raised tents

darling, I know you’ve been feeling down lately, so I wrote this really quick for you. I’m not sure what you had in mind, but I went to a 100 % unicorns place, so I hope this makes you smile a little.

A shadow falls across Stiles’ worksheet and he looks up to see Lydia, mouth pursed, staring down at him. She says, “What do you know about unicorns?”

“About as much as the average eleven year old boy,” he says, which is: not much. Horse-like, pointy horn, something to do with virgins.

Of course, he goes home and finds out everything he can about them immediately. Both because Lydia asked, and because now he can’t stop thinking about it.

Lydia has forgotten all about their conversation by the time he’s ready to dazzle her with his knowledge, so alas, his mad unicorn skillz lie dormant for years, until all the shit with the werewolves.


Stiles is cat-napping in a spill of sun when all his warmth is blocked—he makes an irritated sound and opens his eyes to find Derek looming over him, frowning.  Stiles kicks out a foot and rolls over onto his side in the grass.

Derek says, “What do you know about unicorns?”

Stiles yawns and says, “A surprising amount for a teenage boy.”

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The Tea is Decaf


3.7k words
Dean/Cas, Sam/Eileen
Based on this text post

Castiel just barely slips out the door into the hallway and turns the knob as he closes it so the latch doesn’t make a sound. The light is always on in the hallway, and Dean always wakes up if too much of it pours into his room, so Castiel has mastered the art of slipping through the smallest space possible.

He breathes a sigh of relief once he’s in the hallway.

A small voice to his right lets out an amused laugh. He turns to see a particularly tiny woman wearing a very large plaid shirt and nothing else. Well, he supposes she could be wearing shorts under the shirt. It really is very big on her.

“You must be Castiel,” she says rather loudly, mispronouncing his name just slightly.

He walks over to her with a finger to his lips.

She puts her hand over her mouth in embarrassment before signing, I’m deaf.

Castiel mouths an “oh” before dropping his head and laughing. He then pops his head back up fast and mouths, “Are you Eileen?”

She nods eagerly and signs, You’ve heard about me?

Sam has mentioned you a few times, he signs back. He says you’re a very good hunter.

Her face lights up. You’re damn right I am. Still, that’s very sweet of him.

So, are you two…? Castiel looks back toward Sam’s room and then down at Eileen’s shirt.

Eileen’s eyes widen in embarrassment. He’s asleep. I was just going to the bathroom.

I was heading to the kitchen for a cup of tea. Would you like some?

Is there caffeine in it?

Not at 4 in the morning.

Eileen smiles and gives him a thumbs up before moving past him toward the bathroom. Castiel watches her go for a second before it hits him.

He looks down at his plain black t-shirt and too-small boxer briefs and wonders if Eileen could tell that these clothes aren’t his. And that he came out of Dean’s room instead of one of the countless other extra bedrooms in the bunker.

By the time Eileen pads into the kitchen, Castiel has two mugs ready with decaf teabags in them and he’s standing at the stove staring at the pot so he can pull it off the burner before it whistles.

It’s only a minute longer before Cas pours the water into the mugs and takes a seat across from Eileen at the kitchen table.

You’re an angel, aren’t you? Eileen asks as her tea steeps.

Castiel nods as he takes a drink.

Does that mean you don’t sleep?

Sometimes I do. I didn’t feel like it tonight.

Is Dean good in bed?

Keep reading

A Roll of the Dice

Miraculous Ladybug fanfiction/oneshot

Word Count: 10,254

Rating: Teen for sin

Pairings: Marichat/Adrienette

Summary: Alya gives Marinette a pair of adult love dice for her 18th birthday. Later that night, Chat Noir suggests to Marinette that they play a game with them to see if they work.

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Something New, Something Old

A belated Kuroken Day collaboration​ ~
Story by @nimbus-cloud
Art by @mookie000

Fic continues under the read more

Kuroo Tomoko was a confident woman; not completely lacking in humility as the word ‘pride’ might suggest, no, she was confident.  She had faith in her abilities (and her son’s, whatever she might say), and she held her observational skills in high regard.  It was how she had known her son’s sexuality long before he finally outed himself and how she knew now that Kenma was nervous standing in front of her. 

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I Love You and I Like You

(Reader x Bucky Barnes)

Word Count: 1668

Summary: Bucky loves the reader, and he likes her a lot, too.

Warnings: nothing but gross fluff

A/N: Something light and sweet. I was craving something cute and now it’s possible that I have cavities. Happy reading! here’s a sweet gif, too hehe

not my gif

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Sick Day

Characters: Dean, Reader, Sam

Summary:  Dean has the flu

Word Count:  2311

Warnings:  None. I think I fluffed.

Tags are at the bottom.  As always, feedback is welcomed and appreciated.

Sick Day

Kicking the covers off, you give up. Dean has been tossing and turning all night, and you can’t take it anymore.

Crossing to the other bed, you shake Sam gently. “Mmm…” he answers.

“Sam,” you say, shaking harder, “Sam, scoot over.”


“Scoot over.”

He rolls over onto his side and you climb into his bed. When the three of you had to share a room, you always opted to sleep with Dean. Sam tends to take up the entire bed with his massive frame. Dean isn’t much better, but you still end up with a little more room in his bed.  

Sam rolls back over onto his other side, snoring softly. Dean moans incoherently in his sleep from the other side of the room. You’re not sure if bunking with Sam is an improvement in your sleeping conditions, but eventually, you drift off to sleep.


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On My Love update: I’ve been busy with school lately and haven’t been able to write much, but I think that I’ll divide the chapter after all. The update will come out sooner that way too!

But since you all have been waiting so long, here’s a preview of Chapter 6! :D

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Arthur x Reader: Our Little Family

I don’t own the GIF, and I don’t own BBC’s Merlin.  Other than that, enjoy!

“Okay, fold your arms like this,” Arthur copied you.

“Is this okay?” He asked nervously.  You adjusted them a little.

“Now they’re good.  Wait there,” Arthur was finally going to hold his son.  He’d been born just a week ago, and Arthur had still yet to hold him.  Part of it was due to the fact that being a king kept him on his toes, but he was also terrified of making a mistake.  You picked up your tiny son from his cradle as he cooed softly. You slowly walked over to Arthur as you rocked him in your arms.  You sat down next to Arthur on your bed and turned to face him.  He copied you, gulping nervously.  You gently deposited the baby in his arms.  “Mind his head.”  You told Arthur.  He nodded and adjusted accordingly.  When you were satisfied with how Arthur was holding him, you slowly removed your hands.

And then your son burst into tears.  Arthur looked at you with panic written all over his face.  “What am I doing wrong?  Can you take him?”

“No,” You told him.  He looked at you helplessly.  “You’re holding him perfectly.  He’s just not used to you.  Plus, the fact that you’re wearing chainmail probably isn’t helping.”

“Oh God, is it hurting him?!”  You laughed.

