all, and i’m happy to give it. 

she doesn’t want help getting dressed. the men come for me, blindfold masters i have almost befriended. the path we take away from her is always different, carefully manufactured so i don’t know exactly where she’s located. after all, a lady might get ideas about things.

they let me go in the queen’s room. i report findings, ask for fruit in the next week’s supplies, am told not to spoil the princess, that she must be kind and waifish and wanting when the prince comes. i spend an hour suggesting that fruit might turn the blood sweeter and am allowed six oranges.

in the next week, she marvels over them. turns them in her calloused hands. smells them. holds them until she can’t control her curiosity, devours them. i bring her books about rivers. i bring her books about deserts. 

“when is our birthday?” she asks me tonight. i’m knitting her a scarf for it.

“soon,” i tell her, “i’ll come by.”

she rolls onto one side, looks up at me in the dimming light. “I’m glad they chose you to be mine,” she says, and i drop a stitch. my heart sings against the inside of my wrists. i blow out a candle so she can’t see the blush and i can’t see her lips. i know what she means, i say. i know what she means.

it’s twenty-three for both of us. i bring her a cake we both eat, her on her throne and me on the floor. i am in the middle of laughing when she falls silent in the still night. “nobody else ever comes for me,” she whispers. i say nothing.

we have more cake, we go to sleep. i don’t know if she knows i’m awake, but i hear her crying.

the men come, the men take me. the one that smells like cedar always laughs at my jokes. the queen half-hates me because i remind her of “that nasty thing” they forced on their daughter. 

“the left wheel needs oil,” i mention, “she’s having trouble turning again.”

the queen’s nose goes up. she never reacts when i mention her daughter’s wheelchair by name - doesn’t find it funny we call it a throne, thinks it’s well enough to leave alone.

“well, she’ll have a prince in this next month coming for her,” says the queen, “i’ve arranged it all,” says the queen, “he’s … had the situation explained to him first this time. i thought it would be best,” says the queen. “we’re paying him…. quite a lot for his effort,” says the queen.

situation. she means that her daughter can’t walk very far. she means the situation of towers. i excuse myself. i find my girl books about turning down marriage. i’m not sure why. it’s all she’s ever wanted.

they blindfold me and take me. cedar laughs at my jokes. the sawdust one is here this time, even he chuckles at a few. we ride horses through places i’ll never see clearly. 

“so according to the queen this is the last time i’m needed, huh?” i ask them as they walk me blindly up too many stairs for my girl to make it down, “i’m sorry i never made your acquaintance.”

cedar laughs. he takes off my blindfold and for a second, lets me see his face. “it’s been an honor,” he says, shaking my hand, “you’ve been a perfect lady.”

i spend the day with my princess pretending i am not peeling apart from my bones. i just want her to be happy. to get to come home. 

it’s late. “do you think in a past life i was a mermaid?” she asks.

“almost definitely,” i tell her. 

it’s quiet for a while after. “what if,” she whispers, “i don’t want to leave?”

i sit up and look at her from across the room. 

“it’s just,” she says, “i have you here and all the books i need and nobody makes me walk too long and i don’t feel like… like i’m wrong here.”

i want to tell her she’s never been wrong. that she’s always fit into my heart like a puzzle piece. that, more importantly, the leadership i see in her glows like a fire - that, no matter her body, she’s always been kind and gentle and smart and sweet. a princess that could bring a nation to her feet and do so lovingly.

“it will be okay,” i say, “there’s more fruit to discover.”

she doesn’t say anything. i think i’ve ruined something by accident, but i don’t know what. i don’t really sleep. i don’t say anything when the men come take me.

the world outside without her is boring. no mermaids. i put my hand in a river once a day, just thinking about her. 

two weeks later i am awoken by my name, and a voice i recognize perfectly. cedar stands above me in the darkness. “i know two things in this world,” he says to me, “and one of them is about love.”

this time we make the trip without blindfolds. i see the squalor they keep her in. i see the waste surrounding her castle, the terrible place she’s in. rage fuels my footsteps even when they start flagging. 

the prince is already there. he has dropped her twice, cedar tells me. i am already running up the stairs even though i can barely breathe. i hear her crying through the door and i don’t need to get ready - the fire that starts in me burns so brightly.

i roar inside. turn dragon and beat back prince with girl made rage. the bruises on her body turn me into giant snake. i eat the man alive, or at least i chase him from the place, never to be seen again. later i will hear a rumor about a demon that stole the princess from him.

she cries into my arms. i take her down every single stair. i hear her murmur her thanks into my hair and then i kiss her, because i can’t handle it, because i have places to show her and she has my heart to lead.

my house isn’t much but it’s near a river. she likes putting her hands into it. i take her places when she is able, and otherwise i bring the places back. we read books together. cedar no longer works for the queen, but he’d rather live with the man of sawdust making tiny wooden figurines.

i lie in bed next to her, stroking her soft hair. “do you think i was a centaur in a past life?” she asks.

“definitely,” i tell her, and kiss her, gently. she holds my face and pulls herself closer to me.

“will i be a good queen? i mean, in this life?”

“i’m certain of it,” i reply. i can hear the truth ring in it. the bone-deep certainty.

she’s quiet for a moment. “you saved me,” she whispers, “and usually we’d end up married. but…”

i don’t know how to answer that. i feel ice down my spine suddenly.

“i’m not demanding, is all,” her voice shakes, “i’m asking this time. for you to choose me. for me to be yours, i mean. and for you to be mine. permanently.”

the next birthday we celebrate, we are both queens.

imagine lucretia’s frequent checkups on the boys living their happy lives…was there a day when she suddenly lost track of them? when she went to visit raven’s roost and found out magnus’ new family had been killed and the perfect place she had brought him to was gone? when she went to the beach and found out merle’s family life had disintegrated and he had run away from the home she had brought him to? when she tried to find out where the next sizzle it up performance would be and learned taako had been framed for killing people because someone was jealous of him?

imagine lucretia finding out the Perfect Lives she had built for her family were too perfect to last. imagine her scrambling to track them down, thinking that they might be lost like lup and barry, thinking that she should’ve kept a better watch on them, she should’ve tried harder to keep them safe. just when she had a second voidfish, just when she had a way to bring them home, she lost them.

then imagine her finding them in the same town, in the same tavern. imagine her watching through the window as they spoke to each other for the first time. imagine her realizing that the second she had looked away, they had found each other again. she didn’t even need to try to bring them home. they were finding it themselves.

YOU HAVE TO TALK TO AN OTHER DAD (PROBABLY ROBERT) FOR JOSEPH’S GOOD ENDING

Confirmed by Joseph’s writer here

WHY I THINK IT”S ROBERT

On Joseph’s boat, there’s a bed side picture of all the dads. Robert is of course in this photo, but your dadsona is surprised to see that he’s actually smiling, AND he’s wearing non other than Joseph’s sweater.

At the end of the Joseph romance, Robert doesn’t even want to talk to you, not like the other dads.

That’s it. He doesn’t talk to you like the others. He runs off. YOU can’t get say anything to him.

Robert is also the one who tells you how Joseph’s wife is cheating on him, when you first meet him at a bar. (Although he doesn’t tell you that’s Joseph’s wife)

Robert is afraid of emotional intimacy in his own romance.

