otp: u dream of my d

8

make me choose
↳  @andyssambergs asked: jake and amy or dan and amy
“I guess this is what’s going to be like when our kids go to college, Sweetie. Yeah, dream the fuck on, Dan.

theproturkey  asked:

What's your otp or what ship are currently craving a fic for (no smutty smut)

Originally posted by or-4

THIS QUESTION. I’VE BEEN WAITING MY WHOLE LIFE FOR THIS MOMENT

if it’s no smut, nowdays Im thirsty for honeymustard fic! X”D oh- and those rare-fic-ship like afterdeath, errorink- or maybe even nightmarecross ;7;

Oh well- just go under the cut for the full list x”D

BEWARE THE POWER OF MULTI-SHIPPER

Keep reading

breadedsinner  asked:

31 for Beddy and Seb, please

“You know,” Isabela says one day over dinner, “I can officiate weddings.”

She drops this knowledge rather casually. It’s been three months since Kirkwall, and Sebastian had mentioned to her offhandedly once that he and Bedwyr had talked about getting married. But that had become a dream, almost. He’d buried it like a coffin; it went into a grave with all his other little Kirkwall dreams. Of sharing Bedwyr’s bed, and his last name, and sitting in their garden on sunny days, and cooking for him, and Bedwyr reading to him. Sebastian gave them all their last rites the same night they’d fled the city.

“You’re serious? You really could… you would do that?” Bedwyr leans over the table they were eating at. They weren’t on the ship, currently. They were docked at a port in Dairsmuid, taking a chance to stretch their legs, restock, catch up on any news out of Kirkwall or Orlais they could get.

“We could even just do it on a particularly watery shore, if you want to get it over with, like, tomorrow.” She pauses to lick her fingers clean. “Or, I could find someone more officially… official, if that makes it easier for you.”

Sebastian gives it some thought, then says, “It doesn’t matter. It’d eventually be challenged anyway.”

Bedwyr deflates a bit at that and pokes at his food. “So do you… not want to…”

“Uh, no, we’re getting married,” Sebastian steals a potato off of Bedwyr’s plate with his fork. “We’re getting married. We can do it tomorrow. Maker, I don’t care, we could do it tonight.”

Isabela laughs. “I am way too drunk for that,” she says, and stands up. “Tomorrow, then. We’ll find you some rings. Or some pretty rocks, or something. I’ll be right back, I need more wine.”

Bedwyr turns towards Sebastian. “You mean that? you want to?”

“Absolutely,” Sebastian took one of Bedwyr’s hands up with both of his, and kissed his knuckles. “Please, Hawke. I’m already yours. I want to do this. I want you to be…” 

He stops, suddenly self conscious about it all. He’s digging up a grave. But maybe those dreams weren’t as dead as he’d assumed.

Bedwyr laughs and moves his hands to cup Sebastian’s face. He kisses him and it tastes and feels so, so sweet, Sebastian could just about die. “I’m yours, in every way you’ll have me. Maker, Sebastian, I am yours.”