“No of course not, it’s probably just super cold to him.  Here,” You took your son, who quieted down immediately.  “Take it off and then I’ll hand him back.”  Arthur removed his armour as quick as he could, before carefully moving his arms back into the position you had taught him.  You gently returned the baby back in his father’s arms.   He stared up at his daddy for a few moments, before bursting into tears again.  Arthur deflated.  “Arthur,” You laid a hand on his shoulder.  “You’re doing nothing wrong.  He’s only like this because you’ve never held him before, and he knows it.  He just needs time.”  Arthur turned back to his son, who was still wailing.  He began to rock him back and forth.

“Shh,” He murmured to his son.  “Don’t cry, Thomas.   It’s alright.”  He raised his son, whose cries had slowly started to soften.  He tentatively raised two chubby fists up.  Arthur lowered his head and let Thomas touch his face.  He smiled at the feeling, and Thomas stopped crying all together.  His eyes were wide with curiosity, and a little smile plastered itself on his face.  Arthur’s grin widened.  “Y/N, he stopped crying!”  He said softly.  Thomas giggled at his father’s voice, and slowly lowered his fists.  Arthur continued to grin and rock his son, until Thomas yawned, snuggled into Arthur’s chest, and fell asleep, clutching onto his father’s shirt with two tiny hands.  Arthur stared at his son with pure love in his eyes, before turning to you.  He carefully moved one arm to wrap around your shoulders, and you moved closer, kissing Arthur’s cheek and resting your head on his shoulder.  He smiled and kissed your hair before returning his gaze back to your son, who slept peacefully in the arms of his father.

Thanks to the anon that requested this one!


June 11th 2016…

Looking at the monitors 707 lights a candle and sings a lonely song to his Twin,  "Happy Birthday Saeran, I miss you"

Somewhere hidden in the woods that same sentiment is not shared “Why did you leave me Saeyoung!”

June 11th 2017

Saeyoung tentatively raises his hand “Happy Birthday Saeran, I love you”

Saeran raises his own and closes his eyes “Same to you stupid Brother”

This picture is a gift for our friend @hiniparlousblog Happy Birthday for June the 12th!

Another HanRyu collaboration with the wonderful @jumin-love <3

| Cute | Holoform!Bumblebee

“This better be good”

- the first words out of your mouth as you knocked on the door hard.

Sam answered almost immediately, as if he’d been waiting, eyes staring at you from under a mop of brown hair as his head popped out.

“Oh it is,” He verified, a smirk pulling up his lips. He leant against the doorframe. “Bee’s been nagging me to call you for ages.”

“Bee?” You rose an eyebrow, curiosity slightly pinched but the irritation at having to walk all the way over to Sam’s house still pricking you.

“Why didn’t he just come himself?” You muttered. Sam only supplied you with a slight shrug of his shoulders as you turned to walk to his garage.

“You better not get it on with my car, Y/N!” You heard him call. You slightly bristled, knowing he must’ve noticed the excitement you tried to hide at the fact that it was Bee who called you over.

“He’s not yours Sam!” You called back. “And get a haircut you dork! You look like a broom!”

You heard him yelp and looked back to see him run his hand into his slightly overgrown hair with a blanched face. Snickering to yourself, you entered the garage, letting his sounds trail off to silence.

The moment you entered, the bright yellow Camaro in the middle of the room instantly shook on it’s wheels.

You laughed as he transformed, quicker than you’d ever seen before, growing to his full height. He hunched slightly because of the short roof but his servos clicked rapidly, clearly excited.

“You look happy about something,” you teased, resting a hand on your hip.

Because I’m happy! Clap along if you feel like a room without a roof!” The song flowed from his speakers which made you give a very unattractive snort. Bumblebee nodded enthusiastically, going down on one knee so that you could see him better, and not have to look almost straight upwards to see his face.

You found yourself lost in the gaze of his impossibly blue optics for a moment, before shaking yourself out of it. “What did you want to show me?”

Bee blinked once, twice, slowly, then popped up again as if realizing that yes, he indeed wanted to show you something. His doorwings fluttered so childishly you almost cooed out loud.

He folded back down into his alt mode, the door opening smoothly without a creak.

“You want me to get inside?”

You – got it – sugar cakes,” came his voice in the distorted radio speech he used.

You rolled your eyes, sliding into the driver’s seat and buckling yourself in as a habit. Humming a tune under your breath, You tapped your fingers on the dashboard to the beat. Your other hand brushed a thumb over the AutoBot insignia in the middle of Bee’s wheel, your gaze growing soft.

“We’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we bud?” You exhaled lightly, remembering all the exciting - albeit terrifying and life threatening - adventures you’d gone through with the Cybertronian.

That we – have,” The words were also without his usual enthusiasm, thoughtful as if he were sharing the same sentiments you were feeling.

You rested your palm fully on the seat, feeling the warmth almost pulsing beneath your fingers, instead of cold leather. It reminded you yet again that Bee was a living being - a sentient, amazing being that you had had the opportunity to meet.

“What would I be without you?” You mused softly, not realizing you were thinking out loud and also failing to feel the seat belt tightening around you, as if hugging you close.

“But hey!” You broke yourself from your emotional state, putting your hands on the wheel, twisting and pretending to drive down a street.

You grinned, laughing as you gave it another spin and made car sounds. Bee went along with it, turning as if you were actually controlling him, the engine revving loudly and sending you into another fit of giggles.

“Sam would freak out if he saw me in his seat,” You snickered, imagining said control freak sputtering and demanding you to get out of his ‘special seat’.

“But you wouldn’t mind would you Bee? After all I’m your favourite.” You joked, nudging the wheel playfully.

“Oh I definitely don’t mind,” A voice next to you drawled.

You stiffened.

Your eyes slid over, and to the right there was a guy, casually leaning on the dashboard with his cheek on his palm. He smirked as he captured your gaze.

You screamed.

Unbuckling your seatbelt roughly and ignoring the whine of opposition from Bee, you threw it off you. You nearly fell headfirst out the car as you leaned to open the door, forgetting it was already ajar. Eventually you made it out, slamming the door shut and backing away.

Your chest heaved as you panted for breath. “Who the hell are you??
Afterwards you instead turned to your best friend of two years. “Bee! Who the hell is that?? Did you know he was in there?”

I did,” Came the short and almost cheeky answer.

“You did?” You asked, calmed down slightly, assured in the fact that Bee would never let someone harmful stay with you in the car but still on edge. “How long has he been in there?”

“Since the start of the conversation”

You turned around so fast you could have gotten whiplash. The same guy was now right behind you even though you hadn’t even seen him leave the car.

“I wasn’t asking you,” you narrowed your eyes, stepping back, putting some space between you. “I was asking Bee” You didn’t even try to censor who you were talking to, seeing as if he had been there the whole time he would have already witnessed who Bee was.

“But I am-”

“Shush!” You said, irritatedly. “Bee, why aren’t you answering me?”

