ilyasvieltrevelyanshepard  asked:

For the Dialogue Prompts!!! Dialogue - 14: “You’ve gotta stop doing that.”“What?”“Saying things that make me want to kiss you.” for Reyder? (•‾⌣‾•)و ̑̑♡

I’m so sorry this took so long! I couldn’t figure out what to write for this prompt, and it just hit me tonight.  This is an excerpt from an upcoming f!redyer AU I’m working on. I hope you like it.

@blacksheep33512 you might want to read this… for science. ;)

“Reyes Vidal,” Sara drawled, removing that ridiculous bowler hat she was so fond of. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Reyes rolled his eyes as she climbed onto the stool beside him. She knew damn well that Tartarus was his favorite bar in the port. He took a long pull on his whiskey before he inclined his head to her.

“Pathfinder,” he said.

She frowned. “I told you not to call me that.”

He shrugged, focusing on his drink. “Then you might want to consider removing that patch.” He shot a glance at the embroidered logo on the left lapel of her leather mistcoat.

Her eyes dropped to the bar and her voice went quiet. “I can’t do that.”

Reyes suppressed a sigh; she’d shut down on him the last time he’d brought up the Pathfinder symbol. He’d hoped to get more from her this time, but the woman seemed determined to keep her secrets. Maybe that was what he found so fascinating about her. He watched her surreptitiously from behind his glass, noting the pained expression in her bright blue-green eyes.

“You wanted to talk to me?” He asked, changing the subject from whatever haunted her thoughts.

She nodded, and waved to the bartender. She ordered a beer, and didn’t bother to get a glass; she drank it straight from the bottle. Reyes arched an eyebrow at her. First whiskey and now this? It might be more than just her secrets that had caught his attention.

She let out a satisfied sigh after her first chug of the ale and leaned in closer to him. “Have anywhere a bit more… private?”

Reyes let a lazy grin claim his face. “Why, Ryder,” he said. “I didn’t realize you were interested.”

She blushed, but didn’t look away from him. “Oh, I’m interested,” she said. She let out a small smirk of her own. “In learning more about Kadara Port.”

Reyes groaned, but nodded his head toward the stairs. “Follow me.” Ryder fumbled through her over-sized coat to pay the bartender, but Reyes stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Allow me,” he said. He caught Kian’s eye and nodded his head at Ryder. The bartender nodded, and then Reyes led the woman up the stairs to the private room he rented.

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anonymous asked:

bakudeku 93!!!

93: “I tried, but I just can’t stay away from you anymore.”

Tiny drops of water plopped to the floor as Midoriya bristled a small towel through the ends of his hair. He hummed in satisfaction, feeling the familiar and pleasant daze that came from a nice, long bath. As he walked back to his room in the dorms, he shook his head one last time, and let the towel drape over his shoulders. A smile appeared on his face, as if congratulating himself for a job well done.

His smile disappeared when he felt something wrap tightly around his wrist, pulling him into the nearest dorm room.

Midoriya gasped as his back slammed against a closed door, two hands pinning him there by grasping the sides of his face. He was able to catch just a glimpse of his assailant before their mouths collided in what Midoriya could only describe as the roughest, sloppiest kiss he’d ever experienced. He tugged frantically at the black tank top pressing into his chest, attempting to pull away for some air.

When he was finally given a moment to breathe, Midoriya coughed, “Ka-Kacchan… Kacchan, what—”

“Shut the hell up and let me make out with you,” Bakugo murmured too quietly against his lips. It sent a chill down Midoriya’s spine, straight between his legs.

Read the rest of this story on AO3!

anonymous asked:

"I love waking up to you."

Aaron rolled onto his side, lazy smile crossing his face. “Mmm. What time’s it?”

“Early. Don’t have to be up for ages yet.” It was still fairly dark outside, the morning’s not light enough yet for the sunlight to wake them, but it was bright enough that he can make out the time on his watch.

“I promised I’d help Jake with his project.”

“They won’t be up for another hour.”

“Did you plan this?”

“What? An uninterrupted hour in bed with my husband? Why on earth would I want to plan something like that?”

Send me a sentence!


So there were these prompts… And I kinda escalated. Again.

Can anyone, ANYONE please make a fanfic with this? Like PRETTY PLEASE?!!!!!

I definitely need some mechanic-but-diva-at-heart Ryou Shirogane with big visions and no sense for budget handling in my life.

I mean… How awesome would that be?! He’d be such an extravagant, dramatic little shit just because he can. Because he’d be an awesome mechanic and engineer and the Garrison would have to take Ryous shit because they can’t afford to kick him out…

And he’d spent all their money on trash from the junkyard.

Damn…. and here comes another addition to my Kuro AU… Guess it’s now a Kuro & Ryou AU.

2tired2care  asked:

Pst hi I LOVE YOUR FICS you have no idea how much they give me life <3 <3 I came across this really cute (and frankly heartbreaking) AU: "[burgler gently wakes me] you live like this?" (stolen from a post I saw on fb) and I kinda just need Stiles to do everything he can to make Derek's life better? THANK YOU SO MUCH :D

It IS frankly heartbreaking… which means I’m totally into it.

(now also on AO3!)


Derek definitely went to sleep alone. He always does, these days. It doesn’t explain why he drifts awake in the middle of the night to the feeling of someone lightly poking his shoulder.

It’s probably not a good sign that when he opens his eyes and sees a gangly teenage boy in a red hoodie and grubby-looking black fingerless gloves standing over him, he doesn’t startle. His claws don’t come out; his eyes don’t flash. He just feels… resigned.

“You live like this?” the guy says, soft. Almost pitying. “I mean. You actually live here?”

That seems too obvious, not to mention too insulting, to merit a response. “What are you doing here?” Derek asks instead. His voice comes out low and rough. This is the first time in days he’s had any reason to say anything. “This is private property.”

The guy shifts on his feet and sticks his hands under his armpits uncomfortably. “Okay, straight to the awkward questions. I like that.”

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heyhaileyy13  asked:

ahh yay you’re doing it!! Since you like angst, can you write bkdk for 90? -“I can’t do this anymore.”

90: “I can’t do this anymore.”

Midoriya glanced at the clock beside Bakugo’s bed. It was 1:32 in the morning. Two hours since Bakugo had fallen asleep beside him. His breath fell heavy against the firm pillow, and his body was encased in a thick blanket. Midoriya was confident he wouldn’t wake until his alarm sounded.

One leg swung around to the side of the bed, and then a second. Midoriya placed his feet on the floor without a sound, careful of the way the mattress creaked when he sat up. He winced at the noise, glancing back at Bakugo to make sure he was still sleeping. There was no change.

Midoriya let out a silent, relieved breath, and leaned over to grab his shirt from the crumpled heap of clothes beside the bed. One by one, he pushed the buttons through their holes, covering up every single bruise that lined his chest, his shoulders, his neck. After straightening his collar, Midoriya moved to pick up his pants. It was then that a pair of arms wrapped around his waist.

Midoriya turned his head, and saw Bakugo’s eyes shimmering blood red in the deep shadows of the moonlight.

“What’re you doing?”

Midoriya gulped. “I was… I was going to—”

“You were leaving,” Bakugo rumbled, pulling Midoriya closer. “Why?”

“Because… I…” Midoriya trembled as moisture pricked at his eyelashes. “Because I can’t… I can’t do this anymore, Kacchan.”

Read the rest of this story on AO3!

anonymous asked:


Robert stops. “HE WASN’T YOU AND I HATE IT.”

“What do you expect me to say to that?” They were in the middle of the street, that was empty for the moment, although knowing this village the second anyone heard voices they’d be selling tickets.

“I hate that after everything I still want you. I’ve been trying so hard to stop feeling that way…”

“Kind of got that when you went off to Europe with him.” He had to interrupt, didn’t want to hear him say he’d managed it.

“What? No!” Now Aaron’s clutching his arm and he’s more confused than ever. “I went with some mates. Alex didn’t go. That’s what I’m trying to say in a really bad way…All Alex did was make me realise that no one was ever going to replace you.”