Robert is really good friends with Mary, he knows they’re both miserable.

You may also have to become friends with Mary to separate the two. Best way to do that is to NOT GO AFTER JOSEPH FIRST. 


 (I think, Robert is actually in love with Joseph, and vice versa, but Joseph is trying too hard to be “the perfect role model/human” that he puts all his time into his kids and wife and local church. Even if he’s not happy with his life. Although this last part is just fan theory) 

coffee on the starblaster
  • davenport makes coffee for the most part, nothing too fancy.  coffee, sugar,  a splash of milk if they have any.  knocks on everybody’s door when its ready and leaves the pot on so its warm whenever they get around to it.
  • barry makes coffee when davenport doesn’t.  essentially the same but will make it up how you like and bring it to you if you’re working/not out of bed yet if you ask.  likes flavoured creamer in place of milk.
  • lucretia can make coffee but she doesn’t really.  usually working in her journal/sketching/etc and is too focused to exit The Zone to put on a pot. likes hers with lots of milk and no sugar.  whipped cream appreciated. has her own special mug.
  • lup and taako make hell coffee.  they cut the grounds with caffeine pills and magic and put fantasy redbull in the percolator.  they have their own special grounds and nobody really knows whats in it and at this point theyre too afraid to ask. they just drink it like its nothing and will have the whole pot between the two of them every morning. one time magnus accidentally drank from lup’s mug and he just fucking died.  rip magnus burnsides.
  • speaking of magnus, this boy cannot make coffee to save his life.  he doesn’t put a filter in the machine.  sometimes he just puts the grounds in a mug with some water and sticks it in the microwave.  he drinks it black, grounds and all, and thinks its fine. loves the cronch.
  • merle highchurch has perfected the art of coffee but only for special occasions like candlenights.  its a whole production- he grinds the beans himself, has special filters made with plant fibres from back home, etc.  he makes pretty floral designs with the creamer in each mug and tops it  with garnish and whipped cream and syrup and it takes all morning.  its amazing and everybody looks forward to it.
youtube

(EN) This is the best machinima I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s just perfect. BRAVO ^^

(ES) El mejor machinima que he visto en mi vida. Simplemente perfecto. BRAVO ^^

Originally posted by du-dreckstuck

  • Chowder: Of course Bitty's going to be captain!
  • Nursey: Yeah man, I'm totally voting for him.
  • Whiskey: Doesn't he seem too soft to be captain?
  • Chowder: Whiskey, my man!! My tadpole!! If you don't vote for Bitty and he doesn't become captain, and this goes for every single one of you tiny human beings, I will make it my mission to destroy your life.
  • Chowder: Anyway who wants some leftover pie that Bitty made for us because he's perfect and deserves to be captain?
Your secret is safe with me

“Blaise,” Draco fumed, storming into the living room, “what happened to the chest of drawers in my room?”

Blaise looked up from the paper he was reading and grinned at Draco.

“Do you like the new one? You’ve been whining about it so much, I thought I’d just replace that awful old-timer.”

“What did you do with that old-timer?”

“I sold it,” Blaise shrugged.

“You sold it,” Draco repeated flatly.

“Yes.”

“Who did you sell it to?” Draco asked frantically.

“No idea,” Blaise said. “I didn’t get a name. Two people came by to pick it up. I think they were Muggles.”

Draco felt like he was about to faint.

“Did you take everything out beforehand?”

Blaise snorted.

“Of course! What do you take me for?”

“Everything?” Draco insisted.

Blaise raised an eyebrow at Draco’s tone and studied him.

“Yes, everything.”

Draco took a step closer and narrowed his eyes.

“Even what was under the secret false bottom in the second drawer, nobody but me knows about?”

Blaise paled and his mouth opened.

“Oh,” he simply said.

“Yes, oh,” Draco growled. “Great, now I have to hunt it down. You’re a lousy flatmate.”

“Hey, I just wanted to do you a favour,” Blaise said defensively.

“You better hope they haven’t found what’s inside it, or I’m going to kill you.”

Doing the locator spell was easy enough. Draco had feared it wouldn’t work, but it seemed there were no wards guarding the flat the chest of drawers had ended up in. Draco apparated to the flat, his heart hammering as he knocked.

When the door opened, Draco was sure he had to be dreaming. Of all the people in the world. Of course. Of course.

“Malfoy?” Potter seemed stunned. He was holding a toothbrush and was only dressed in a green t-shirt and pants. “How did you find me?”

Draco shook his head, willing his mind to work properly again.

“You have something of mine,” he said curtly.

“And what might that be?” Potter responded, a grin beginning to form on his lips. It took Draco off guard for a moment.

“Can I just come in and check something?”

Potter stepped aside and gestured for Draco to come in. Draco wasted no time and quickly found the chest of drawers in the corner of Potter’s bedroom. He opened the second drawer and took out the little book he had been so desperate to get back.

“What’s that?” Potter asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“Nothing of your concern. It shouldn’t have been in there,” Draco huffed.

“Hmmm,” Potter hummed. “You know, I never would have thought you kept a diary.”

Draco blushed, quickly hiding his hands behind his back.

“It’s not a diary,” he said lamely.

Potter nodded, but he had a mischievous smile on his face.

“You want a drink?” he asked, turning around and heading back into the living room. Draco blinked and tried to find his voice again.

“Um, no thank you. You were obviously getting ready for bed. I won’t disturb you any longer,” he said hastily.

“You sure? It might be a great opportunity,” Potter grinned. Draco gave him a quizzical look.

“What?”

“I don’t know,” Potter shrugged, “after two Firewhiskeys you might get the chance to run your hands through my incredibly infuriating, magnificent head of hair.” Potter tried to keep a straight face, but couldn’t suppress a snicker. “I might even let you touch my strong and marvellous jawline.”

Never had Draco wished more the ground would open and swallow him up.

“You read it,” he said through gritted teeth. “You had no right.”

“True,” Potter replied, nonchalant. “I’d let you read mine in return, but I don’t keep a diary.” He stepped closer to Draco, studying his face intently.

“You look rather cute when you’re flushed.”

Draco made a sound that was something between a weird gurgle and a high-pitched squeak. Whatever it was, it was highly embarrassing.

Potter chuckled, coming to a halt right in front of Draco.

“I mean, I could just show you what kind of fantasies I’d be writing in that diary,” he said in a low whisper.

Draco gulped, not quite grasping what Potter was saying.

“Like what?” he breathed.

“Hmmm.” Potter’s eyes flickered down to Draco’s lips. “Like how I want to grab you right now and kiss you until you can’t breathe.”

Draco’s mouth opened involuntarily. Breathing was already hard with Potter standing so close to him.

“And then,” Potter continued, deliberately breathing on Draco’s lips, “I’d want your hands on the most delicious and perfect arse you have ever seen in your life.”

Draco groaned loudly. This was just too much. But then again, Potter really seemed to be teasing him in a rather flirtatious way. Trying to conceal his nervousness, he raised his chin and fixed Potter with a glare.

“These better not just be empty promises,” Draco said haughtily.

“Oh, they’re not,” Potter smirked, his eyes gleaming as he started pouring their drinks.