Beautiful – calm down – listen to me”

“I am listening to you!” You said, clearly not getting whatever was going on.

“No you’re not,” Mystery guy said again, furrowing his eyebrows.

“I’m not talking to you” You felt as if you wanted to rip your hair out, your voice raising in pitch at your frustration.

“Y/N, calm down,” He stepped closer, resting a hand on your arm. You jerked back instantly.

“Don’t touch me!”

He hissed, and you saw that your nails had scratched three angry red lines in his skin. Your head cleared a bit and you couldn’t help the worry that flooded you.

“H-Hey wait, I’m sorry,” you stanmered. “Are you okay?”

He only chuckled raspily. “This is not how I expected this to go at all.”

At his calm output you found yourself levelling back to earth. “Who are you?” You frowned. “Why were you in…”

At the look in his eyes, realization suddenly dawned on you. “…in..Bee…”

“Bee?” You said incredulously.

“The one and only babe,” he grinned, winking the same impossible eyes, such a deep and baby blue it was like you could swim in them.

“But, you, how, what?”

He chuckled, lifting an arm to scratch at his head, an arm where there were no scratches that had just been there, as if healed already.

“Ratchet invented these holoforms for us to be able to blend in with humans better,” He said.

“Ratchet what??”

After a long explanation you stood in the same spot, blinking owlishly. Groaning, you leaned against the hood of the car. “I need to lie down.”

Bee laughed before coughing suddenly, dissolving into hacks that instantly worried you.

“Bee?” You said, still in slight disbelief but coming to terms with the fact that was standing right before you.

“I-I’m alright,” he rubbed his throat, and you suddenly noticed that he had been speaking hoarsely the entire time, but now it was like a rake was being dragged down his throat. “Talked too much.”

That’s right, his vocal processor was never properly fixed, You thought sadly.

“Will you be ok?” You asked.

I’ll be – fine,” The radio spoke from his alt.

“Just can’t talk for a while after this,” Bee spoke again.

You grew disoriented from his different forms speaking. “That’s so weird.”

You bit your lip absentmindedly, tracing your eyes over the male. Shaggy golden locks that curled right beneath his ears, sky sapphire eyes and a smooth jawline. Unsurprisingly, the rest of his body was adorned in black and yellow articles of clothing.

“Holoform…right? Holo like hologram?” You asked. “Does that mean…can I…?” You raised a hand tentatively.

“Go ahead,” He prompted, putting his palm up, hovering in front of yours. You ventured closer, swallowing before letting your hand slowly connect with his. Your eyebrows visibly lifted when the tips of your fingers brushed warm skin, instead of phasing right through him.

“Wow,” you breathed and dashed your caution to the wind as you pressed your hand fully to his. “It feels…You feel so-”

“Real?” He grinned toothily, interlocking his fingers with yours. “It’s not. But pretty awesome right?”
He stared at your interlocked hands. “I’ve always wanted to do this with you.”

You ignored the way your stomach fluttered at those words, still in awe. “Wow Bee, just wow. I don’t know what to say.”

You’d been expecting something when you went over Sam’s house, but definitely not this!

“Shh,” he put a finger to your lips before leaping back with the grin still attached to his face. “Then don’t! Let me amaze you”

There was a small flash of light and then Bee was dressed differently, a leather jacket over a yellow ripped shirt that slightly showed his abdomen. There were boots with chains climbing up his legs and fingerless gloves on his hands. He leaned against his alt, sunglasses glinting.

Bee tilted the sunglasses down and peered over the top of them. “Impressed?”

You were silent for a few extra moments before you broke out into laughter once more.

Bee looked adorably confused. You just laughed harder.

“Oh Bee!” You wheezed. Something about the bad boy look on Bee had you in fits. He just looked so clueless, like a five year old kid dressed in ripped jeans and trying to look cool. “No matter how you try to look tough, you’re just too cute.”

Bee’s cheeks flamed and he lost his confident persona, sputtering. There’s the Bee you knew.

“But, but I,” He actually whined, crossing his arms. “Y/N!

You were too busy rolling on the floor to hear him, and Bee contemplated running you over underneath the tires.

“What? That’s a good thing!” You gasped, getting up and leaning on his alt for help. “Isn’t it?”

“Cute?” He murmured angrily, storming over to you. His hands came to box you in and you had barely stopped your laughter when you noticed that he had trapped you on his hood.

You felt your heartbeat pick up as he leaned closer, and you could count every golden eyelash framing narrowed, intense blue. “Am I cute now?” His voice had dropped, and due to the fact that it had already been hoarse, the depth only made a shiver run up your back.

You controlled your breathing, steeling yourself before looking up as if thinking.

“Yes, yes you are,” You said before poking him directly underneath his ribcage. He froze, letting out a giggle.

A giggle.

You lost yourself to laughter again as he whined in the background, and the car revved angrily.


[If Bee thought your reaction was bad, he definitely changed his mind when Sam let out a high pitched shriek when he came into the garage to check on you, throwing a chair at him.]


Under The Stars (M)

word count: 8k 

genre: smut + a tiny bit of fluff at the end; domestic AU 

pairing: reader/doyoung

summary: you’re forced to go to the equivalent of bible camp, out in the forest. unfortunately, you’re also forced to share a tent with a resident goody-two-shoes and you decide to have a little fun messing with him. turns out, it brings him to his limit and pushes him over the edge.

requested by: an anon who wanted a camping smut with doyoung from nct 127


Originally posted by taeiljaeh

a/n: just a disclaimer that none of the religion talk was supposed to be rude or offensive, it was simply a them i chose so please don’t take anything said to heart. also i apologize if the characterization is off, doyoung is one of my lesser known members i’ve gotten to learn in nct so i tried my best ;;;;;

The weather was balmy, clammy even. It made your loose t-shirt stick to you in ways you could only verbalize as gross. Another heavy sigh left your mouth as you shrugged your duffle bag to your other shoulder, both of them already sore from the constant switching of the weight as you trudged along the trail.

Your mother made you go on this trip, a so-called “annual camping cleanse” that your local church would host to the local youth. The age limit was technically at 18 but the pastor more often than not let others go regardless of age, wanting whomever who wanted to experience the healing powers of nature come along. So long as they followed the rules.

They are as stated:

1.      Absolutely no intermingling between the males and females of the group inside tents

2.      Clean up after yourself, including campfires and dishes.

3.      Respect everyone

4.      Know what you’re there for: to learn the beauty God has graced onto this earth.

Keep reading

Like What You See?

Author: RuckyStarnes

Summary: Bucky cannot find the thing he needs before he leaves

Warnings: brief nudity

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 473

A/N: guys, I’m horrible with summaries lol

Originally posted by spdrparker

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Past Tense || Archie Andrews

Originally posted by thekjsmut

Prompt from anon: Could you do an Archie×Reader where the reader likes Archie and finds out about Archie and Grundy and distances herself from the group, but after grundy leaves Archie tells the reader he likes her and she low-key flips out on him and then the rest of the group when she finds out that they knew? Also could Kevin be the one who didn’t know and just kind of have this completely kevin reaction?