Send me a sentence!

anonymous asked:

“You bake when you’re stressed and sometimes you give me cookies, but recently you’re giving me whole baskets each day, now I’m not complaining but are you okay?” au sterek? <3

OK, I wrote you a quick little thing. :)

now also on ao3


When Derek shows up at Stiles’ back door that morning with a basket full of about three dozen cookies, all carefully iced to look like Batman and Spider-Man, Stiles doesn’t say anything. He just gets up from the kitchen table and opens the screen door, and then he looks down at the basket for a long, long moment, and then he rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes and groans.

He looks kind of… unkempt. He’s wearing the same sweatpants and lacrosse hoodie he’d had on two days ago when Derek saw him at his mailbox, and his hair is sticking up everywhere, and it’s obvious he hasn’t shaved in a while because there’s some actual stubble there. Derek didn’t think Stiles was even capable of facial hair. It only adds to his attractiveness, but still, Derek can’t help but be concerned.

Derek doesn’t usually start conversations, but today he feels like making an exception. “Are you okay? This is a lot more baking than usual, even for you.”

“What? What do you mean?” Stiles says, dropping his hands to his sides. His face cycles through about five or six different expressions before settling on something that’s probably trying to say “innocent and oblivious,” but… well. Derek might not know Stiles that well, but he knows Stiles is definitely not either of those things, ever.

“The cookies,” Derek says slowly. “That you leave on my doorstep a few times a week while I’m out on my morning run.”

Stiles glares down at the cookies Derek’s holding like they’ve betrayed him.

“We don’t talk about it,” Derek says slowly, unsure, “but I thought you knew that I knew it was you. I mean, no one else in the neighborhood even talks to me.”

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Wedding prep

Filling a prompt from @missweber

Bitty closed the screen of his laptop very gently.

Then he buried his face in his hands, scrubbed them over his eyes, and said “Good Lord.”

He only jumped a little when he heard Jack’s voice behind him.

“Everything all right?”

Bitty twisted around to face Jack, not concerned about the way his hair was going every which way from his fingers raking through it, and said, “Can we elope already? I don’t think I can stand six more months of this.”

Jack filled a glass from the kitchen and tap and said, “Which one? Mine or yours?”

“Mine,” Bitty groaned. “I swear she thinks it’s not a real wedding without yards of white organza and orange blossoms. She keeps sending me pictures of men decked out in white tailcoats with ridiculous pastel cummerbunds and ties. And there was a link to a story where you could rent doves to release to … symbolize something or other. I told her we just wanted a low-key wedding. Why is she doing all this?”

Jack leaned against the counter and drank his water.

“Is she feeling left out, maybe?” he said. “Because we’re doing it in Montreal?”

“I don’t know.” Bitty said. “Maybe. Probably. But I don’t care if same-sex marriage is legal – there’s nowhere in Madison that I would want to do this. Even at home – it could make things difficult for Coach. And too many people would get wind of it here in Providence.”

Jack considered.

“Parse suggested we head out to Vegas,” he said. “Then at least she wouldn’t feel like she’s losing out to my parents.”

“First, no,” Bitty said. “Not Vegas. And second, it’s not a competition! Your folks have room, and it’s private, and they offered. They even offered to let my folks stay at the house. What more does she want?”

“Maybe something to do?” Jack suggested. “So she’d feel part of it?”

“But you should see what she’s sent, Jack. How can I put her in charge of flowers or wedding favors or anything if she’s trying to make this into a recreation of Princess Diana’s wedding to Prince Charles?”

“Wasn’t that like, in the ‘80s?”

“When my mother was in prime dreaming-of-weddings mode, yes, Jack. Flower girls, Jack. She wants flower girls. Does she think we can just rent them?”

“It’ll be all right, lapinou,” Jack said. “Let me shower and then we can head for the market, OK?”


“Of course I care about Uncle Mario and Uncle Wayne, and Ray and Steve and all of them, and Julia and Meg and Sandra too,” Jack said to his mother later. “But we can’t have them all at the wedding, Maman. This is my wedding, mine and Bittle’s, not yours and Papa’s.”

He paced on the balcony in the chilly air, his phone held up to his ear. He paused to listen, glad that Bitty was busy in the kitchen with his music going and couldn’t hear his half of the conversation.

“I know they care about me,” he said. “And marrying Bittle is well worth celebrating, I agree. But we really want to celebrate with our friends – our friends from Samwell, and Providence, and some of Eric’s family. Even with that, I’m counting about 50 people, give or take. But at least none of them require their own security.”

“Thanks, Maman. If you want, maybe we can have a party after we get back from France? Invite the whole world if you want. It can be your world, but I’ll bring Eric so you can show him off.”

“Yes, Maman, Eric said he got the pictures of the suits you sent. He liked them, I think, but there was some change … I don’t remember. You’re going to have to talk to him.”

Jack ended the call and went into the kitchen.

“I think I have it sorted,” he said. “But we might have to show up at a party when we get back from the honeymoon. I told her to talk to you about the suits.”

“Mm,” Bitty said, concentrating on a tiny lattice for a mini-pie. “As long as they’re not white, they’re fine, really.”

“I have an idea,” Jack said. “Tell me if it’s too much.”


“You know how we were going to Montreal over the bye week to taste food and pick a florist and all?”


“Why don’t we invite your parents to come, too? Or just your mom, if your father is busy?”


“Because then she could feel like she’s involved,” Jack said. “Don’t worry about all the white lace and stuff. Maman will make sure we get something you’d approve of. But then Maman would also have someone to gush to.”

“She does think your mother’s a style icon,” Bitty said.

“She’s never seen my mother in yoga pants and one of my dad’s old T-shirts,” Jack said. “And anyway, my mother thinks your mother is refreshingly unjaded and one of the most genuinely nice people she has ever met.”

Bitty snorted. “Yes, well, she’s never challenged my mother’s jam supremacy.”

“So you think it will work?”

“Probably,” Bitty said.

“Good,” Jack said. “Then they can both convince you it’s not a good idea to make five dozen mini-pies with lattice tops for party favors the day before the wedding.”

anonymous asked:

"What do you mean Lachlan has a gun?!" Aaron panicked, running out the pub and instantly dialling Robert's number.

No answer. “You’ve reached Robert Sugden, leave a message.”

“Robert…if you get this, call me back. Sam said Lachlan has a gun. Please tell me you’re not…I’m on my way to Home Farm. Just…don’t do anything stupid. I know we haven’t…I love you, ok, I still love you and I’m going to tell you that the second I see you.”

“Really?” He’ll swear later that his heart stopped in that moment. He’s still got the phone to his ear as he swivels round to see Robert large as life in front of him.

“I thought…Sam said Lachlan has a gun and I thought…” Thankfully there’s a wall behind him or he’d have collapsed on the ground as his legs gave way.

“It’s ok,” Robert’s holding him and everything’s calming down, his heart’s not racing so fast. “I’m safe, it’s alright.”

Send me a sentence!

Stuck Together - Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier

Pairing: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier (side Billy Denbrough/Stanley Uris)

Word Count: 4190 (it just… I don’t what happened…)

Warnings: Warnings: So there’s a bit of sadness in the middle but that’s it.

Request: Anon: Can you please do a reddie soulmate au fic? The one where it is impossible to lie to your soulmate. But like, that doesn’t come into affect until they know they’re soulmates? Okay so hear me out. Maybe you only know who your soulmate is when a matching tattoo appears after a significant moment together or something like that? You can mess with it if you’d like but just something along those lines maybe? Thank you so much!


I decided to go with the second part of the request because while I understand what you mean I think the markings appearing after sharing a significant moment was something I could work with better and make something a bit longer. I threw some side Stenbrough in there. Hope you don’t mind.

Also I know I really downplayed Eddie’s mom’s mania over her sons well being but honestly so much wouldn’t have worked in this fic if I didn’t. Sorry that she’s a bit ooc.

Also thank you so much to @wyattghouleff for looking over the fic and coming up the name when I was struggling!

Requests OPEN


The first one to notice that something had changed is Stan.