8

Nobody understands Silvy :(

jk, he just likes to do that type of jokes kjsdglfd


Based in a real life conversation/activity I had in a art group. The AfterDeath family was just too perfect for this xD It was something like this:

Geno- A friend, Goth- Me (I drew Mint. My little nightmare), Shino/Sorell- Random people, Raven- Another friend and Silver- Another friend. He just loves Tumblr’s dark humour akjdnlks

I was supposed to finish this yesterday but… I had to study and then I got distracted watching Boku no Hero Academy x’D sorry!


Now credits!

Geno- @loverofpiggies 

Shino- @blue-kohina

Raven- @ask-the-gothfamily

Sorell- @ivywolf777 (This is my first time drawing him. I hope I didn’t messed it up x’d)

Goth/Stick Cat- @nekophy

Silver- Me

Imagine demon!Dean beating a guy up to death because he touched you and he got jealous.

“She’s pretty.” you said softly, trying to hold back the hint of bitterness and pain in your voice. Or jealousy for that matter. You couldn’t blame her, who knew with how many women Dean had been with ever since he became a demon.

“And probably his type. But it shouldn’t bother you now, should it chipmunk?” Crowley raised an eyebrow as the both of you didn’t take your eyes off of the demon playing darts as the blonde waitress gave him another drink with a rather flirtysmile might you say.

“Not now, not ever.” Crowley finally turned to look at you “You are not his girlfriend, (Y/n). Never been, yet you are bothered so much by this. I wonder why.”

You scoffed, turning to glare at him “As if you don’t know. Dean is probably the most oblivious man in the world but you never were Crowley. Why would you use this stupid nickname on me if you didn’t?”

“Guilty.” he flashed you a smile, downing his drink “But he’s no longer the man that you remember, love.”

“Right, so that’s why you wanted me here?” you scoffed “And don’t you dare deny it to me Crowley. You didn’t even blink in surprise when you saw me. You’re letting yourself get caught and sooner or later Sam will come walking in as well.”

“I must admit- the only thing that did surprise me was the fact that moose didn’t come in right after you.” he shrugged “But probably- it’s time to finally put him on track-” he looked at Dean “And make him realize how little he is leaving for just how much.”

“Hell? Oh wow, yes Crowley that really is everyone’s dream kingdom.”

“It is one, nonetheless.” he winked at you and before you could say a thing he had vanished right in front of your eyes. You scoffed at him but didn’t have the chance to question him when you turned your head and your eyes locked with his green ones. And just like always they made your heart skip a beat. Because maybe you were always friends but your love for him was undying.

You held your breath as he set his glass down and raised an eyebrow at you. He said nothing to the rest of them men he was playing with and casually strode towards you “(Y/n)” his voice was as rough but a lot more cold “Fancy seeing you here.” and the smirk on his face made it all worse.

“Is it?” you asked in a low voice and his smile dropped.

“What do you want here?” he asked serious.

“Oh so Crowley didn’t tell you?” you scoffed a laugh “He knew I was on your tracks with Sam, he should be here very soon. I managed to get a lead and thought if I could convince you to come back without him having to hurt himself but… I don’t think there is a point in trying.”

“I told you to stay away.” he shrugged casually, stuffing his hands in his pockets “Not my fault you don’t listen.

“You told Sam to let you go, not me. And I thought there was a chance here but- I was wrong obviously. I’m curious how you didn’t see this coming, or even more that Crowley didn’t speak to you about his plans. Whatever those may be. What happened? Don’t you guys tell everything? Oh no, don’t Dean, secrets are bad, they ruin relationships. We know it better than anyone.” you went from sarcastic to completely serious.

He scoffed, putting on a smirk on his face and rolling his eyes “Don’t care what his game is, I am not his toy. I have my own plans and I’m glad that… he made it easier for me.” he looked

“What do you mean?” you frowned when you noticed the predatory smile on his face “Made it easier by letting me find you?”

“I’ll let you know soon, now follow me and let’s out of here. You’re drawing too much fucking attention with those shorts.” he took hold of your arm, dragging you up as he glared at a few men behind you that had been sneaking looks at you.

“Like hell.” you hissed, snatching your arm from his “Why does it even matter to you? Especially now, I am nothing to you. So what if they look? I am free, Dean, hell they can even touch as much as they want to.” you said angrily.

His eyes darkened as he looked “Let’s go. Now.” he said in a low almost growl but you weren’t having any of it.

“Why?” you scoffed a laugh “So that you can kill me now? Or so that she doesn’t see us talking?” you motioned with your head to the blonde that already had her eyes on you. You tried so hard not to show how much this was hurting you.

“She has nothing to do with this. Come on.” he tugged, holding your hand again.

“Right, of course she doesn’t.” you scoffed “With how many have you been exactly all these months?”

“You’d want to know, wouldn’t you?” a satisfied smirk was on his face.

You didn’t have the chance to speak though because another voice spoke up “Is everything alright?” it was a guy you had seen checking you out ever since you came in.

“Yes, everything’s fine actually. My friend here was just leaving.” you gave Dean a look “How about you buy me a drink and we can talk?” you gave him a smile that made his grin widen.

“Yes, of course sweet cheeks.” he wrapped an arm around your waist.

“You’re gonna lose that hand buddy.” Dean growled, and you both stopped before you could leave.

“Excuse me?” he raised an eyebrow “Did you just threaten me?”

“No, I was giving you a friendly warning.” Dean shrugged with a casual smile.

“Yeah, right.” he scoffed, arm tightening on your waist just to mock the demon and for a second you got scared when Dean’s smile completely fell.

“But you obviously don’t listen very well.” he scoffed and before you could realize it he had grabbed the man by the collarof his shirt and pinned him against a pillar.

“And now- you get to see what I mean when I say that you shouldn’t have done that.” and even if you expected it you jumped when he threw a powerful punch at the man. And the another, and another and another without letting him do a single move. You were almost scared for his life when you saw the mark on Dean’s arm burn that angry red as he kept hitting the guy, blood covering his fist and groans and moans of pain filling the bar along with hushed whispers from other customers.

“Fucking asshole, think you could ever have a piece of that?” he scoffed a laugh, punching more “In your dreams!” another punch “She’s too pure and perfect for a bloody jackass like you. You would never stand a fucking chance.” he growled, punching him more.

You could barely make out any of the things he said after that as the sounds were too much to handle. People shouting, some cheering and encouraging him to keep going. And then you heard her.

“Dean, stop!” she screamed but he didn’t listen to her, as he kept punching with groans himself “Stop! You’re gonna kill him!” she screamed but it didn’t seem to have a single effect on him at the moment.

“Would serve him fucking right.” Dean growled, grabbing his bloody face and making the guy look at you “Do you see that? Do you see her?” he said through gritted teeth “She’s great isn’t she? And you’d really want a piece of her tonight but that would be it. You had some gruesome thoughts for her after that though, didn’t you?” he turned his head to look at Dean “Didn’t you?” he roared and he gave him a weak nod.

“Just like I thought.” Dean smirked “For the first, I’d really just break your hand and maybe face. But for this-” he looked at him darkly and your breath got caught in your throat. If he killed him right there in front of so many people he’d draw all the wrong attention.