3 months. That’s how long it had been since you talked to your friend, Archie Andrews. After he had ditched you and Jughead to be with Ms. Grundy, you cut off all contact with him. He had tried to reignite your friendship almost everyday, sending you texts, calling you, even confronting you in the hallways. But you would have none of it. You had even distanced yourself from the group. Nowadays, you barely even talked to Jughead, Betty, Veronica, and Kevin. You were alone.

“I-I just don’t understand,” Archie said. “Why won’t she talk to me? It’s been months.”

The Core Four (and Kevin) were sitting outside at the lunch tables chatting about Archie’s current situation with you.

Veronica sighed.

“I don’t know,” she began. “Maybe because you ditched her for your music teacher?”

“Ronnie.” Betty warned.

“What?” Veronica exclaimed. “Sorry I’m a little bitter that my best friend has completely dropped all of us because Archie ditched her.”

“How is it Archie’s fault that she ditched all of us though?” Kevin asked. “I mean, shouldn’t she just be mad at Archie?”

Jughead snorted.

“Wow. Nice, Kevin.” Jughead said sarcastically.

Kevin shrugged.

“I’m just saying.” he mumbled.

“Maybe you could… You know…” Betty hinted.

Archie furrowed his eyebrows in confusion before his eyes widened, realizing what Betty was getting at.

“No. Absolutely not.” he said resolutely.

Veronica rolled her eyes.

“Oh come on, Archiekins! It could be your last shot!” she argued.

“She may have a point.” Jughead said as he popped a chip in his mouth.

Kevin looked at everyone at the table, wondering what they were talking about.

““Last shot?”” he repeated. “What are you guys talking about?”

Archie shook his head, he and the rest of the group seemingly ignoring Kevin.

“I’m not telling her. It’s not the right time yet.” the ginger remarked.

Betty groaned.

“You’ve been saying that for two years now!” she exclaimed.

Veronica nodded and Jughead chuckled.

“It’s true.” she agreed.

“What are you guys talking about?” Kevin asked again.

Archie groaned as he slammed his fists on the table and stood up, making everyone jump.

“I’m not telling Y/N I love her, okay?!” he nearly yelled.

The gang looked behind him with wide eyes.

“Oh my God.” Kevin murmured.

“What?” he snapped.

“Too late.” Veronica nearly whispered as she looked down.

Archie looked behind him and his eyes widened once he saw you standing there.

“Y/N!” he began. “I-I didn’t see you there, I, uh—”

“You love me?” you repeated.

“Dear God, I’m loving this.” Kevin remarked quietly.

Betty elbowed him and glared at him.

“How long?” you asked. “How long have you had feelings for me?”

Archie sighed, looking down.

“Two years.” he mumbled.

You let out a strangled laugh.

“I tried to get him to tell you, Y/N!” Veronica chimed in.

You looked over to the Lodge girl.

“You knew?!” you exclaimed. “You all knew and you didn’t tell me?!”

The gang winced.

Kevin tentatively raised his hand.

“I, uh, didn’t know, just for the record.” he corrected.

You ignored him and turned back to the ginger again.

“For two years,” you began. “You liked me. You loved me. And you still got with her.”

“I-yes.” Archie admitted.

He felt horrible.

You scoffed.

“And to think, to think that I liked you back then too.” you said.

The ginger looked up at you.

“Y-You like—”

““Liked,”” you spat. “Past tense. Before you screwed Grundy.”

Archie could feel his heart breaking.

“Y/N, please, I’m so sorry—”

“Save it, Andrews,” you snapped as you tried to stop the tears from falling. “We’re done here. Stop contacting me or you’ll be getting a restraining order.”

With that you walked away, leaving Archie utterly heartbroken.

What had he done?


A/N: You didn’t say it had to end fluffy. ;) (I’m horrible I’m sorry)


@lydixstiles @jughead-from-riverdale @pinkhappypanda @iamthegoatmaster @subsi4123 @deanskitten @latenightbooknerd @lostinpercyseyes @captainelsaeverdeen @itsjaynebird @allineedisconnor @superoriginalteenwolf @sastielstan @1amluke @satanwithstardust @babearchie @theselfishllama @katshrev @juggiesjuliet @betty-coopers-number-one-stan @imperfectanatomy @casismyguardianangel @irrajj @fangites @apocalypticangell @sparklingriverdale @jvghead-jones-iii @onceuponagladerhead @isabellaskyliner @vodkaluh @murderyoursoul @regenpony @xbobaaa @farmfreshcoldsprouts @hellolittlebigstudent @audreyxhorne @faithmichaluk @thebloodyshuckface @castawayalicia @lost-in-wonderland-x @holoqraphik @nadya0128 @soulception @jughead-archie-imagines @juggys-betty @twizzlersnizzler @riverdale–trash @barbarachern @likesiriusly @thatsavagehufflepuff @multi-madison @mrs-fangirl @thatcraxygirl15 @frobert20 @miss-mia-rae @buckyplease @myblackwings5 @thecrossroad-demon @writing-in-riverdale @jghdjns-iii @johnmurphys-sass @killjoyloki @annoyingsibling @gentlydean @ljrflowerprincess101 @goneghost123 @nafa1604 @elisayzrawr @that70skiwi @thedum1 @bex09 @kindfloweroflove @the-local-dreamer-star @stephyra17 @reginaphlanageadams @river-vixns @genderabused @wetsknn

riverdalewritings  asked:

Number 44 with Jughead and reader!

FOOTBALL GAME? IS that the one where they hit the big, orange ball with the bat?” Your boyfriend is a mass of sharp angles and jutting bones atop your floral-patterned bedding. From the outsider’s vantage, one would say he emanates an air of discomfort—beanie still crowning his head, ragged leather jacket blanketing his shoulders, even his feet remain tucked inside his worn boots—but, to your knowledge, this is his highest state of relaxation. Iron rods have materialized from a decade and a half of misery, guarding his gelid heart, and shielding him from curious outsiders. He says there’s something special about you; you think that’s how you managed to slip through the gates.

“You’re funny.”

“You’re cute.” The reflection of a boy in your vanity mirror winks. Involuntarily do your lips ascend into a pillowy crescent. “But seriously, it’s not my scene.” And then aforementioned lips descend.

Steely optics seek out his tangible form, goading you into pivoting on the balls of your feet. “What does that mean?”

His brows graze his hairline in a terse, first meeting. “It’s not my scene? It’s not my thing? I don’t do school events?” The questionable lilt that punctuates every last statement plucks on your frangible nerves. Of course Jughead doesn’t like school events, one glimpse of him is all the confirmation necessary, but he does like you, and you like school events—a message you attempt to convey with your facial ticks.

He isn’t comprehending.