It was three weeks after everything that had happened. After they, hopefully, killed a clown in the bowls of Derry itself. Since Stan had almost died, since Henry Bowers “disappeared” and the town Sheriff apparently bleeding to death in his living room. It’s been three weeks since Eddie was convinced that he and all his friends were going to end up alongside the other missing children in their fucked up little town. Floating until they were nothing but rotting flesh and bone and maggots.

The thought alone made his stomach roll and his anxiety rocket right up.

More importantly, it’d been three weeks since he stood up to his mother and the tight reins that she’d constantly lead him around by had loosened.

He, Eddie Kaspbrak, was now allowed to have friends over. That being said, Stan was usually allowed over regardless, considering he was thought to be the least bad influence on Eddie in his mother’s eyes. Still, Bill had gotten to come over and stayed the night the week before and much to Eddie’s endless surprise Richie had been allowed past the front door, instead of having to resort to climbing through Eddie’s window under the veil of night.

Oh, his mother still tried to make him take his bullshit pills which he simply refused but he figured that he still carried everything else around in his fanny pack and with that she was appeased.

Right. Change. Stan.

It was three weeks later when the curly haired boy cleared his throat, back against Eddie’s bedroom wall, legs hanging off the side of his bed and a book flipped open on his lap, one that Eddie was sure Stan hadn’t actually been reading since they’d hurried up to his room.

Eddie turned his head so to look at his friend, waiting for him to continue while trying to scratch an itch stubbornly just beyond where his fingers could reach under his cast.

Stan was caught between looking at Eddie and his book. “Majestic Birds of the New England Area.”

“I uh, I think…” slowly his cheek began coloring pink near the top and his fingers reached up, fiddling with one of his curls. Eddie could tell that whatever Stann was trying to say he was nervous about. Stan only actively messed with his hair if he was nervous. “I think I have a soulmark.”

The pencil that Eddie was trying to write with dropped from his suddenly slack grip and his mouth fell open in surprise. Stan became ever redder, his legs drew up so that his knees were close to his chest and he could wrap his arms around them, bird book squashed uncomfortably between them and his chest.

“No fucking way.” Is what Eddie managed to get out after a tense moment of silence. Stan looked like he wanted to laugh and be sick at the same time, face instead settling into his neutral mask while he watched Eddie process the information he’d been given.

There was another moment of quiet when Eddie finally stood up.

“Show me.”

Hesitantly. Stan uncurled his legs and scooted to the edge of the bed, Eddie sat down beside him but Stan shuffled away so that was space between their sides. Eddie didn’t really get why at first until Stan’s hand went to the hem of his shirt, tugging up until the fabric was pulled high enough to expose the bottom of his ribs.

Right there, above where Eddie knew Stan’s “floating rib” should sit was two hands, palm to palm, fingers laced together.

“Oh shit.” Once again, not the eloquence that Eddie would have like to speak with, but really, he was all too surprised. None of the Losers, to his knowledge at least, had a soulmark. It wasn’t something that was super uncommon but definitely a rarity among younger kids not even in highschool yet.

“Yeah,” Stan replied, his voice whispery as his fingers moved to draw across the little soul tattoo on his body.

“Do you know-”

“No,” Stan said, tenser than he’d been the moment before. He dropped the end of his shirt from his hand and began to fiddle with a curl again. Eddie wanted to offer some kind of comfort for him but he just couldn’t think of what to do. “You know,” Stan continued, “you’re actually the first person I’ve told.”

They lapse into the silence again.

“Oh, uh, wow…” Eddie really didn’t know what to say to that. He looked down at his hands, clasped together on his lap and then to his cast before migrating his gaze back to still his embarrassed friend. “Why?” Because while Stan and Eddie were good friends and had been for a long time Eddie figured that the taller boy would have told Bill first.

While Eddie was thinking this Stan didn’t respond, looking like he was caught up in his own head at the moment.


“Oh.” Eddie gets it in a sudden and almost imperceivable connection of dots. Of course, Stan wouldn’t tell Bill first. “You didn’t want to tell Bill first because if he doesn’t have one that means he’s not your soulmate right?” He asks it quietly because his walls are thin and if his ma heard him talking about this kind of thing she probably wouldn’t take too kindly to letting Stan up in Eddie’s room anymore.

Of course, same-sex soul marks are just as common as any other but this was Derry and stuff like that is kept under wraps and out of the faces of people who might not be as accepting of others. Like Eddie’s mother.

A shudder went through his body at the thought of her finding out about him and what preferences he was starting to notice about himself.

Eddie thought he heard a sniffle from his right and remembered, this isn’t about him. Stan needed him right then like how he needed him in the tunnels. Like they’ve all always needed each other.

When Eddie looked he could tell that Stan was trying to hold back frustrated tears, his hands now fisted into Eddie’s comforter on either side of his legs and his bottom lip caught between his teeth, breath shuddering out in careful bursts.

Eddie did the only thing he could think of and slung his arm around Stan’s shoulders. Eddie usually didn’t like touching people but his friend required this comfort and Eddie was able to give it to him so he did.

It was another three weeks when they’re all at the Quarry together, Eddie with bags under his eyes. So much had changed since Stan told him about his soul mark but one constant that remained was Eddie’s nightmare plagued dreams. They woke him up at all hours and refused to let him settle back down into sleep.

Visions of lepers, hundreds of them swarming to get him, of blood-soaked clowns dancing around his body, and of his friends, all white-eyed and hovering off the ground, like Bev had been.

One of the biggest changes was that apparently, the majority of The Losers Club had developed little marks like Stan’s.

Ben had been the first to reveal his mark to the group a day after Stan had done the very same with Eddie. His mark was on his shoulder, close-up like it wanted to crawl toward his collar instead. It was an orange flame. Everyone wanted to touch it, Eddie and Stan feigning awe at the little tattoo.

Bev was the last to feel the smooth patch of color and when her fingers brushed over the little flame, something completely unexpected and crazy happened.

A flame of her own bled into existence on the back of her hand, slow, like it was taking the time to bleed into every layer of her skin until it was just as vibrant as Ben’s. Soulmates.

Eddie spared a glance to Bill, knowing that he probably wasn’t taking the news all too well. The boy’s expression was sour but under it accepting of the truth, his hand up by his heart, clenching and unclenching unconsciously over the fabric of his shirt. Stan went to stand beside Billy in silent support. Eddie noted a bit of the tension he’d been holding the day before dripping away from his shoulders.

Eddie guessed when your biggest competition was someone else’s soulmate it was a bit easier to hope that your crush might just be yours.

There was some debate running around as to why the mark had taken so long to form and why at different times. All anyone really knew for sure that a shared experience was what tied soulmates together.

Unfortunately, that could mean anything and it didn’t help Eddie narrow down who Stan’s might be. He could have bumped into someone and apologized, thanked a young clerk at the grocery store, talked to a neighbor boy for the first time, killed a clown with his group of friends.

Eddie hoped for Stan’s sake it was the latter of those options because then that, at least, brought the options to three, Bill, Mike or…Richie. Eddie practically shook the twist in his stomach away. He knew that Stan and he couldn’t be soul mates, Eddie had done an extensive check of his body, no mark to be found and he figured if it was going to be a delayed thing it would have happened like Bev’s had.

A week passed from Ben’s reveal and while the group of friends was waiting by the ice cream truck Richie came tearing down the main street, hollering, swerving dangerously into a stop in front of them before practically throwing himself off his bike.

“Dudes, dudes, I got one! I got one too!” For a beat everyone was confused. Then dread began to pool in the middle of Eddie’s stomach, cold and heavy like a ball of ice. He turned to look at Stan, swallowing harshly as the curly haired boy looked back, equally terrified.

Eddie felt like he needed his inhaler.

Richie didn’t give his friends any time to really ask anything, already reaching for the top of his ratty jeans by his hip, pulling down the fabric just enough for them all to see the little design against the jutting bone.

It looked like a roll of white tape.

For some reason the chilling dread doesn’t lift from Eddie’s chest, only clenched tighter like a vice. At least he didn’t match with Stan, and out of the corner of his eye, Eddie could see the boy sagging with relief as they shared the same thought.