“Dean!” you screamed “No, no don’t!” you exclaimed and as surprising as it was for everyone, it caught his attention and he glanced at you over your shoulder. You looked at him with wide eyes, shaking your head in fear.

“Seems like your lucky day, bastard.” he growled “You’re very damn lucky that she can have this effect on me because trust me your death… it would have not been easy. And she would never give you a single glance because you know why?” he smirked in an almost sinister way “Oh you know why.” he laughed, pushing him to the side and he fell on the floor. He looked down at him for a second, smirking before with a roll of his eyes he turned around and looked at the rest of the customers.

He didn’t say a think, he only scoffed at them and walked towards you.

“D” you found yourself whispering as you stared at him with wide eyes “You would have-”

“I should have.” he growled “Hope you fucking understand I am not playing games here, (Y/n).” he grabbed your jaw with one hand and your heart leapt to your throat when he brought his face closer to yours, your lips only an inch away. You knew what he wanted to do but he stopped himself, looking from your lips up to your eyes. He smiled slightly, running his thumb over your lower lip.

“You are mine, and I’ll make sure everybody knows it from now on.” he said in a low rough voice and you frowned. You knew in what way he meant it, you were no fool with what he had almost done but it still confused you. You were always friends and on top of that even if he didn’t care at the moment as a demon… what really held him back from forcing a kiss out of you? IT felt as if for a moment you saw your own Dean flash through his eyes.

“Only. Mine.” he said in a husky voice in your ear and you felt shivers run down your spine when his teeth grazed over it “I’ll wait in the car.” he added and let go of you, almost leaving you to try to recover from the shock.

But you only had another one coming once he’d left and the waitress spoke to you “You are (Y/n)?”

“Why-” your voice was hoarse as you looked at her “You know me?” and the look on her face only said yes, making you realize there was only person that could have spoken about you to her.

Dean. But the real question was why?

(Okay, so I’m starting a little “series” thing. I’ve got ideas for all of the Potter-Malfoy kids and I’ll be releasing drawings and headcanons of them. I hope you enjoy!!)

The first of the Potter-Malfoy kids I’d like to introduce you to are Anita and Lyra, the oldest. 

headcanons: 

general: 

  • I imagine there’s lots of muggle-born kids who are given up because of their parent’s thinking their demonic or whatever 
  • + there’s no way any magical government would let them just grow up in foster homes bc they may give off bursts of magic which is multiple kinds of dangerous
  • + since there’s not a humongous wizard population, there’s the possibility that there’s a huge international wizard foster home/orphanage. 
  • I imagine it’s quite multicultural and if a child ends us spending most of their childhood there, it is made sure that they keep their language and culture intact.
  • there are of course kids of other blood statuses, but it’s probably about 75% muggle-born
  • So, on another note: Harry and Draco get married fairly early (about 2000, when their both 19.) 
  • because there’s a huge rush to do things after the war. 
  • everyone who was caught up in it have this urgency in their lives after feeling like they could lose everything in a blink of an eye. 
  • So all these kids go into their adult lives doing things in a rush. they go after their jobs, move back to be near their families, travel, get married etc.
  • Harry and Draco move back to Grimould place bc, even though Harry has shit memories there, he feels the need to continue making it a place full of love. Something it wasn’t when sirius was there. 
  • + since it has (yet again) gone into a bit of disrepair Draco slaps on an apron and cleans the entire fucking house with the help of Molly (bc what are household spells ??? How do those ???)
  • also when Molly gets over Draco’s past and gets to know him she fucking lovES him
  • So Draco + Harry have only been married for a year when they decide they want kids.
  • the big house was so quiet and they both want to be parents so badly, to be the fathers they never had.
  • so they travel out to this international foster home and decide they want a new born child to be their first, so that they can get the “whole experience”. They go through all the background checks and procedures to make sure they’re fit parents.
  • from there on it’s a waiting game
  • they’re notified in December of 2001 that the home has acquired two children from a woman who had given birth days ago + Draco and Harry immediately drop everything to rush down there

Anita + Lyra specific:

  • They’re twin muggle born girls from Morroco and they’re beautiful
  • Draco and Harry fell in love with them instantly and adopt them within the week
  • Draco is absolutely adamant about naming all their kids after constellations as the Black family tradition goes. Thus, Lyra (Narcissa) and Anita (Lily) are decided on.
  • Harry’s totally fine with and suggests that they just take the Malfoy name but Draco’s just like ??? are you insane ? your famous and my family’s nearly extinct ? They’ll have both our names and can decide if they want to go by one or the other (or both) ??
  • They’re identical and after having an extremely hard time telling them apart, Draco goes and buys these head bands, one with flowers and one with stars. Anita is given the flowers and Lyra the stars
  • They’re just bursting with magic from day one. So much so that Draco + Harry are constantly cleaning up things they’ve shattered. But they love it, really.
  • Draco is a stay at home dad bc he can’t stand working at the ministry for another second
  • they try their best to keep their culture with them and buy tons of muggle books to learn Arabic and teach the girls Arabic
  • Harry is “bābā” and Draco is “daddy” 
  • Anita is very soft and says ‘OH!’ (which turns into damn! as she gets older) every time anything is dropped or she accidentally breaks something. She insists on helping cleaning or cooking. She’s a bit shy and smiles with her nose crinkled. She’s incredibly smart but can get herself into mischief and is a bit too good at lying for Harry’s comfort
  • Lyra is a bit more reckless. She’s always laughing and snarking and getting into trouble. But she wears her heart on her sleeve and is so easy to read. she’s also a bit of a whirlwind of emotions. She empathizes so hard with everyone around her that it’s hard for her not to get frustrated 
  • Lucius - who already had an incredibly hard time warming up to the whole Harry and Draco idea in the first time - absolutely flips out when he hears that they’ve adopted muggleborns 
  • + Draco is just not fucking having it though. 
  • and in a heated argument tells Lucius that he’d chose “his girls” over his “shite father” any day and that if Lucius he has a problem with his granddaughters than he has no business coming around Draco’s family ever again because they will not stand that kind of prejudice anymore
  • therefore, the only of his friend’s kids he can allow around L + A is are Blaise’s. (bc Blaise’s mother was nOT here for Voldemort in the first place and neither really was Blasie when push came to shove. ive got about a billion head canons about Blaise’s mum. Someone ask me some day )
  • Narcissa on the other hand is thrilled when Draco tells her she’s a grandmother. She adores them and spoils them with Andromeda. (bc after the war Narcissa stopped giving two flying fucks about the constricted “perfect pureblood” mess she grew up in and for once in her life is just her god damn self, fuck everyone else.)
  • She eventually brings Lucius around. And though, Draco still holds bitterness about the whole situation, he gets past it after Lucius does.
  • Lucius also comes to adore the girls and continues to try to buy them things that are waaay too expensive and grand + Draco is just like “no no no no no. you’re not giving 3 year olds two of the latest broom models. Those are for full grown professional quidditch players for Merlin’s sake!” 
  • Draco is wonderful parent but is very helicopter-esque about the kids getting hurt or doing anything remotely dangerous 
  • while Harry likes to do the whole “living room wrestling” and “foot races through the mud” sort of thing.
  • They eventually create a sort of back yard for the kids at Grimould (sort of like the suitcase world Newt had but obviously smaller) for the kids to race around on their (toddler sized) broom sticks
  • They’re both Slytherins and like a scarier more lowkey Fred and George
  • Mcgonagall has a mini heart attack when she see’s their names on the list of first years (bc what thE FUCK THOSE TWO ARE MARRIED WITH chILDREN)
  • they both decide to go with “Potter-Malfoy” in whole half bc they love people’s expressions when hearing it but on their quidditch jerseys Anita has Potter and Lyra has Malfoy. Anita is a beater and Lyra is a keeper
My “Boys” by Charli XCX video
  • Oscar Isaac playing peekaboo with his baby. He has his Poe Dameron hairstyle and just the right stubble.
  • John Boyega playing with TOO MANY KITTENS at once. TOO MANY. He laughs, delighted and overwhelmed, at the tickle of their tiny toebeans.
  • Diego Luna with sweaterpaws in a big cableknit cowl-neck, peeking out at me with sparkling eyes.
    • Alternately: Diego Luna and Gael Garcia Bernal lovingly fixing each other’s hair and collars and glasses.
  • Harry Styles bashfully holding out a bunch of heart-shaped balloons. He’s wearing a floral suit.
  • Riz Ahmed floating past in a crystal-blue pool, laying atop a swan-shaped floatie. He tilts his sunglasses down to wink.
  • Harrison Ford looking vaguely maybe-disapproving but being a good sport about it.
  • George Shelley building a blanket fort for two. He wears a blanket cape.
  • Mahershala Ali having a tea party with gilded bone china teacups covered in fuchsia roses. The other guests are mostly teddy bears.
  • Andy Samberg making a giant banana split; he’s wearing a cardigan and his glasses, and he had to roll up the sleeves to his elbows.
  • Aziz Ansari playing with a Dog That Looks Like Tom Haverford, rip the cutest blog concept.
  • Tom Holland doing breathtaking fouettes and probably a pas de basque combo.
    • Harry Shum Jr. can come, too.
  • Richard Ayoade cleaning his glasses. He’s in a beautiful library. He shushes the camera.
  • Adam Scott eating a calzone, the cheese stretching entirely too long to be realistic. He laughs at himself.
  • John Cho riding a white horse like in Selfie, but in less of a shirt.  Maybe in a light rain.
  • Ben Schwartz and Joe Keery brushing their teeth side-by-side.
  • Alfie Enoch frosting a giant pink cake with a smudge of flour on his perfect cheekbone.
  • Terry Crews painting a still life of flowers and various fruits.
  • Dev Patel and Andrew Garfield having a pillow fight in ridiculously-patterned flannel pajama pants and white undershirts. They lightly pluck stray feathers from each other’s shoulders.
  • Armie Hammer walking a moderately sized army of dachsunds in raincoats. He has a magenta umbrella.
  • Louis Tomlinson, clean-shaven, wearing suspenders. Freddie is dressed to match.
  • Donnie Yen polishing an apple on his shirt and taking a cheery bite. Or maybe a peach, and then then he wipes his mouth on his wrist.
  • Luke Pasqualino carving an terrible, terrible, but very cute jack-o’lantern. He’s too proud of it.
  • Tamal Ray eating a huge sandwich. Probably the number two best sandwich of his life, when they fried the pork with rosemary. I want to see his joy.
  • Nick Offerman reading “Make Way for Ducklings.” TO DUCKLINGS.
    • Alternately: Madeline. He’s probably wearing a tool belt.
  • Andre Braugher jumping on a trampoline
Welcome Home

Request: “Hi! I love your stories so much! I don’t know if you do these but is there anyway you can do a story with Bill Skarsgard and the reader having their first child. Like them finding out their having a baby and watching the pregnancy develop and finally they get to meet the baby when it’s born?”

Pairing: Bill Skarsgard x Reader

Warnings: None

A/N: YASS I finally finished with all of the 20+ requests I had in my inbox, it took a week but that’s an ACHIEVEMENT I’M SO PROUD of myself😂😎

You and Bill had been together for 4 years before he finally decided to pop the question. You, your friends, and your family were very happy for you. They all loved Bill and since he made you happy they were happy. Six months after Bill proposed you both got married in front of all your closest family members and friends. It was an amazing wedding and you looked very beautiful with your white big wedding dress.

Bill thought you looked like a princess straight out of a fairytale. He even cried as you walked down the aisle with your father on your right side. Bill couldn’t contain his happiness and excitement, he was very emotional. After 4 years he finally was going to marry you. The love of his life, his entire world and many other more beautiful things. 

Once the wedding was over you went to Paris for your honeymoon where you both made love to each other and conceived your first child. A couple of weeks passed and you both were finally back at home in your beautiful mansion. You had been feeling nauseous and couldn’t keep your food in your stomach.

Worried, Bill went to the doctor with you where you both received the news that you were expecting a baby! Bill obviously not being able to contain his excitement spun you around in front of the doctor. The doctor being fan of both of you thought it was very cute and considered you a very lucky women to have such a supportive and loving husband. 

Once you got home Bill started ordering baby furniture and clothes. You giggled at how you had only been a couple of weeks pregnant. You still had 9 more months to go until the baby arrived. Bill just shook his head and kissed you only replying, “It is never too early to start preparing.”

After that Bill called all of his friends and family telling them about the amazing news. He was literally jumping and spinning around the house as he spoke on the phone this man was more then excited.

Time had passed and you were now 8 months pregnant. You had been surprised with a baby shower that had been planned by you and Bill’s family members and friends. You all spent an amazing time and were given A LOT of gifts enough to last you all until the baby went to school.

A little bit more time passed and finally you were 9 months pregnant. The journey had been amazing. Bill was an amazing husband he was always caring for you whether it was tying your shoes, picking up something you dropped or satisfying your cravings he was there to make sure you were happy. 

“There’s my beautiful wife.” Bill smiled as he walked up to you and kissed your lips.

“Hey handsome your son is abusing his mom, he keeps kicking me.” You frowned.

“Little one you better stop kicking your mommy, she’s made a lovely home for you these past 9 months the least you can do is not kick her.” Bill said as he pressed his ear onto your stomach and spoke to your son.

Soon after Bill finished speaking the kicking stopped causing Bill to smile.

“Holy shit you’re amazing how on earth?” You asked in disbelief.

“It’s official I’m the baby whisperer.” Bill said bowing causing you to giggle.

All of a sudden you felt a warm liquid run down your leg your eyes widened to the size of saucers causing Bill to become worried.

“Y/N what’s wrong are you okay?” He asked.

“Bill my water broke the baby is coming.” You smiled. Bill kissed you passionately before helping you out of the chair.

“Alright I have the bag and I’ve got you let’s go to the hospital and have us a baby.” 

“We’re having a baby Bill he’s finally here.” 


After a couple of hours dealing with contractions and pushing out your baby. You had finally given birth. Bill had been there for you the whole time from the moment the doctors injected the epidural into up until now that he sat next to you as he carried your son (S/N= Son’s name).

“Welcome to the world S/N your mommy and I are very happy that you’re here. She’s asleep right now but once she wakes up she will also be very happy to see you.” Bill whispered to your son as he held his father’s finger with his tiny hand.