“O-kay? And I don’t do Nancy Drew and The Hardy Boys, but do I not sit with you at Pop’s every night, going through evidence I don’t give a damn about to help you write your novel?” Baby pink nails cut into a curling palm, and—

—Oh, he’s getting it now.

Jughead tucks pallid digits underneath his cap, massaging the skin usually hidden underneath. “That’s different, Y/N.”

“How so?” you persist.

“Uh, I dunno, ‘cause my shit actually has a purpose?”

It’s not raining, but the cold seeps into your uniform and laces through your bones.

“As opposed to cheerleading, right? That’s what you’re trying to say? The River Vixens’ only purpose is to raise tents in pants?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call that a purpose since it’s a considerably easy feat,” he murmurs through clenched teeth and stiffened jaw. Your spine straightens—an aftershock of, well, shock. You’d find it comedic how his gaze enlarges, his sardonic bite and exactly who was being subjected to it dawning on his cognition, if anger wasn’t coiling around the mass of your stomach. Jughead displays both palms in a bid of surrender. “That came out wrong.”

“There’s a right way for something like that to come out?”


Now, you lift a hand. Your boyfriend’s focal point snags on the half-moon indents that desecrate your palm. “No. No.” The wear and tear of six months spent with a boy who isn’t as immersed in your interests as you his finally laps over you. He can’t attend one game, not one for you. “I’m good at cheer. I’m really good.”

The raven-locked boy lopes long legs over the edge of the bed, sitting from his previous lackadaisical position. “I know that.”

“How could you? From mandatory pep rallies? You bring your laptop to those, Jughead.”

He doesn’t disregard this fact, opting to offer a soft “I stop typing when you perform.” He thinks it’s a compromise; you think it’s a cop out.

You swing (literally, swing) into action and your bedroom’s threshold is the end-goal. Jughead tosses himself off the mattress, thrusting himself in front of your mobile form and nearly skittering into the doorframe. Dexterous digits curl around your shoulders, though you think the gesture’s done more for his balance than to immobilize you.

“I’m shit with words,” he begins.

“No, you’re great with words.” Thin lips quirk, and you wish he wasn’t so damn cute. “You’re just a shit boyfriend.” You utilize the loosening of his grip to your advantage, shrugging his hands and his touch and him away from you. “Look, I don’t wanna look like a fool anymore than you do. So here’s your chance, Jug, tell me. Tell me you’re not interested in me anymore. Tell me the reason why I’m giving you my all and you’re giving me half is because you’re sick of me. Tell me, Jughead. Be honest with yourself, be honest with me!”

A beat of silence.

And then two.

“Not interested in you anymore?” he half-echoes, half-sputters. Incredulity paints his sharp features. From knitted brows above cerulean irises down to slightly agape pink pout, Jughead’s disbelief is like a grass stain on white shorts. Unbelievably stubborn and not going anywhere. “Y/N, I am so interested in you it’s sickening. Literally. You make my stomach hurt.” (You hate that a chuckle rumbles from your chest. Jughead grins.) “Honestly, I thought you were into the whole Jason Blossom mystery thing. You love Criminal Minds.”

“It’s not scary when it’s on TV.”

He visibly softens at this, back winding into its comfortable slouch. “No, it’s not. And I’m sorry I never asked you how you felt.”

So you’re not sick of me?

Your gaze follows the swing of his head. “I am the farthest thing from sick of you. You make me sick” —Jughead catches your hand before it could make playful contact with his shoulder “—but I’m not sick of you, no.” He swipes his thumb across the skin pulled taunt against your knuckles. “If anything, I’m a little in love with you.”

This confession, subtle but heavy, sinks its claws into your disposition, altering your expression sans consent. You aren’t aware you’re wearing your perturbation as well as you are your uniform until Jughead says:

“Gee, baby, I hope that’s your ‘I love you, too’ face.”

So he did say the l-word.

“No. No, of course, I just–I never thought you would say it first. Is that–? That’s the first time you’ve said I love you.”

“Yeah, and it doesn’t mean shit unless I start showing you. So from now on whatever you’re into, I’m into. You like cheer, I like cheer. You like watching bad Netflix movies at 2 in the morning, so do I. You like Reggie Mantle, I–well, I don’t have to like everything you like, do I?” The tip of his nose crinkles in jocular distaste. Your own laugh of euphoria rings in your ears.

“Juggie, you mushball.”

Someday Your Child May Cry

Previous: Question | Preparations | Irrational | Confession | Collateral | Thoughtless | Interrupted | Recovering | Irresponsible | Possibility | Devastation | Confrontation | Generous | Confirmation | Understanding | Sight | Insatiable | Agreement | Family | Threatened | Terrified | Helpless

23. Mourning

It takes Mulder a moment, as confused as he still occasionally is, to process that Scully is walking away from him, down the hallway, towards the elevator. There’s a momentary flash of annoyance- how can she just leave after a confession like that? But it’s tempered, quickly, by the realization that they’ve both been through a hell of a lot in the past few weeks. It’s perfectly understandable that she might be at least a little uneasy around him for a bit.

“Scully,” he calls, and she stops, looking back over her shoulder curiously. “Where are you going?” She blushes softly.

“I, uh….” She looks down, fidgeting adorably. “I wasn’t sure if maybe you wanted to be alone.” Her eyes raise tentatively to his. “I mean… she was your ex-wife, Mulder. I thought maybe you’d want me to let you grieve on your own for a little while.”

“Scully,” he says, holding out his hand to her, “get back here.” Her face relaxes into a smile, and she turns fully, walking back down to his apartment door with a pleased flush on her face. He takes her hand and draws her close to him, sliding his arms around her. Holding her close, Mulder backs into his apartment, kicking the door shut behind them. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment,” he murmurs into her hair. “But I honestly can’t think of anything that wouldn’t be easier for me to handle with you by my side.”

“I just… I wasn’t sure,” Scully says softly. “I thought that maybe… with what you saw, the life that you told me that you dreamed of on that table… you might need time to sort things out.” Inwardly, Mulder curses himself for ever having told her the details of his bizarre, disjointed hallucinations.

“That wasn’t me, Scully,” he assures her. “There’s no universe possible where I would walk away from you just because Spender told me I had to. If any of that had been real, one way or another, I would have found my way back to you.” His right hand slips down between them, coming to rest on her belly, which is ever so slightly larger now than it had been when this entire mess had begun. “I would have found my way back to both of you.” Scully squeezes him closer, and he hears her sniffling into his chest. “I don’t know where Spender got the idea that I would ever have chosen a life with Diana, but he was wrong. The only part of that dream with any ring of truth to it was the end- where you came in and kicked my ass for being an idiot.” Scully laughs.

“That does sound closer to reality,” she admits. She pulls away from him, discretely wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “I’m sorry,” she sighs. “I know that whatever Spender put in your head wasn’t there because you wanted it to be. I’m being stupid about this.”