Everyone took turns touching it and when Eddie placed the tips of his fingers to the mark it seems like maybe both he and Richie were holding their breath. It was probably just his imagination though. Nothing happened and Richie thought for a painful moment his heart might actually be breaking when he pulled away from his best friend. He swallowed down the numbing hurt and give a faint “neat,” before going back to where he’d left his and Richie’s ice cream.

Stan gave him such an understanding look that it made Eddie want to punch him. But it wasn’t his fault so he didn’t.

And now they were all at the Quarry. Eddie didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, but he’d been intentionally spending time away from Richie. It sucked but really, feeling like there was glass in his heart, sharp points of pain that were hard to breathe around, sucked just as much. He couldn’t avoid a group hang out though. Besides, his ma would think she was winning the battle if he stayed cooped up in the house for too long.

They were all at the water’s edge, Ben and Beverly sitting together with their legs in the water.

Eddie was sitting with Stan, watching Bill, Mike and Richie converse, something like an argument brewing over the fact that Bill apparently didn’t want to go swimming.

“Come on Bill,” Richie said loudly, drawing out the second word like some kind of child. “We came here to swim so let’s swim.”

“You gu-guys can g-g-g do it. I’m f-f-fine.” He crossed his arms over his torso. Something was fishy about the whole thing, Bill loved swimming with everyone.

“Dude, seriously? You’ve been buggy all week. Just hop in with us for a bit?” When Richie was being sincere there wasn’t much that Billy can do but give in. He was just that kind of person.

“Ugh, f-fine.” Richie didn’t bother to hold back his triumphant smirk, him and Mike already pulling off their clothes to get into the water.

Almost insecurely Billy started to draw his shirt over his head. Eddie watched the odd behavior, Stan beside him, looking off into the forest with his binoculars, scouting for birds. If Richie hadn’t turned back to Bill and shouted: “dude what the fuck?!” Eddie might not have noticed anything at first and Stan surely wouldn’t have startled and whipped around, a scowl on his face to reprimand Richie.

They were both stopped short by what was on Bill’s chest.

Even from this distance, Eddie knew what it was because he’d seen it before.

Right above where Bill’s heart would just behind his ribs was a soulmark.

Two hands, palms touching, fingers laced together.

Beside him, he could hear Stan’s binoculars dropping to the ground with a careless thunk.

Eddie could barely hear what was being said from the trio ten feet away.

“- ju-just did-didn’t think it wa-wa-was that import-t-tant.”

The crystal cold feeling wormed its way into Eddie’s chest, looping through his bones and seizing his limbs. He knew he shouldn’t be feeling like that, not when Stan was probably going to break down with happiness but Eddie couldn’t help it really. In some sick way, he had been almost glad that Stan’s mark didn’t match with anyone because that meant he was feeling what Eddie was feeling, and now Eddie was alone with that feeling because Stan’s mark did match someone. It matched Bill Denbrough, basically the love and Stan’s life and Eddie, Eddie didn’t get to have that.

Eddie and Stan picked themselves up from the ground, Richie was dragging a flustered, shirtless Bill over to their small fraction of The Losers Club.

“Guys look-”

“Beep beep Richie,” Stan’s voice was surprisingly steady when he cut the other boy off and took a step forward. A hush fell over the entire group. The thick energy filling the air seemed to be reaching all of them. It was almost like with Bev and Ben when Stan looked pointedly at Bill’s mark and then into his eyes.

Bill was slack-jawed, expression open as an understanding passed between them. Stan’s partially worried expression lightened, the corners of his mouth pulled up into a smile, Bill’s expression did the same and it was all too much for Eddie. He couldn’t take it. He really couldn’t. Because after everything, the gray water, the leper, the fucking clown, and Richie’s unmatched mark that Eddie didn’t have, he really couldn’t handle anymore.

He stepped back from the circle that had started to form around Stan and Billy. Unfortunately, Eddie tripped over a small rock in his haste and drew the attention away from the new pair of soulmates and onto himself.

“I uh, I gotta get home,” he kept backing up as he said it, “I’m getting the cast removed tomorrow so I gotta go home and rest up so yeah.” Eddie wouldn’t say that he ran away exactly but he wasn’t slow about his retreat.

The pressure that had been building up in his chest was getting too tight and Eddie wanted to cry but he wouldn’t, he couldn’t.

The sound of someone coming up the trail behind him gave Eddie reason to pause. He didn’t though, just continued to trudge up toward the road so he could walk home.

“Dude! Eds, wait up!” Richie called from behind him. Eddie felt the claws in his chest sink harder, not even able to call back for the other to not call him that.

Richie’s footsteps grew louder as he raced to catch up with the other boy. Eddie didn’t want to run but the urge was there. He could not deal with this, with Richie, right now. A hand reached forward and fingers curled around Eddie’s arm, right above his cast. Richie pulled him to a stop and Eddie spun around, yanking his arm away from Richie’s grasp.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

“Eds what the hell was that back there?” Richie sounded more concerned than Eddie had been expecting. He’d been like that since the tunnels, still Richie but almost more considerate. Eddie bristled at the tone. He’d much rather have Richie trying to make a joke at his expense then whatever he was doing at the moment.

“Nothing, like I said, I need to get home,” the excuse even sounded weak to his own ears. Richie gave a single bark of sarcastic laughter and rolled his eyes.

“Right. Since when are you listening to her mom again?” Eddie wanted to retort but Richie just kept going in the way that he always did. “It this about Stan and Bill’s soul marks? Is it ‘cause they didn’t tell you or because they match each other? Is it cause you don’t have one?” Eddie felt his body tense almost automatically for as unobservant as Richie usually was, he noticed the change immediately, the effect of his words being so close to the truth. “Really Eds is that it, I mean -”

Eddie’s fingers were curled up at his sides into tight fists.

“Beep fucking beep Richie,” and surprisingly it worked.

Eddie wondered as he turned around and stormed out onto the main road toward his house, Richie left standing there, shocked still, if it was because of the harsh tone he’d used or the way his eyes were glossy with unshed tears. Maybe it was the tremble in his lip or the way his shoulders were starting to shake that made Richie stop. Eddie didn’t know and really Eddie didn’t care because he needed to get to the safety of his bedroom before he broke down. Smack in the middle of Derry is not where he’d want anyone to see him turn into a crybaby.

He made it home in record time and managed to avoid his mother on his way up the stairs.

The next day as he was loaded up into his ma’s car on the way to the hospital his eyes are rimmed harshly with red and thankfully the older women next to him didn’t say anything about how it was clearly from crying. She only went so far as to remind her son to take his allergy pill.

Both Stan and Richie had tried calling a number of times the night before. Sometime around midnight, he thought he could hear the tell-tale clacking of pebbles against his window, Richie trying to get his attention. Eddie had simply rolled, facing away from the locked window and clutched a pillow over his head, begging the nightmares to drag him into a restless sleep so he wouldn’t have to deal with it anymore. Anything to put the day behind him.

Getting his cast off was terrifying, he had to look away when the doctor and nurse brought out the saw. He knew through extensive research that the blade was dull and moved in a way that it won’t actually touch him. He still couldn’t watch when he heard the whirring sound of the blade started up.

The process was painless, only a dull tickling sensation over his arm as the cast vibrated and subsequently split in two. The nurse went to work wiping down his arm while his doctor looked over where the break had been before even though they had already done an x-ray to confirm that all was as it should be.

It was only when his arm was turned over to inspect the underside did his nurse let out a faint and surprised “oh!”

“Oh?” Eddie questioned, his voice cracking with panic. “Oh, what?”

He was thankful that his mother wasn’t in the room with him when it was revealed what the women holding his arm had seen.

A white roll of tape on the inside of his wrist.

Eddie didn’t know if what he was feeling was the actual overpowering relief flooding his veins or that fact that he might pass out any second.

The rest of the checkup went as planned and Eddie managed to get his spinning mind under control to answer his doctor’s questions. When his ma came to collect him Eddie was waiting for the moment that the nurse or his physician would tell her about his little soul mark. Neither of them did and his mother thankfully didn’t examine his arm.

Once he was home Eddie wasted no time what so ever. Going for his slightly dusty bike, chain creaky from disuse, the boy popped back the kickstand, and against his mother’s loud and worried protests rode out of his driveway and toward Richie’s house.