“We’re all going to be very happy together and maybe once a couple of months pass you could eventually see yourself becoming a big brother.” Bill cooed.

“Don’t get your hopes up mister after what I just went through we’re waiting a year until that happens.” You said drowsily as you woke up.

Bill chuckled a placed a kiss on your forehead.

“Is that?-”

“Yes honey meet S/N he’s been waiting to meet you.” Bill smiled as he handed you your son.

“He is so precious just look at him, look at what we made.” You cooed as a couple of tears slid down your face.

“He really is, we made something absolutely beautiful. Thank you so much Y/N you have made me the happiest man on this earth. I love you and S/N so much and I will always be there for you both.” Bill said as he held your hand.

“Bill that’s so sweet, I love you too baby and you as well have made me and happiest and luckiest woman on this earth.” 

Bill crashed your lips together and they moved in perfect sync. A couple of doctors that passed by outside your hospital room smiled to themselves. They were more then happy to see a beautiful couple starting their new life together. 

4

Aang: So, where do we go?
Katara: We're getting you to the North Pole.
Sokka: Yeah, we've lost too much time as it is.
Aang: Don't you want to see your father?
Sokka: Of course we do, Aang.

summersaltturn  asked:

"Have anyone told you you have the most intimidating nostrils I've ever seen?"

“Yeah, I won an award, junior year,” Derek answers, frowning at his new IKEA (bought and built, all in a soft Henley sweater; Stiles knows, he supervised) book-shelf, like he hasn’t just finished a seven hundred page tome on Egyptian artefacts. A seven hundred page tome on Egyptian artefacts alone.

Derek Hale: epic nerd and assembler of easy-to-build IKEA products. Of course, Stiles thinks, cursing his stupid Professor and DIY kinks. Why not? The worst part is, he doesn’t even think those kinks are sexual. It’s just….a thing. That he has. A Derek thing. The Butterflies That Live In His Stomach were trying so desperately to move on with their lives, too. They’d shopped around. Hired a real-estate agent. They were ready, goddammit!  

Derek settles on a book - Stiles is pretty sure it also has the word ‘artefacts’ in the title - and sighs, all feigned nostalgia, and glances over his shoulder. “It was a golden nose, too. Across the bottom it said,” he pauses, grinning, “Stiles Stilinski needs to get a life.”

Stiles opens his mouth, clutches his chest, because rude much? Is it his fault Derek’s nostrils belong in some kind of anatomy museum? Is it his fault his Saturday nights are spent playing video games in his underwear, when his week days are spent chasing down monsters and researching things like how Scott and Erica managed to contract chicken pox when stabbing them does, like, nothing? (Except get Erica excited because she’s a beautiful, terrifying weirdo.) The moment he tries to tell Derek this, however, a copy of - is that Pride and Prejudice? - is thrown at his head. 

Stiles doesn’t know if he’s more offended when Derek rolls his eyes when it misses him, or the concerned look that crosses his face when the book sails past him and lands in an empty pizza box, like Derek is worried if it’s okay or not. 

And to think, Stiles was going to screw up his courage and finally invite Derek to see a movie this weekend. In an actual theatre. Where people go to be normal. Well, the laugh is on Derek because Stiles is going to buy the big popcorn and he’s going to enjoy it all on his own. 

Yeah, that’ll show him. 

~

“Has anyone ever told you your eyebrows could star in a disturbing kid’s movie about caterpillars?” 

Stiles is drunk. No, he’s wasted. Hammered. Loaded. Completely and utterly shit faced. Which is probably why instead of ending up on his ass on the floor, Derek just pinches the bridge of his nose, tips his head against the back of the couch and says, “what.” Not even a hint of inflection.

This dude, Stiles thinks, and then laughs because, ohmygod, Derek is this dude now. Not that dude or whoa, what are you doing crawling through my window, dude? but this dude. And that’s kind of beautifully heart warming, in its own way. 

Really, Stiles should write into Hallmark. It could be a trilogy. A Gay Trilogy ™. Bisexuals on ice. Except, without the ice because Stiles doesn’t know how to skate. Can Derek skate? Stiles totally bets Derek can skate.   

Speaking of Derek, he’s got this little crinkle on his forehead now, right between his eyebrows, and man, they really are very nice eyebrows. Animated but nice. A little dramatic but nice. Murderous but nice.

“What,” Derek says again, looking more confused than annoyed by the second. Stiles really wants to kiss him.

Instead, he stares. Stares and stares and stares.

Shit.

Slapping a hand over his mouth, he begins laughing uncontrollably and before he knows it, he’s clutching his sides and has his face pressed against Derek’s chest, because the hilarity is killing him. 

Because this is them now. Drinking peach-snaps at Derek’s loft, on a couch filled with throw pillows. Throw pillows. One is even soft and pink and frilly and another has a picture of the pack on it. Granted, no one is looking at the camera but Derek, Boyd and Kira and Derek is not so much looking at the camera as yelling at Stiles (holding the camera) for eating his secret stash of cookies, but it’s nice. It’s a nice picture. There is a plain black pillow too, of course. Somewhere. Stiles might be sitting on it, actually. He figures one can only expect so much when it comes to sour-wolves but Erica glued little cat ears on it last week and Derek said nothing. Fuck, he’d even smiled.

It says a lot about what a secret softie Derek is when it comes to vulnerable, drunk-ass people, because he doesn’t push Stiles away; just lets him laugh and laugh until he passes out, drooling on his chest. 

When Stiles wakes up, Derek’s sweater is pretty soaked through but he hasn’t moved an inch. He does, however, tell Stiles he snores like a deranged goose and that he owes him a pastry later.

He doesn’t even ask for a specific kind, Stiles chastises in his head, falling back to sleep. He’s in love with a pastry idiot. 

~

“Do you know when you smile, you brighten up the whole damn room?”

The question clearly catches Derek off guard because he falls head first…into a duck pond. 

Stiles’ first reaction is to jump in after him - he hates to admit it, but he gets a little nervous around water when Derek is with him; there have been several incidents where he’s unconsciously grabbed Derek’s hand in order to drag him away from pools and, one time, a very large puddle - but when Derek emerges, wearing his someone is about to die face, Stiles can’t be held accountable for the way he falls to the ground because, yup, that’s a tiny, outraged duckling perched on top of Derek’s head.   

“Oh my god,” he yells, rolling onto his back and kicking his legs in the air. He feels like a kid, grabbing his stomach, water practically pouring from his eyes. This was, quite possibly, the best day of his life.

Normally, Derek would be yelling threats - several, in fact, some in Spanish because he’s a show off - but he just stands there….in the middle of a fucking pond. The duckling is still sitting on his head, like he or she plans to set up home there and it’s so adorable Stiles thinks he actually coos out loud.

Still, Derek still doesn’t say anything. Not even when Stiles coos again, very, very deliberately. (And Scott said his middle name could never be Danger, pffft.) Stiles can’t actually guess what Derek is going to do but he doesn’t care. He looks a strange cross between wanting to murder someone - namely, Stiles - and a little kid who was told they couldn’t get a puppy only to get one on Christmas day anyway. 