“You’re not,” Mulder promises her. “I’d probably be a little uncomfortable, too, if the situation were reversed.” She nods.

“Skinner says he’ll let you know when he finds out about Diana’s funeral arrangements,” she tells him. “Her family is taking her body back to New Hampshire, but there’s going to be a service here first.” She looks up at him, biting her lip. “I could… I could go with you,” she suggests. “If you want.” He smiles, bending to kiss her forehead again.

“Of course,” he says. “You don’t have to get back to the office right away, do you?” She raises an eyebrow at him.

“Probably not,” she says. “I’m not doing much other than paperwork, not until you’re cleared to be back in the field. Why?” Mulder grins at her, leading her further into his apartment, towards his bedroom door. She pulls away almost immediately.

“Mulder, no,” she says sternly. “You’ve been out of the hospital for less than a week. You’re not ready for that sort of physical exertion yet.”

“Who said anything about exerting myself?” he asks her. “I was planning on letting you do all the work.”


“Come on, Scully,” he cajoles her. “I haven’t been allowed to touch you in weeks. I promise, I’ll just lie there. I won’t move.” 

“Just what every woman longs to hear from her lover,” grouses Scully. Mulder focuses on looking as sad and pathetic as possible, and finally, Scully heaves a sigh. “No movement,” she instructs him. “If you start getting out of breath, even a little bit, we’re stopping. Am I clear?”

“Crystal,” Mulder promises.

All in all, he thinks, he does a decent job obeying Scully’s orders. She has to stop, once or twice, until he’s mastered himself… but really, he challenges any man (or woman, for that matter) to keep completely calm and still with a woman like Scully sitting astride him. Mulder is the king of believing the strange and the unlikely, but this is one thing he’s fulling willing to admit is absolutely impossible.


Diana’s service is surprisingly well-attended, given that she had only been back in the country (supposedly) for less than two years. Most of the attendees are fellow agents, from a variety of departments and divisions. Both Skinner and Kersh are among them. Skinner nods cordially to Mulder and Scully; Kersh steadfastly ignores them both.

A few members of Diana’s extended family, those who live nearby, are also in attendance, as well as, of course, her parents. Stephen and Barbara Fowley stand at the front of the church, a receiving line of two, greeting mourners with austere and straight-backed dignity, and Mulder heads straight towards them. Scully holds back for a moment, nervous, but Mulder takes her by the elbow, smiling reassuringly down at her.

“It’s fine, Scully,” he tells her. “I want you with me.” She nods and follows him, aware of Skinner’s eyes on them as Mulder’s hand settles at the small of her back. Stomach knotted with apprehension, they approach the bereaved parents, and Scully reminds herself, as her breath comes more quickly, that this meeting will be far more difficult for Mulder than for her. Not for the first time, she’s thankful that she’s not really showing (at least, not to people who don’t already know her well), because she doubts that Mr. and Mrs. Fowley are ignorant as to the cause of the demise of her daughter’s marriage, and this meeting is likely to be awkward enough as it is.

Diana’s parents both offer a tight smile as Mulder approaches. “Thank you for coming, Fox,” says Mrs. Fowley. “It’s good to see you. Diana told us that you’d been working together again.” She kisses Mulder stiffly, then steps back to allow him to shake her husband’s hand. Mulder reaches out and draws Scully forward with the hand at her back again.

“This is my partner, Dana Scully,” he says. “She’s been on the X-Files with me for the past seven years.” 

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr. and Mrs. Fowley,” Scully says. “Diana was an excellent agent.” As she reaches out to shake Mrs. Fowley’s hand, the older woman swiftly looks her up and down, her jaw clenched tightly, and Scully realizes, with a sinking feeling in her stomach, that Diana has, at some point in the past year and a half, confided quite a bit in her mother, at least where her former husband was concerned.

“Yes, Diana mentioned to us that you were… working with someone new, Fox,” Barbara Fowley says, her voice suddenly icy. “It’s good to know that you feel able to give someone what you denied our daughter.” Mulder looks distraught.

“Barb, that’s enough,” hisses Mr. Fowley. 

“Barbara,” says Mulder, “I didn’t- I never meant to-”

“It’s all right, Fox,” says Mr. Fowley, his hand on his wife’s arm. “We understand that there was more going on in Diana’s marriage than what she shared with us.” Barbara Fowley snorts derisively, but her husband ignores this. “We’re just grateful that the two of you were on good terms before this happened.” Mulder nods, thankful for the rescue from Mrs. Fowley’s anger, and he and Scully move quickly away, allowing the next people in line to give their condolences.

“Mulder, are you all right?” Scully asks, as they make their way to a pew near the back of the church. He nods, though he still looks as though he’s likely to either cry or vomit at any moment.

“I just never realized,” he says quietly, as they take their seats, “how much Diana had told them. They always treated me as if I were their own son, when we were married… I guess that explains why they cut off contact completely when we divorced.” Scully reaches over and takes his hand, and he smiles shakily at her. “Guess it’s a good thing your mom likes me so much, huh?”

“My mother loves you, Mulder,” Scully assures him. “And so do I.”

The service is brief, and with Diana’s body headed up to New Hampshire for burial, there’s no procession to the cemetery. There’s no invitation back to anyone’s home for refreshments, either; a small spread of fruit, danishes, and coffee is offered in the church basement, but Mulder and Scully elect to skip this and go straight home. It’s Mulder’s first trip out of his apartment since being discharged from the hospital, and already, his head has begun to ache.

As they’re making their way across the narthex, Scully catches sight of Skinner standing across the vestibule, watching them closely, his expression unreadable. He seems to be scrutinizing Scully in particular, and she nods to him, but instead of returning the gesture, Skinner strides briskly over to them.

“Agent Mulder, I trust you’re recovering well?” he asks.

“Yes, Sir,” Mulder replies. He grins down at Scully. “I’m told I should be back in the office in a week, if I listen to my doctor and take it easy.”

“That’s a big ‘if,’“ says Scully, and Mulder laughs. Skinner, however, barely cracks a smile.

“That’s good to hear,” he says. “Because I’ll need to see you in my office the moment you return to work. Both of you.” Without another word, Skinner turns and walks away, joining the mourners heading for the church basement. Mulder looks nervously at Scully.

“I think he knows,” he whispers, as they leave the building. “Did you see the way he was looking at you, before he came over to talk to us? He looked right at your stomach.”

“It doesn’t matter if he knows or not, Mulder,” says Scully. “He’s legally forbidden to ask me whether or not I’m pregnant, and he’s definitely forbidden to ask me who the father is.”

“Yeah, but this is Skinner we’re talking about, Scully,” says Mulder. “He’s stretched the meaning of ‘legal’ on more than one occasion.”

“That was to help us,” counters Scully, and Mulder laughs.

“Exactly,” he says. “If he’s that willing to stretch laws when it’s to help us, how much further do you think he’ll be willing to stretch them if it’s to kick our asses?”