As he rode Eddie wondered if Stan had felt like this when he’d seen his mark matching perfectly over Bill’s heart. It felt like a warm pulse was thrumming through his body and the only thing on his brain, playing over and over again on a loop was “Richie Tozier is my soulmate, Richie Tozier is my soulmate, Richie Tozier is my fucking soulmate…”

Richie’s house was normally a ten-minute bike ride away. Eddie made it in seven.

Without a care for his beloved mode of transportation, Eddie threw his bike down and hurried up the porch to Richie’s front door. He wasn’t surprised to see that both of the Tozier’s cars were out. They were almost never home.

Eddie knocked on the door, three times in loud succession. He heard the sound of stomping feet approaching and took the few seconds it would take Richie to open to door to feel nervous. A fluttering wave of nausea over the thought that maybe, regardless of what having a soulmate really was, Richie wouldn’t want Eddie to be his.

Once the door was swung back and Richie could take in the sight of his friend, Eddie wasn’t scared anymore. If Stan could do it then so could he.

Richie crossed his arms around his middle looking both worried and miffed simultaneously.

“Are you here to yell at me more?” He was trying to sound indifferent but Eddie new when his best friend was putting up a front.

Not saying anything Eddie held his arm out, wrist facing up toward Richie who just rose a brow in confusion at the shorter boy before glancing down and freezing, his whole body becoming statuesque as he stared, wide-eyed through coke bottle glasses at the tape (which Eddie now recognized as medical tape) soul mark on his wrist.

Richie only had time for his lips to curl into a smile and the tips of his fingers to brush over Eddie’s mark before the other was stepping forward into his space, clutching a handful of his shirt by the already stretched collar and tugging him down.

Richie was surprised enough by the sudden action that he didn’t even register for a moment that Eddie’s mouth was now on his and that they were technically kissing, or, well, Eddie was kissing him. Once he did realize Richie closed his eyes and pressed his lips back to Eddie’s chapped ones.

As first kisses went Eddie hadn’t known what he’d been expecting. Probably not the uncomfortable glasses digging into his face, or Richie’s nose pressed almost harshly against his own, nor the faint hint of Cheetos mingled between their mouths. Regardless of those little things Eddie had to admit it was kind of perfect.

He pulled away and Richie smiled at him, leaning down again to reconnect their lips.

First kisses might be perfect, Eddie thought to himself, but second, and third and fourth ones were just as good.

anonymous asked:

im always ridiculously excited for any kind of writing you do. always makes my day. anyway, if you have time #19 for the drabble thing!

19. “The paint’s supposed to go where?”

“The paint’s supposed to go where?”

Dean hadn’t realized his voice could actually hit that pitch since puberty. He held the bag of art supplies in his hands, white-knuckling the thin plastic handles.

Sam, at least, looked as dumbfounded as Dean felt. He’d paused with a cabbage halfway out of the bag. Cas regarded them both curiously, steadily removing dry grocery items from their respective bags.

“Our room,” Cas said again, more slowly this time. He glanced from Dean to Sam, a frown creasing his brow. “Or… should I keep them in my old room and use it as a studio?”

“’Our’… ‘old’,“ Dean said. He looked to Sam for help. Sam’s gaze darted from Dean to Cas and back again. His jaw worked.

“Ah… congratulations?” Sam said uncertainly. Cas frowned at him.

“What is it?” Cas asked. He held onto the box of cereal he’d been unpacking. “What did I do?”

“Nothing,” Dean said immediately, because that was his kneejerk response to that tone in Cas’s voice. He winced. “Just… when you say shit like that, it has… you know.” He cleared his throat. “Connotations.”

And if those connotations made Dean’s heart speed up a little and his palms sweat, well. That was Dean’s problem.

He knew he was in well over his head. It had started off innocently enough; after all, what’s a little bed-sharing between friends when the nightmares are bad? A little fully-clothed cuddling, a sleepy Cas… Dean had been living his dream and kept his hands and his thoughts to himself, though some mornings he’d had to vacate the bed rather quickly lest Cas realize how much Dean enjoyed their little arrangement.

Dean’s feelings were entirely Dean’s problem. Cas was newly human and fragile and had night terrors to rival the ones Dean had after he got back from Hell. Dean wasn’t about to begrudge the guy anything that helped ease the nightmares, and if that ‘anything’ happened to be sleeping next to Dean at night, so much the better.

But it was platonic. Just… with cuddling.

But then Cas had to go and say our room in that voice of his, throwing the phrase out there like it was totally natural, and of course Sam would totally misread what was going on because fuck Dean Winchester’s life.

“Connotations,” Cas repeated, deadpan.

“If two people are sharing a room, it usually means they’re together,” Sam piped up helpfully. Cas stared at him. “Romantically.”

“And we’re not,” Dean interjected quickly, looking at Sam and hoping the younger Winchester would use some friggen’ sense and shut up before Cas realized that Dean saw him in a not-at-all-platonic light.

Dean didn’t know how Sam knew, but he knew Sam knew. Had known for a while that Sam knew, though they had never spoken about it.

Dean was so busy glaring Sam into submission that he completely missed the stunned look that crossed Castiel’s face.

“Oh,” Cas said, looking down at the cereal box now crumpled in his hands. He turned away and put the box down on the counter, where it promptly fell over as he busied himself instead with the other bags of groceries. Dean’s brow furrowed in concern.

“Cas?” he asked.

“I… excuse me,” Cas said, his head bowed just enough to hide his expression as he abandoned the bags of granola and flour in favor of the kitchen door. Dean exchanged flabbergasted, worried looks with Sam and took off after Cas.

“Cas?” he called, hurrying to catch up. He grabbed Cas’s shoulder, stopping him short, and pulled gently. Cas turned slowly back, his eyes on the floor. “What was that?”

“I…” Cas shook his head and then lifted his gaze to meet Dean’s. “What are we, Dean?”

Dean pulled his hand back as if Cas’s flesh burned. He backed up half a step, suddenly too aware that he was well in Cas’s personal space.

He opened his mouth and closed it again.

“Friends. We’re friends, Cas,” Dean said, his mouth suddenly dry.

Did Cas know that Dean wanted more than friendship with him? Was he disgusted?

Cas closed his eyes tightly and nodded his head once.

“Friends. Of course,” he said woodenly. He gestured vaguely behind himself, the movements of his hand was quick and sharp. “I’ll just… I can move my things back to my old-” He stopped himself. “My room.”

Dean’s heart dropped.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, voice low with sudden panic. He’d been waking up with Cas in his arms for weeks now and he’d gotten used to the illusion of intimacy, the daydream made real. He didn’t want to lose that.

It was completely selfish of him, he knew that, but he couldn’t lose this now that he’d tasted it. He’d done his best to keep his feelings to himself, hadn’t he? He wouldn’t let his unrequited feelings be Cas’s problem, not ever, would never look or touch or kiss.

But if he lost Cas, if Cas left.

Cas was shaking his head.

“I should.” He looked at Dean, eyes wide and pleading. “Dean, I have to. I can’t- I misunderstood, I’m sorry.”

All warmth left Dean in a rush. He felt as if he’d been turned to stone, his feet heavy and arms weighed down.

“Okay,” Dean said. His voice cracked but he was beyond caring about that. He nodded and looked down. “Okay. If you gotta, I mean… okay.”

It wasn’t Cas’s fault Dean could feel his heart breaking. Dean knew it was his own fault. He’d just wanted it so badly he’d ignored how much it would end up hurting.

“Okay,” he said again, like repeating the word would make it true. Cas grabbed his wrist.

“Dean, if I’ve made you uncomfortable-” Cas swallowed compulsively. “You should have told me. I would have stopped.”

“Made me uncomfortable?” Dean asked, looking at him incredulously. Cas nodded, looking as though he were bracing himself for a blow.

“I assumed things, which I know now were… wrong.” Cas lifted his chin, jaw set firm. “I never intended my feelings to become your problem and you’re not obligated to… indulge me.”

Dean’s brain short circuited. His synapses busted a fuse. He stared dumbly at Cas, his thoughts chasing themselves in circles as the words refused to make sense.