Mostly, he just looks lost. And wet. Very, very wet. Somewhere out there, someone is playing It’s Raining Men and Stiles wants nothing more than to share this glorious moment with them. He’s just in the process of taking out his phone to at least snap a photo to send to the pack when - 

“Did you mean it?” Derek asks, and man, those water droplets just keep on running, don’t they. 

Stiles grins. “Did I mean for you to fall into a pond and adopt a new feathered friend? No but I think we can all agree-” 

Stiles.” 

Derek growls and it would be effective - at least in getting Stiles to help him out of the pond - if it wasn’t for the fact his ears were turning a little pink. A lot pink, actually and - 

Oh.

Sitting up, Stiles drags his butt over to the edge of the pond.

“Yeah,” he says. “I meant it. I mean, smiles can’t literally light up rooms, I know that, but when you smile it’s like…” He sighs and flaps his arms, suddenly nervous, hitting Derek in the process. The duckling practically glares at him and Stiles briefly wonders if he has competition here. 

Right. Better make this good then. He clears his throat. 

“It’s like, everything just makes sense for a little bit, you know? I look at you and it’s not that smiling is rare for you, at least not anymore, but it’s still pretty thrilling to see it and when you do I’m like, that’s some quality shit right there but then I get confused because it’s like, do I wanna punch it? Kiss it? Pet it? Who knows. Usually it depends on what you’re wearing.” 

Derek blinks and Stiles groans because, yeah, he just said that out loud. In real time. To Mr McGrumpy himself. Who is currently not reacting.

Great.

“Uh, I mean,” he attempts to correct himself but it’s too late. Derek is already slowly pulling him in and pressing his lips to his in what is the single most innocent, chaste kiss of Stiles’ life - because, you know, duckling and head movements - but somehow, it still manages to be perfect. 

“Nice,” Stiles whispers, after, waggling his eyebrows.

Derek snorts and kisses him again.

~

“Turn it off,” Derek whines, nuzzling further into Stiles’ neck. “This is why I leave my phone in the kitchen. Like we discussed.

Stiles tries to swat him, ends up kissing his temple. Sue him, he’s tired. “Says the person who can afford to leave their phone in the kitchen. We don’t all have supernatural hearing, asshole.”

Derek whines again. “You also have the worst taste in ringtones.”

Stiles gasps, suddenly sitting up. Well, he tries to. When your boyfriend is made of muscle and is half lying on top of you, it makes moving a lot more difficult. Not that Stiles is really complaining. Much. “I’ll have you know Bushes of Love is a Star Wars parody classic.”    

Derek rolls his eyes, Stiles can feel it, says, “just answer it, sweetums.” 

“Ugh,” Stiles grimaces, “I already told you I’m sorry for the pet-name thing. It was an accident!”

“Calling me your ‘slutty buddy’ in front of your dad was meant as a pet name?”

“It sounded better in my head!”  

Derek groans and wraps an “exasperated” arm around Stiles’ waist. Oh. So. Exasperated. Stiles grins. “Answer. Your. Phone.” 

Stiles finds his phone on the fifth try.

He has fifteen missed calls, all from Erica. Texts too. Every single one is a link to some article online, followed by a string of heart and eggplant emojis.   

Young Love and the Ugly Duckling’,” Stiles reads, clicking on the link. “Uhhh, Derek?” He prods him. 

What.” 

There’s a picture of us in the online Beacon Gazette,” looking into each other’s eyes, like a pair of love sick fools, Stiles wants to add because, wow, is he really that obvious when he looks at Derek? To be fair though, Derek isn’t much better and he is the one with an angry bird on his head.

He prods Derek again and again until he finally gives in, makes him look at the phone. 

“Huh,” he says, blinking at it. “Fred looks pretty pissed that I’m kissing you.” His face breaks out in a smug grin and Stiles rolls his eyes. Hard. 

“You are aware Fred is a duckling, right?” 

“Yes.” Derek grins harder, showing all his teeth, although his cheeks do colour slightly when he catches Stiles’ eye. 

Stiles sighs, totally not fond. “They couldn’t have come up with a better title, though?” he asks, brandishing his phone. “The Ugly Ducking, really?” 

Yeah,” Derek says, frowning. “I mean, I wouldn’t go as far as to call you ugly.” He laughs and Stiles smacks him across the chest with a loud, “hey!”

They both turn back to look at the picture. 

“We look so stupid,” Stiles whispers, shaking his head and biting his thumb. We fit, he thinks. We look like we fit. 

Leaning in, Derek smiles at him. “We do,” he agrees, burying his face back into the warmth of Stiles’ neck, muttering something about home and content and stupid Star Wars parodies.

Stiles snaps a selfie, captions it goals, and sends it to Erica. 

anonymous asked:

What if Stiles and Derek's first kiss is post-nogitsune? Would he feel like a thief? Would he mourn the body that Derek never held? Would each brush of fingertips or kiss to his temple be a betrayal? They'd probably talk about the scars too. Derek would understand-- to an extent. But he grew up not without his history on his skin so he'll never understand how it feels to have that ripped away.

Their lips brush and Stiles turns away a second later, breaths shallow, hands twitching against the folds of Derek’s shirt. There’s warm breath on his cheek, the ghost of beard still so close and all Stiles can think is that he wants this. He wants this. And…

It’s wrong.

Those fingers, twitching against Derek’s shirt, smooth and uncalloused. The scar that used to live above his third knuckle just a burn-hot memory in his mind.

Everything still feels off in his body, out of balance, and he remembers the way Derek used to look at him. All tension and frustration in ways he couldn’t start to make sense of. And now Derek’s lips are in reach, a short turn away, and he’s murmuring out “Stiles…?” and all Stiles can think is…

“Do you want me?”

He can feel the stall in Derek’s thoughts like a physical reaction, and he wonders if there was a subtle tell or if… if he’d just felt it, inside, the confusion a flicker of chaos in Derek’s chest. Can he do that? Feel chaos? The Nogitsune drank it in and Stiles…

“Stiles,” Derek breathes again, a quirk of amusement in his tone. Thumbs smooth down his hips and Stiles fights the urge to rise into the contact. “Thought I’d just answered that question.”

And Stiles could leave it at that, asked and answered. Except…

There should be a scar on his hip, long and thin, from a fence he’d scaled once and dropped down five times faster. Derek should be feeling that right now, that piece of Stiles’ history, that stupid ten year old adventure laid out across his skin. But the skin’s smooth. Blank slate.

He shivers, gripping tighter into Derek’s shirt.

“No, I––” He can’t think of how to explain it. The thoughts are a choked feeling in his throat, a twist in his gut. Something like guilt and fear and he doesn’t even know what answer he wants when he leans back enough to find Derek’s eyes and say: “Since when? Did you… I mean, before…”

He’s not sure Derek knows what he means, but there’s a hint of flush under that dark beard suddenly, and Stiles gets a little bit lost in the contrast.

“Last summer.”