Bull is singing a eulogy for his terrible, terrible curtains, detailing their final moments for his Chargers. His hands are on his knee and his cup, though Dorian is right beside him, rolling his eyes.

When Dorian stands to get another round, he runs his fingers over Bull’s shoulders as he goes. He glances back to see Bull smiling, a simple happiness that makes his chest clench. He watches Dorian all the way to the bar and back, and his gaze is heavy, lingering at his mouth as he talks. He leans close to whisper into Dorian’s ear at one point, but he keeps his hands to himself. Until they’re in Dorian’s room, of course, and he puts all thoughts besides Bull’s hands out of his mind.

The Chargers leave in the morning, a small errand for Lady Josephine, delivering a gift to some minor noble and counting soldiers along the way. Dorian is loathe to get out of bed when Bull starts gathering his things. He does though, making it as far as standing upright so that Bull can wrap him in a tight embrace. He kisses Bull, murmurs a quiet goodbye. Bull kisses back, sweet in the way that only he can be, hands warm on Dorian’s bare skin.

He is in the library before they actually make it out the gates, alone to distract himself from missing Bull– foolish, when he’s still in the courtyard, bellowing at Krem to hurry up. He looks out the window, out of habit more than anything else, and sees a few Chargers scurrying out of the tavern, Grim still clutching a tankard. He has time.

Leliana only raises an eyebrow at him as he strides past her and opens the door to the balcony. The gust of wind doesn’t deter him, though it carries an unpleasant echo of snow. Dorian steps out, pulling his cloak tight around him, and looks down at the courtyard. Krem is mounted, and Bull is conferring with Lady Josephine as the rest of his troupe falls into line. He kisses her hand and slaps Stitches on the shoulder as he heads to the covered wagon they’ll be escorting.

Bull shades his eyes and scans his men and then the keep. Dorian raises a hand, tentatively, then higher when Bull waves back. What a picture he must make, standing like a maiden in a tower, sighing after a chevalier on his way to war. He goes inside before the wind starts to make his eyes sting.

He isn’t lonely, while Bull’s gone. Sera’s there, hanging over his shoulder like a large, mustard-stained bat, and Vivienne invites him to tea, mysteriously enough. She pats his hand in a consolatory way and asks sharp-edged questions about his views on Southern Circles. Harding convinces him to help her teach the Inquisition to dance. Cadash takes him Venatori-hunting in the Hinterlands.

He isn’t lonely, but he misses Bull terribly. His bed is cold and there’s no one to coax him out of the library to warm it, and sometimes he turns to his left and there’s no one there.

Yes, he waits in the courtyard on the day the Chargers are expected to return. Yes, he waits there the next day as well. Yes, when he sees Bull, home and whole and arm in arm with Dalish, he feels like the world is just a little more right. It’s abominably embarrassing and he barely manages to make himself walk towards them. He’d much rather run.

Bull grins at him, takes a step towards him, and Dorian gives up and does.

Sirius Black

(Not Drarry. Mauraders era, Sirius Black, James Potter, Mentions of child abuse, corporal punishment.

I know it’s not my usual stuff and to be quite honest I’m not sure where the idea came from but I hope you like it.)

When Sirius Black was six, his parents were taking him somewhere and they had to pass through a muggle park. He saw children like him, playing and laughing, a little girl saw him, smiled bright as a sunflower blossoming and waved her whole arm in greeting. Sirius smiled back tentatively, raising his arm but almost as soon as it was up, his mother grabbed it and forced it back down. Her voice hissed angrily in his ear but all he could see was the little muggle girl looking a little sad and confused and turning away. He didn’t remember where they were going, he didn’t remember what his mother said, he remembered the other children, the waving girl and the throbbing in his wrist.

When he was eight, his father took him to a bookstore. Regulus was there and stuck close by his father side. Reg was quiet. His parents thought he was good and obedient. Sirius thought he was afraid.

Sirius wandered away, hardly paying attention to the thick leather-bound volumes filled with things he had no interest in. Just walked up and down the rows of bookshelves, dragging his fingers across the spines as he went. He turned a corner and nearly ran into another boy about his age. He had wild black hair and cheerful brown eyes behind a pair of glasses too big for his face and he appeared to have been doing the same thing Sirius had been.

Sirius gave him a careful nod.

The other boy grinned, “My name’s James, what’s yours?”

“Sirius,” he said with a burst of excitement and a hopeful smile.

They immediately joined ranks, walking shoulder to shoulder down the aisles. Touching the books became pushing them to the back of the shelf so the spines were uneven like a choppy ocean wave. It became a contest and soon they were each going as fast as they could, sharing excited challenging glances as they tried to push in more books than the other.

When his father found him, he grabbed Sirius’ shoulder and pulling him away so quickly it sent a surge of fear down Sirius’ spine. His father’s voice was low. He never raised it, never yelled when he was angry like his mother did, it only got quieter and somehow far more terrifying. He lectured Sirius about propriety, about pride and upholding their family’s name and Sirius nodded to each one, his movements stiff with a fury he could not name. Until Jame’s father came and got him and simply chuckled, setting the books to right with the flick of his wand and telling his son to take it easy next time. Then he knew exactly why he was angry.

Amidst his father’s reprimand, Sirius peeked behind him and briefly saw James and his father looking at him with a sad, worried expression. Sirius turned and waved to James as he left, not caring when his father turned him round again, his voice dropping to an even quieter hiss.

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A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More Kiss Me (4)

[A/N: Okay so this is fourth time attempting to upload this chapter now! It’s been revised a little since it was last mistakenly uploaded, just the final part of the chapter. I feel a bit ‘blah’ on this one, I’m not 100% sold on it but that’s because I really just want to move onto the next chapter, I have so many good things to come! (I hope!)

I’m really thankful for all the messages as well, you’re all awesome and I’m loving that you’re loving this. Despite my feelings on this chapter I hope you enjoy it!]

Word Count: 2122

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Living Colors

Originally posted by idealuk

^that gif kills me, holy shit. 

Mikey x Reader

Living Colors

Prompt(s): “Soulmate AU for Mikey?” and a few other requests for a Mikey soulmate AU.

Note: I like the idea of Mikey’s soulmate thing being that the world is black and white until you meet your soulmate. I just really think it fits for him. SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. I LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH OMG.

Green. It was the color Mikey was most curious about. Supposedly, according to some website, turtles were green. And because they were giant mutant turtles, it only made sense that that was what color they were. He wondered what it looked like, the colors of trees and grass, the color that made Central Park so alive, and he had never seen it. He might never see it.

Mikey wondered what color his eyes were. Were they green? Hazel? Blue? Maybe they were grey. Or brown. What color was his bandana? Was it yellow? Red? Blue? He didn’t know. Maybe he and his brothers all had the same color mask, only in different shades. That would explain why Raph’s was so much darker than his. There was just so much in this colorless world that had to be explained.