Your feelings?” he echoed, thunderstruck. Cas’s expression shuttered and he let go of Dean’s wrist, only for Dean to grab his and pull him back.

“You assumed things?” Dean asked, heart beating so frantically he could feel it in his ears. “What did you assume?”

Cas looked at him, wary and a little pained, a little uncertain. Dean brought his other hand up to cup Cas’s cheek, watching the former angel’s eyes widen.

“What did you assume, Cas?” Dean asked again. Cas breathed.

“That you and I…” he said. His voice trailed off uncertainly. His eyes flicked down to Dean’s mouth and Cas licked his lips unconsciously, nervous.

“That we?” Dean echoed, letting his gaze linger on Cas’s mouth. Letting Cas catch him looking, watching the understanding slowly dawn on his face.

“That we’re together,” Cas said. Dean felt the words settle in his chest, lighting him up from the inside out.

“Do you want that?” Dean asked, breathless and already knowing the answer.

“Do you?” Cas asked, stunned. Dean laughed, the joy in him bubbling up and spilling over as he finally, finally leaned in to kiss Cas.

@livebloggingmydescentintomadness @destieldrabblesdaily @dragonpressgraphics @ethne-dragon

Pick Up Lines (Spideypool Quick Fic)

So this… this got ridiculous lol
For my anon prompt: is that a phone in your back pocket because your ass is calling me

Peter is Andrew Garfield/ Wade is Ryan Reynolds

“Hey did it hurt?”

“Huh?” Peter looked up from brushing the dirt off his suit to see Deadpool peering down at him from the fire escape in the dirty alley.

“Oh. Hey Wade. Did what hurt? Oh the–” he motioned to his dirty suit. “Just took a tumble through a construction yard chasing someone. No biggie.”

“No, I meant did it hurt when you fell from Heaven.” Wade corrected, leering at Spider-Man from behind his mask.

“Good grief.” Peter muttered and turned away. “Don’t you have anything better to do than spy on me and drop terrible pick up lines?”

Well.” Wade dropped onto the ground next to him. “I’d definitely have something better to do if you’d go out with me.”

“I told you no dates.” Peter said firmly. “My identity is very inportant to me, and you need to respect that. Besides–” and now he was grateful his mask covered his blush. “–besides you just like me because I’m covered in spandex.”

“I resent that!” Wade sounded horrified. “While I will admit to staring for hours at your…at your….” his head tilted to the side exaggeratedly, dropping to stare at Peter’s ass. “Sorry, what was I saying?”

“You were agreeing that we’d never date.” Peter said firmly, and shot a web towards the sky, shooting up and out of the alley before Deadpool could say anything else.

“Damn.” He chuckled and scratched at his head. “Spidey playing hard to get.”
Wade landed with a thump on the roof next to Peter and tossed him a chimi.

“Thank god.” Peter mumbled and shoved his mask up to just above his nose so he could eat. “Thank you so much.”

“No worries.” Wade lifted his own mask to take a bite of his food, and Peter made sure not to look. He didn’t ever look, knowing that if Wade thought for one second that he was staring, the mask would come down and this relaxed moment between them would end.

They were happening more and more– post patrol, both of them starving after a night of fighting crime. Wade usually disappeared for a few minutes and reappeared with food and they would sit and eat together before going their separate ways.

It was nice, for all of Wade’s bluster and bullshit, he actually enjoyed the early morning quiet like this. Both fully in their suits, both still coming down from the high of fighting… just hanging out watching the sun rise.

It was… nice.

And Peter wasn’t going to do anything to spoil it.

“Got you a name tag.” Wade said casually inbetween bites of food.

“What now?” Peter asked, confused.

“Got you a name tag.” Wade reached into the bag next to him and threw a giant handful of white packets in Peter’s face.

“What the–damn it Wade!” Peter pushed them off his legs. “Why are you throwing sugar at—”

Wade started laughing.

“Are you kidding me?” Peter finally asked and Wade laughed harder. “Are you kidding me with this?”

“Aw, come on sugar!” Wade made kissy faces at him and Peter just rolled his eyes.

Keep reading

marino-kun  asked:

Do you take prompt? What about Stiles having a secret crush on Derek but when saw him, taking care Scott's son, he fell in love.

I’m not much of a kid fic person, so this took me a while, but I tried. Hopefully it’s kind of what you were angling for!


“Do you think I’m ready for fatherhood?” Stiles asks, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. He’s not freaking out about this. He’s not.

Boyd says flatly, “Stilinski, you’re twenty-one years old. You’re supposed to know how to use a condom by now.“

Stiles’ hand spasms and he accidentally squirts a huge glob of ketchup on his mound of curly fries. Fuck. He has the ideal ketchup-to-curly-fry ratio down to a science, and this is not it. “No, absolutely not what I meant. It’s just. Did you know Derek had a kid?”

Boyd meditatively takes a bite of his burger. “No. But the nice thing about Derek is that he doesn’t go in for personal talk.”

Stiles shoots him a weird look. Of course Boyd would think that was nice. Stiles, though, has been trying to break down Derek’s walls even just a little bit for months now—sitting with him in class, sharing his notes, studying with him in the library and getting late-night waffles together afterwards, little by little pulling Derek out of his shell. He’d thought he was getting somewhere, but obviously not, not if Derek failed to mention this kid even existed.

Which he does. Stiles knows, because he can see him right now, over by Prof. Martin’s pool. Apparently his name is Jamie.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

"Pack a bag, we're reliving two years ago." Aaron smirked.

“What? Aaron, what have I…”

“No, idiot…Rob I meant I was taking us away for a night in a hotel. What did you think I meant?” He calms with Aaron’s hands rubbing his arms. It’s not been long enough yet that he’s not expecting Aaron to turn round and realise he’s made a mistake, that he wants him to leave. 

“I heard pack a bag and I thought…Never mind.” He took a deep breath. “Where are you taking me then?”

“You’ll see. Let a man have a bit of mystery. Sure you’re alright?”

“Promise. Give me ten minutes to pack and I’m all yours.”

Send me a sentence!

organizeddiscord  asked:

Hi. If you're still taking prompts, it would be cool to read a lamp fic where Thomas finds out about their relationship. 💙

You got it! I’ve never written lamp so this was a bit of a challenge! I think I did okay though? I apologize in advance for any grammar or spelling mistakes!

Pairing: LAMP

Warnings: None! Except fluff :)

Thomas knew something had changed between all of them.  

But, he never expected this. 

It had all started a few weeks ago when he summoned Roman for creative guidance on a new video. 

He had been more than a little confused when Roman showed up with a pair of glasses lying haphazardly across his face. 

“You wear glasses?” He’d asked, genuinely bewildered.

“Well n-not exactly-”&#157; His cheeks were tinted pink, and he straightened the glasses with a chuckle. 

He’d only gotten more confused when none other than, Logan, appeared and sauntered toward the fanciful trait, stumbling a little as he went. He reached forward and snatched the glasses off of his counterparts face and slid them onto his own with a sigh. 

“You know how visually challenged I am, please don’t attempt to take my glasses again” He pointed at Roman with a glare as he sank. The blushing trait smirked and waved as he vanished. 

“What was that abou-” Thomas was cut off by Roman who had done a twirl and began to fire idea after idea at him. 

He sighed, they always did this. 

He decided to let it go for now. 

But as time went on, things only got stranger

After the glasses incident, a number of things happened. Roman and Logan were on much better terms, Anxiety actually smiled when Patton talked to him, Prince even complimented Anxiety frequently.

But, the most shocking one of all, Logan actually laughed at Patton’s dad jokes. 

He was happy to see them getting along for once. 

After all they never got along.

Which lead Thomas to this moment.  

He had summoned his counterparts to express his happiness at how well they were getting along. 

Apparently they were getting along a lot better than he thought. 

Right now, he was witnessing a 4-Way handhold between his counterparts, who were currently grinning sheepishly at him. Well, Roman and Patton were. Anxiety was scowling at the floor and Logan was looking anywhere but at them. 

“Wait, say that again?”&#157; Thomas eyes cast downward in bewilderment.