“Last––?” It pulls Stiles back, his eyes startling up. That was… most of a year, that was before…

A sick lurch sets him falling back out of Derek’s grip. Too-smooth fingers (uncalloused) slip too easy from Derek’s chest. His sneaker-covered feet might as well be walking over glass and he’s being dramatic except that he’s really not. Because if Derek wanted him last summer…

“That wasn’t me.” It sounds wrong as he says it, stupid, because… he was there that summer. He remembers every moment spent with Derek, researching the Alphas, searching for hints of Boyd and Erica. Charged smirks and snark and quiet moments that felt more comfortable than they should. He remembers the moments before summer too, when the thought of Derek made his heart pound and his body thrum in a way that could have only meant fear, except it hadn’t only been fear. He’d been scared of the Alpha too, and the hunters, and that coil of electric heat only sparked through his gut for Derek. He remembers that, like he remembers the scars that aren’t there anymore, and he can’t help running his too-soft fingertips over the smooth flesh of his knuckle as he breathes out, faint and lost, “…Was that me?”

There’s a too long pause while the question burns back into his throat, buzzing through his limbs like a current until he realizes he’s shaking from them. Was that him? Helping Derek track the Alpha pack? Helping Scott learn to control his wolf? Sitting by his mom’s hospital bed, watching her lose the long war to her illness, pieces of her flaking away like old scars, like a whole identity, like––

A warm hand closes over his, large and gentle, grounding.

“It was you,” Derek says, simply. Like there’s no question, like nothing’s changed. Like Stiles hasn’t changed. 

But that’s wrong. He’s not the same person he was before the Nogitsune, and he’s not talking in the experiences change you, huh kind of way. He’d had scars before. He’d had… a whole life written on his skin. And then he’d crawled out from inside his possessed body’s throat, spawned out like some alien parasite or… clone and––

“My body died, back there.” Four months past, and he still can’t wrap his head around it. That he’d watched himself bitten and impaled, spasm and cracking and shatter to dust.

The scarred body. His real body.

And he was left in… this.

Long fingers uncurl, stretching out slow. Thin, pale digits fitting strangely perfect between Derek’s, and Stiles can only wonder what it would have looked like before.

“…What if I’m not real?” He watches Derek’s fingers twitch, barely perceptible, tightening like they’re fighting to hold onto him. And Derek’s lost enough in his life, too much. It’s a dick move to say this, to take anything else away from him, but… “What if the guy you wanted last summer… what if he died inside the Nogitsune, and I’m just––”

No.”

The sureness of it has Stiles’ throat clenching. He tilts his head, challenging. Finds Derek’s eyes again.

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you.”

Which is just… it’s stupid how that makes Stiles’ heart jump. Flutter around like it’s fighting to leap the distance between them and plaster itself all up against Derek’s stupid, muscled, secretly sweet as hell chest.

Which… yeah, that’s nearly a gross enough visual to stomp his fondness boner in the bud. He sets his jaw.

“Did you know I used to have a scar on––”

“Your right hand? Just above the third knuckle, a burn.”

Stiles’ argument stalls out. He blinks, finger shifting to rub over the space, but Derek’s is already there, soothing the phantom mark over his skin.

“I… was eleven.” Because silence has never been safe for him. Because noise distracts from the too-easy pleasure rippling up his arm. “First time I tried cooking dinner for me and dad. Mac and cheese, it… didn’t go great.” He wets his lips. Looks away “Or… the other me did, I don’t––”

You did.” And Derek still sounds so damn sure. Stiles wants to believe him. He parts his lips, can’t. Because––

“Stiles, I’ve never had scars on my skin. I… can’t relate to what it’s like to lose them. But the things that have happened to me… they’re not any less real because I can’t see them. Every bullet, cut, punch I’ve taken…” He might sense the wince forming on Stiles’ face, and shakes his head, shrugging that off like it’s not important. But that’s an argument for another day. “Every scar life gave you… they’re still there. You’re still carrying them, inside you.” He flits his eyes down Stiles’ frame, then away, finger soothing over the ghost burn. “There are plenty no one would have ever seen anyway. But they made you. Who you are, and who you are…” He shakes his head, looks back to meet Stiles’ eyes squarely. “You recognized me when I was a teenager. That’s the same person who recognized me in the preserve.” Stiles feels his face heat because… even knowing Derek’s a werewolf now, he’d never put together that Derek would have heard his fangirl moment to Scott after Derek had walked away.

Before he can speak up, though, Derek’s going on. “You tracked me to Mexico. Faced down the Calaveras to save me. That’s the same person who stared down the Argents, drove a Jeep into a kanima, who hit an Alpha with a wooden baseball bat––”

“Two Alphas,” Stiles cuts in, because props, ok? “Two, that were…” His free hand mimes squishing, and Derek’s lips twitch.

“Two,” he agrees, and Stiles can’t not smile back. Just for a second –– fond, helpless –– then he’s ducking his head. Derek sighs, catches his chin. Guides it up until their gazes lock again.

“That was you,” he says, so firmly Stiles can’t help believing this time. “Was the man who clawed his way out of his own possession. Followed Scott’s howl back to the real world. And whatever happened to your body, whatever… magic gave you a new one, Stiles came out with it. Your scars are still there, just…” His fingers trail to Stiles’ chest, and something thumps out eagerly to meet them.

“Inside,” Stiles breathes, and the way Derek’s eyes warm makes him shiver with a proud ripple of pleasure.

“Inside,” Derek echoes. Runs a thumb light along Stiles’ lip. “You could have come out of the Nogitsune looking like anything. Wouldn’t change who you are.”

And damn, Stiles has fallen for a goddamn poet in a grumpy wolf’s body. …But then, Stiles is pretty sure he’d known that already.

His fingers go up, curl gently into Derek’s shirt.

“But… you like this body,” he prompts, and Derek gives an exasperated huff, pulling him in.

“I like this body,” he confirms, and it doesn’t feel wrong to hear that.

When Derek kisses him this time, Stiles doesn’t pull away.

Hi. In case you woke up today feeling empty and without direction, let me tell you this: God loves you. It sounds cliche, but He really does love you. He knows your innermost thoughts and dreams. He knows all your secrets. He is with you in everything you do. He created you, beloved; as artists cherish a special piece they poured out their heart for, our God treasures you.

And if you woke up today feeling useless, alone, fearful, or fed up, let me remind you that God’s will for you is good, pleasing, and perfect. He sees you and understands your thoughts. Even if the words describing His love for you sound cliche in your ears, He’ll remain faithful. Even when your work, your family, your school life, or your emotions are hemming in on you, you can hold on to Him and He’ll make sure to walk you through safely.

If you woke up today feeling bad, let me remind you, beloved, to look up to Jesus and believe. He’s got you today, and all the days coming.

Submit To Me - Dylan O’Brien

Author: @mf-despair-queen

Characters: Dylan O’Brien/Reader

Word Count: 15,061

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Public Teasing, Public Masturbation, Teasing in the car and in the bedroom, pleading, seduction, striping Dylan because he’s sexy as fuck, dry humping, thigh riding, hand jobs, face riding, handcuffs, blindfolds, 69 (aka oral male and female receiving), overstimulation, praising, orgasm denial, female riding male (regular and reverse cowgirl), whiny Dylan, mentions of dominant Dylan, A lot of submissive Dylan, BREATHY MOANS

Notes: I will make this short as I am writing this pool side from hell. I’m so sorry this took forever. I have no excuses. But hopefully it was worth it. I honestly don’t know if this is my best writing for what you guys wanted from this. I promise the next thing I write won’t take as long. 

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