Splinter told the boys not to get their hopes up, that love would not be easy for four giant turtles. That perhaps the universe hadn’t set anyone aside for them and they would be alone forever. But despite the warnings, Mikey had hope. There was always hope.


The park must be so colorful this time of year. The time of year when the leaves darkened and drifted away on the wind. The soulmates you knew said that the leaves would flush vibrant hues of red and orange and yellow instead of the usual emerald green that made everything seem so alive. So vivid and vibrant instead of the dull grey you had grown up with your entire life.

As you sipped your coffee from your travel mug and flipped the page of your book. Someone had told you the cover was blue. You liked the idea of blue. They said the sky was that color, but at night it would erupt into brilliant hues of red and orange and pink. A sunset. You wondered how soulmates could ever get used to the sight of it after growing up in a world of grey. You wondered how they could ever take color for granted. It was like not appreciating how clearly you can breathe until your nose is clogged and suddenly something that you’ve been so used to seems like a luxury.

You knew that when you could finally see color, there was no way in hell you’d ever take it for granted. Not even something that happens every night. God, when you found your soulmate, you’d never take anything for granted ever again.


“I dunno, bros. I think today feels different.” Mikey shrugged.

“Mikey…” Leo started.

“Listen to me, brah. I feel it. Deep in my soul.” He pointed to his plastron dramatically, his eyes meeting his oldest brother’s. “My sooooul.”

“We get it, dork.” Raph gave his younger brother’s head a little shove. “We’ll see.”


You were working in the bookstore down the street from your apartment. It was night. You usually closed up shop at like nine. So once you locked all of the doors, set the security alarms, and turned out the lights, you left and began your walk down the street. You walked past the alleys and stopped when you heard something. A voice in the alley. Someone was there. And while you wouldn’t normally give it any thought, it felt…different.

You took a few small steps towards the shadows. Your confused look soon faded into something else. Realization. You were meant to be here.

“Hello?” You called. “Is…is someone there?”


“Don’t.” Leo mouthed. “Nobody move.” Mikey hadn’t even gotten the chance to look at you, what with Raph standing in the way. But that voice. That human voice. Mikey felt like his heart was going to leap out of his chest and run down the street.

“What’s wrong with him?” Leo asked Donnie as quietly as possible. The tallest turtle scanned him. The results were less than expected. He had never seen anything like this.

“We need to let him go to her.” Donnie stated. He knew what this meant. Those brainwaves, that heartrate. Something amazing was about to happen. “I think she’s…” He didn’t even need to finish. Leo nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line. Raph moved out of the way and pushed Mikey a few steps forward, just into the light.

Your eyes met his and suddenly everything changed. It was like a million fireworks erupted. The world flushed into color, countless colors, and the first you noticed was the blue of his eyes and the vibrant orange of the mask that framed them. Your body shook with heavy breaths. You were overwhelmed. Mikey fell to his knees, tears forming in his eyes. Here you were. There he was.

You took a few unstable steps forward, kneeling down in front of him. Tentatively, you raised your hands to frame his cheeks. A smile spread across your face. His too. A few tears of relief slipped down his cheeks. You wiped them away.

“I’m s-sorry.” Mikey sniffled. “You’re just so beautiful and I never thought I would ever-”

“I love you.” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck. He held you as thought you would disappear. Mikey never wanted to let go of you. Ever.

“I-I love you too.” He whispered as he held you against him. “I love you so much.”

“What the shell…” Raph whispered as he and the other brothers watched in awe. Mikey had found his soulmate. And she didn’t even scream.

“What’s your name?” You asked him, pulling away so you could look at his face. At his clear blue eyes.

“Michelangelo.” He replied, chuckling. “But the ladies call me Mikey. Not that I, uh, have any ladies. You’re the only one.”

“I’m (Y/N). And I’m proud to be your lady.” You kissed his cheek, causing warmth to spread through his entire body. You pulled away and looked at him for a few seconds before leaning in to press a long, sweet kiss to his lips. You felt him smile against you as one of his large three-fingered hands ran through your hair.

“God, I just…I wanna know everything about you.” Mikey said. His eyes memorized every facet of your face. “I…wow…”

“What?” he smiled.

“You’re gorgeous.”

“Hey cheeseball, how about introducing your girlfriend to your brothers?” Raph asked as he and the others came out of the shadows. Mikey helped you to your feet. You stumbled forward, but he caught you in his waiting arms. You laughed. So did he.

“Well, bros, this is (Y/N). (Y/N), these are my brothers. Raphael in the red is like a big cuddly teddy bear. If big cuddly teddy bears were incredibly violent.” Mikey seemed to be back to his funny, charismatic self. All of the heavy emotion had passed, and now he was himself again. And yet he felt different too. Like he had changed somehow. Either way, he continued. “Donatello in the purple, a technical genius who is technically a genius. Leonardo here in blue is our fearless leader.”

“You done?” Leo asked, amused.

“Yeah, I’m done.” He nodded. “So uh, do you have any plans tonight, angelcakes? I think it’s about time I brought a girl home.”

“I just have to toss this in my apartment real quick.” You held up the bag in your hand. “And then we can do whatever. Anything. As long as I’m with you.” You took one of his large hands in your own. He grinned.

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

Great Comet 8/17

I was sitting stage left banquettes, row BC. A lot of this is stuff I didn’t notice the first time around in the orchestra, or specific actor interactions! 

-I told the usher who showed me to my seat that he had, the best job in the world and he wholeheartedly eagerly agreed with me, saying he gets to watch the full show every other night and that he’s started sitting on the opposite side of the stage to get a different view. Everyone involved in this show loves it with everything they have and that is part of what makes it so special. 

-During Prologue Natasha and Sonya cross arms so Natasha drinks Sonya’s shot and Sonya drinks Natasha’s shot what cuties!  

-Dolokhov fist bumps so much i love the little party man

-at “minor charaaacterrrrs’ an ensemble member made eye contact with me and put his thumb and pointer finger close together. I did the same and he nodded emphatically 

-Scott Stangland was on as Pierre and honestly his physical acting blows me away? He moved so slowly and heavily. It seemed like every step took such immense effort because he’s just so weighed down with despair. It really helped me sympathize with Pierre even more than I already had 

-From where I was sitting Pierre’s back was to me when he sat at the piano, but the spot where sheet music usually goes was mirrored, so I was able to see his facial expressions! which is just, so genius. When Pierre wasn’t there the conductor placed an ipad with all his sheet music there

-Anatole walked across stage and rolled his eyes at Pierre when he sang ‘left it toothless and bald’ and ensemble members on the staircase next to me laughed/pointed fingers at Pierre :((( 

-Marya hits every note with such a wonderful balance of aggression and playfullness and it will never cease to amaze me 

-Sonya and Natasha held hands as they walked aw

-Mary and old prince Bolkonsky were onstage this whole time, in the area below the platform by the big door. Mary was reading a bible and bolkonsky was whittling. He trembles SO MUCH him holding a pocket knife was. a fright. 

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