“We’re all together” Roman repeated wrapping his arm around the darker trait and squishing him against his side.

“I told you he’d think it was stupid”&#157; Anxiety hissed leaning away from Patton’s incoming kiss to his cheek. 

“No, no, no. I’m just shocked is all. So you’re all really in a relationship”&#157; Thomas still couldn’t wrap his head around it.

“Affirmative”&#157; Logan confirmed rolling his eyes at Thomas, letting go of Patton’s hand and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Don’t be so grumpy buttercup! We’re all in love! That’s something to celebrate!” Patton wrapped his arms around Logan and sighed into his neck. 

Logan scrunched up his nose and shook his head fondly and rolling his eyes at Anxiety who was in a similar predicament with Roman.

Thomas snickered into his hand as he watched them interact.

“What’s so funny?”&#157; Anxiety’s eyes darted around self consciously. 

“Ooo! Did someone tell a joke!&#157; Patton’s eyes sparkled as he clutched onto Logan harder in excitement. 

“There was no joke, you guys are just really cute” He chuckled at them. 


“Yes you are cookie! you’re down right adorable!”

“Patton’s right Anxiety, you are absolutely ravishing!”

“I should leave while I still can”

Thomas laughed loudly at Logan’s comment and their offended gasps in response, staring at his counterparts affectionately. It would definitely take some getting used too. But, he’d support them no matter what.

Love wins!

I hope you enjoyed!

anonymous asked:

20 with moxiety?

20. “D..did you just make that noise?” 

warnings: minor self-deprecating language

Virgil has three types of laughter, Patton has discovered. (He may also have made it his mission to hear each type at least once a day, preferably much more, but that’s besides the point.) There’s his scoffing laugh, which usually consists of a short series of annoyed (but still slightly amused!) huffs through his nose. Then there’s his chuckle, which is utterly and entirely adorable, and which Patton can usually goad out of him with a few jokes. Last but not least, there’s his real, genuine laughter—it’s not quite Thomas’ bright, high laugh (or even Thomas’ lower, heartier one) but it is similar, and it’s one of the gosh-darned cutest things Patton’s ever heard.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t happen as much as he would like. Virgil seems to be under the impression that laughing will somehow make the others look down on him. Patton has never been very good at understanding the why of things, so this perplexes him. He considers asking Logan about it, but he doesn’t want to betray Virgil’s confidence. (Not that Virgil has explicitly told him anything—it’s just something Patton has picked up on, as he does so many things.)

He also considers asking Virgil himself about it, but Virgil is always so uncomfortable talking about emotionally intimate subjects. It’s one of the very few things that he and Patton have actually gotten into an argument about, because Patton wants to feel and Virgil—

Well, Virgil is afraid to.

But today—oh, goodness, today is special and arguments are the farthest thing from his mind, because Patton has just discovered that Virgil has a fourth type of laughter.

He’s just finished setting the table when he hears Roman and Virgil bickering in the living room. This, in itself, is not unusual—what’s unusual is the fact that they’re laughing as they do so, and Patton hears a distinct and ominous thud as he pokes his head around the corner to look at them. “Boys?” he says.

They’re both on the floor, and Virgil has Roman in a—a headlock?

“Hey, Pat,” Virgil says, evidently attempting to look nonplussed—but his hair is a sweaty, tangled mess and there’s a bright and happy glint in his eyes.

“Hello, Patton. I’ll be with you in just a moment.” Roman scrambles to get his legs back underneath him, then throws himself up and back—but Virgil is as tenacious as ever, and he clings to Roman until both of them are standing. “You are insufferable, Verge. Can’t you see that Patton wants us?”

“Oh, no, no,” Patton says, beaming at them. “Don’t let me interrupt. You seem to be having fun.”

Virgil grins and hops up, wrapping his legs around Roman’s waist and clutching tightly—he looks a bit, Patton thinks, like an adorably infuriating backpack. “Yeah, Ro. So much fun.”

Roman makes a noise akin to a growl in response, trying valiantly to shake Virgil off. For a moment, Patton is worried that perhaps Virgil truly is bothering him, but then he catches a glimpse of the prince’s eyes—they’re practically gleaming with excitement and joy, and Patton’s not about to interrupt them. It’s so terribly rare that they get along (although they have been improving!) let alone have fun with each other.

In fact, it’s so ridiculously nice to see that Patton might cry.

Then Roman pauses, panting, and something cunning flashes through his eyes. He stops trying to unhook Virgil’s grip on him and reaches around instead, jabbing his fingers into Virgil’s sides and wiggling them. And Virgil—

Virgil giggles.

Patton thinks he might actually melt, because goodness, that was the cutest thing he’s ever heard, ever. “D…did you just make that noise?”

Fear—oh, no, fear—flashes through Virgil’s eyes and he releases Roman, dropping to the ground and backing away. He’s scowling at the carpet and hunching his shoulders and no no no this isn’t what Patton wanted.

“Virgil,” Roman says, reaching towards him—but Virgil flinches away, and Roman quickly lets his hand drop. “Sorry, I’m—sorry.”

And pride wells up in Patton at that—Roman apologized, oh, he’s getting so much more mature and Patton loves loves loves him—but he checks it for a moment. He needs to deal with Virgil’s distress first. “Virgil, sweetheart—”

“It’s nothing,” Virgil says, his voice hard. “Forget about it. That was stupid.”

“No, no, no it wasn’t—it’s okay. You’re allowed to laugh, you know. And it was cute, that was cute, like—like puppies and kittens and baby bats cute,” Patton says. Virgil still won’t look at him, and there’s that stiff set to his shoulders that means he’s about to sink out. “Don’t go, please. Dinner’s done and everything’s okay and I love you and—”

Virgil sighs, his shoulders dropping, and Patton feels relief surge into his chest. “It’s fine, Pat. Calm down. I’m not going to run away or whatever. What are we having? Tacos?”

“Yeah,” Patton says, opening his arms and making grabby hands at Virgil. “Tacos.”

Virgil obligingly fits himself to Patton’s chest, relaxing slightly as Patton hugs him tightly. Patton presses a kiss to the top of Virgil’s head, humming happily—until he sees Roman, who’s still glued to the same spot and staring broodingly at his feet.

“Roman, honey, you’re okay too. It wasn’t your fault,” Patton says.

Virgil turns around in Patton’s arms, motioning Roman towards him. “C’mere, Princey. I’m not mad. It was—that was—uh, fun. Kinda.”

Roman looks up at them, eyes brightening ever so slightly, and then allows himself to be drawn into their hug. “So what you’re saying is we could do it again sometime?” he asks.

Anxiety snorts and ruffles his hair. “Yeah, sure.” Sarcasm is thick in his voice, but it lessens some when he adds, “Maybe.”

Roman beams at him, and Patton gives them both one last squeeze before releasing them and heading back to the kitchen. “C’mon,” he says, offering them both a wide smile. “Tacos!”

Dragons and Direwolves

Requested by anonymous and @gipsysworld ! Enjoy!

Jon tried not to be bitter that Ghost spent more time with Dany than he did with him. 

As soon as they’d reached Winterfell, Ghost had grown attached to the Dragon Queen. He followed her around when he wasn’t out on a hunt, sat by her side during meetings, and even slept between them at night. Of course, he still liked Jon-but Jon suspected that was because he gave him food. 

At first Dany hadn’t liked Ghost. He always smelled like snow and wet fur, and he was always trying to get attention-but slowly he’d grown on her. Now she would complain about him in public, but Jon would see her sneaking him bits of food after meals or scratching him behind his ears so that he closed his eyes in pleasure. 

But then again, he had Rhaegal-who sometimes acted more like a dog than Ghost did. He always wanted to play, or go for a ride-and Jon found himself spending more and more time outside with him and Viserion.

At first he thought the animals being protective of her was just a side effect of the war-Ghost whined whenever they went on raids and even the dragons always seemed tense, as if they were ready to leave on a moment’s notice to rescue her should a mission go wrong. The dragons saw her as a motherly figure, and Ghost liked her just because. It was only natural that they would sense the danger she put herself in, constantly. He felt the same way. He always wanted her to stay back at Winterfell, where there was a better chance she’d be safe. But ever since the first wight hunt she always insisted she had to go with him, just in case. 

Then they started trying to protect her even at Winterfell. The dragons went from being gone most of the day hunting to spending most of their days slinking around the castle grounds, terrifying everyone. They were dragons; they couldn’t exactly lurk, but they seemed determined to try. One morning one of Jon’s generals woke him up early because Rhaegal was sitting lightly on the castle ramparts, looking almost like a cat as he looked around alertly. He growled at anyone who passed by, looking almost like he was glaring at them. 

In the bed next to him Daenerys stirred and looked up at him sleepily. “’s going on?” 

“Rhaegal is causing a scene. Talk him down?” 

She groaned, pulling on a light blue dressing gown and putting on her winter coat over it. She still looked beautiful, even though she’d just gotten out of bed. “I’ll handle it.”

They went outside, bracing themselves against the biting cold. Jon barely got a glimpse of Sansa and Arya emerging from the other side of the castle before he saw Rhaegal, who was stubbornly refusing to move-and no one was particularly trying to provoke him. But Dany strode up to him, fearlessly; he couldn’t help raising an eyebrow as he saw her, less than an eighth of the dragon’s size, yell at him in High Valyrian until he finally got up and flew away-almost knocking off the top of a tower on his way. 

She had to chase off the dragons on at least three other occasions in the next several weeks, interspersed with bouts of illness. 

It was strange; she claimed that she’d never been sick before. She certainly seemed not to know how to react when she woke up with such a bad headache that she couldn’t go to their daily morning debriefings, or when she took two bites of meat stew and had to run to the privy before she threw it all up. Ghost didn’t leave her side; he sat next to her at mealtimes and followed her like a shifting shadow whenever she and Jon went to train or congregated in the map room to discuss strategy. 

Of course, some of these ‘strategy’ sessions often devolved into passionate lovemaking. 

Once Viserion tried to accompany them on one of their raids and it took nearly half an hour for Dany to convince him to stay behind (they couldn’t exactly sneak up on the wights with a giant fire breathing dragon lurking in the background). By the time they’d finally gotten that straightened out they’d lost their opportunity and they’d had to concede; more than a few of Jon’s fellow rangers complained about the dragons (in low voices, of course; they didn’t have a death wish). 

“We have to do something about this.” Ghost had gone more than two weeks without hunting at night; he followed them into the bedroom as soon as they went to bed and didn’t leave until morning. He liked to sleep in between them, taking up as much space as he could (at least, Jon was convinced that was his motive). “I know your dragons are protective but-”

“They’re getting out of hand. I know.” Dany leaned back and looked up at the ceiling; she looked very pale and Jon couldn’t help remembering that she’d thrown up only a few hours before and hadn’t gotten her coloring back yet. “I’ve been trying to get through to them, they just won’t listen.”

“They never cared this much before.” 

Dany didn’t say anything, and for a moment he thought she’d already fallen asleep. “Is there a reason for it, do you think?”

“Maybe they’re just getting separation anxiety.”

She looked like she wanted to hit him with a pillow but had determined it would take too much effort. “Somehow I don’t think that’s it. And the raids aren’t any more dangerous than they were a few weeks ago.” They lapsed into silence again. “Jon, I think I’m going to be sick again.”

He sat up, almost pushing Ghost off the bed on accident. “Are you sure you’re all right? This is hardly the first time.”

“I’m fine.” But he could hear the anxiety in her voice; she never got sick. Ever. “I’ll talk to a maester tomorrow.”

Jon still slept uneasily that night, slipping in and out of nightmares until the sunlight streaming through the window finally woke him up. Dany and Ghost were already gone and the bed next to him was cold; when he saw the basin on the washstand was missing he realized that she’d gotten sick again overnight. 

Jon was surprised when the news came out-but not all that surprised. They’d made love more than a few times in the past couple of months. 

And now Dany was pregnant. 

Of course they made arrangements after that-Dany no longer went out on raids unless it was absolutely necessary and although she often resented being stuck in Winterfell she didn’t usually fight him on it unless it was absolutely necessary. She still went out more than he wanted her to, but between them and the rest of his men they managed to keep her out of harm’s way. 

The animals’ strange behavior subsided slightly after that. Ghost went hunting at nights again and the dragons stayed outside the castle grounds. They were still watchful of Dany but they were no longer a nuisance to everyone around them. 

“They knew they’ll be getting a younger brother or sister,” Dany said one night a couple of months later. Ghost was sleeping with them again; she scratched him under the chin and murmured sweet nothings to him absently. “Even before we did.”

“They’re strange beasts, aren’t they?” He could hear the dragons outside, singing their night songs as they hunted in the darkness. 

“They’re family,” she replied, reaching a hand across Ghost’s furry back to ruffle his hair. 

“That they are.” They weren’t exactly a normal couple; who said their animal companions would be normal either? 

Dragons and direwolves are my favorite things ever. Especially dragon and direwolf bonding. I need to write more headcanons. 

And obviously Viserion is not dead because…just no. Okay? Ok. 

Requests are always open!

@lumenlight prompted me, “Sterek AU where Stiles tries to seduce Derek but Derek has the habit of only dating older people (Jennifer, Kate …). So he says no to Stiles and Stiles is really disappointed but by chance he keeps seeing Derek and with time Derek realizes that he may have made a mistake?”

Hope you like it!! 

~4000 words, rated M. (I don’t usually write smut, but I felt like this was that kind of prompt.)

on ao3

Stiles usually doesn’t venture as far out of town as the Preserve—there’s not much out here but trees—but today that’s kind of the point. If he’s going to start up a jogging regimen to prep for lacrosse in the fall, he’s sure as hell not going to do it in his own neighborhood, where all his neighbors can (and will) watch him flailing around looking stupid.

He doesn’t actually end up jogging at all, though, because before he finds the trail he’d marked on his map, his Jeep abruptly sputters and dies on him right in the middle of the road. That’s also about when it starts raining.

“Oh, come on,” Stiles groans, hitting his head on the steering wheel a few times.

He pulls out his phone to call someone—his dad, a tow truck, Scott—and there’s no signal. Right. Because he wanted isolated, and he got it.

There’s no sound at all except the drumming of the rain on the roof of the Jeep, coming down harder and harder, taunting him for being such a fucking idiot.

He thinks about waiting it out, but who knows how long that could take, and if he doesn’t make it back home in time for dinner or at least get somewhere where he can make a phone call, then his dad is probably going to think he got eaten by a mountain lion or something.

“Fuck it,” he mutters. He pockets his phone and keys, grits his teeth, and jumps out into the downpour.


He has to walk for about twenty minutes before he finds any sign of civilization. It’s a house, or at least part of one. It’s tucked away down a long dirt driveway on the edge of the Preserve and looks sketchy as hell. It’s been burned, badly, and even though it looks like maybe someone’s been fixing it up, it’s still not exactly what Stiles would call habitable. Part of the charred roof is caved in, and most of the windows on the second floor are shattered, their jagged glass gleaming ominously in the dim light and the rain.

Stiles would assume it’s abandoned, except that there’s a shiny black Camaro parked out front. That at least looks well cared for.

It’s that detail, plus the rather compelling fact that this is probably the only house for at least a mile and Stiles can feel his feet starting to rub raw in his wet tennis shoes, that finally gives him the courage he needs to squelch his way through the mud and onto the porch to knock on the door.

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anonymous asked:

"I'm sorry I called you. I was being an emotional mess. Won't happen again. I know you have more important things to worry over."

“I’m here now. You going to let me in?” Aaron moved aside and he slid past into the hallway. “For the record there’s nothing more important than you.”

“Tea?” Robert nodded, well used to Aaron’s diversion tactics by now. He sat at the table waiting until there was a mug in front of him and Aaron opposite him before he spoke again. “So, what’s going on?”

“Just a bad day. Except, it isn’t, or it shouldn’t be.” He sighed deeply meeting Robert’s gaze. “Don’t you remember what today is?”

“Of course I do. Is that what got you into such a state?”

“We should be celebrating today. How the hell did we mess this up so badly?”

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