thanks for the prompt! :)

nofootprintsinsalt  asked:

Kiss prompt 40 - kylux please if you feel like it

[40. …because the world is ending.]

“Do you ever wonder,” Hux began with surprising calm over the roar of the fire and destruction around them. “What could have been?”

Kylo turned his head, expecting Hux to be looking at him but the Grand Marshal still had his gaze fixed on the battle beyond the viewports. Sweat was beading on his brow but otherwise he looked better than he had in days- perhaps the certainty of death was the only thing that could truly free him from his worries.

“If we’d had different childhoods you mean? Parents who cared?” Kylo asked. He could taste the bitterness of his own words. Or perhaps that was the coolant leaking from the console to his left.

The habitual lines of stress reappeared, ageing Hux by decades for a moment before they vanished again.

“My mother cared too damn much - that’s why Brendol had her killed… no.” Hux sighed. “No, I don’t mean that far back. Whoever we would have been with a different start we wouldn’t recognise ourselves. I meant… us.”

“What?” Kylo had to turn back to the viewport, dodging the X-wing he couldn’t shoot down with the weapons system already blown away, but he tried to keep the corner of his eye on Hux anyway. “What ‘us’?”

“Don’t you ever wonder what would have happened if you’d accepted my invitations?” Hux said. Desperation seemed to drip from his words. ‘If we’d worked together, lain together, been more to one another than the rivals Snoke made of us.”

“What invitations?! Lain together?!? WHAT?” 

His concentration well and truly broken Kylo missed the approach pattern of a nearby corvette. Their shuttle shuddered at the impact but neither man seemed to notice.

Hux was staring at him in horror. “Do you think every officer invites their co-commander into their quarters while they’re wearing nothing but a robe? Brandy is a level zero ration, do you think I’d share that with anyone else?”

Kylo- who had grown up in the Republic where everything was shared and uniforms were a formality- felt the icy cold grip of regret across his heart.

“Hux, I had no idea.”

Behind them something ripped free from the back of the shuttle. The cockpit plunged into darkness. Every single electrical system was gone. 

“We’re both idiots,” Hux said half to himself. He’d released his harness and, with one hand gripping the back of his chair to counter the sudden lack of gravity, he pushed himself across the narrow space.

Kylo caught him without a word. Amazing how well they fit together in this moment, Hux straddling his lap, fingers tangled in one another’s hair, lips pressed together saying everything they should have said over the last five years…

It was bliss.

Without the guidance system the shuttle sank into the orbit of the planet below. Kylo could see the fire of atmospheric reentry illuminating the edges of Hux’ hair but he hadn’t even the energy to feel afraid. 

They could have had this feeling all this time if only they’d said something to one another. 

Kylo dropped a hand from Hux’ hair to hold him closer, bracing for an impact they couldn’t possibly survive but fiercely unwilling to give up what he’d only just found.

The roar of the burning ship was abruptly replaced by silence. A lack of gravity became another kind of weightlessness. Yellow white flames the cool green of sunlight filtered through water.

For a moment they stared at one another in shock, then Hux’ hands were scrabbling at his harness and Kylo was pushing them up, through the ruined viewport, up towards the light, towards possibility, towards hope… if they got out of this alive he’d never miss another opportunity again….

They broke the surface, gasping and laughing, not caring what world they were on because they were alive and together and nothing else mattered than that. 

The war would be over for them, they better things to do. 

Kiss Prompts

ladybloo  asked:

Your shindeku drawings are always a delight! How in your opinion, would mama deku react to first meeting her son's new 'friend'.

I imagine Deku to be the type of son that likes to share happy stories and memories to his mother… so naturally if he gets into a relationship, his mom will know all about it.

Exception to the rule of sharing happy stories would be, of course, anything related to One for All. But I think aside from that, Deku would share most positive things that happen to him. (Only positive things, because Deku wouldn’t like to make his mom worry.)

anonymous asked:

So weird prompt- Derek all sleepy running on instinct accidentally acting all sweet around Stiles? (I had a dream like this once, but he licked his hair for some reason? Do with that what you will.)

Your wish is my command, nonnie. Except for the hair licking. I could’t work out a way to include that, ;)

They’ve been researching chupacabras for hours, Stiles curled up in the enormous brown leather armchair Derek bought a couple years ago. Derek sitting on the floor by his feet, back leaning against the arm of the chair, legs stretched out under the fancy-schmancy coffee table that Stiles thinks looks like something from a pottery barn catalog, but that Derek insists is handmade by a master carpenter from reclaimed wood.

Five years ago if someone had told Stiles that Derek Hale, the dude who once spent three months living out of a rusting train car in an abandoned depot, was a snob about interior design, he would have laughed.

Now he’s sitting in Derek’s refurbished loft apartment, with its exposed brick walls, high ceilings and large windows that let in plenty of light. Everywhere  Stiles looks there’s bare wood, expensive leather furnishings and flashes of polished chrome. It’s decorated in neutral colors, slate grays and storm-tossed blues that have been accented with the odd flash of brighter color here and there. Everything feels sharp, and sleek and natural all at once. It feels grown up and very masculine, and Stiles is kinda secretly in love with it. Derek has bookshelves and organic coffee and prints hanging on the wall from old movies. He has an expensive waffle iron and an omelette pan. He has a fucking ficus. A ficus. Stiles cannot.

Not that he ever tells Derek how weird he finds it. Even three years ago, he might have done. But seeing Derek get to the point where he’s no longer hyper-vigilant or consumed by anger and guilt has changed things. Derek actually takes time to care for himself and the space in which he lives– and, well– now when Stiles feels the urge to comment on that stuff he squashes it back down. He never wants to make Derek feel bad about taking good care of himself. Not ever. So when Derek produces some newfangled kitchen implement Stiles has never heard of before, or Skypes with Kira for half an hour, discussing with perfect seriousness whether Windblown Clouds or New York City Winter would be the better shade of gray for the living room in her Chicago apartment, Stiles watches on indulgently and says nothing.

Currently, it’s almost one in the morning; one of Derek’s large chrome lamps casts a golden puddle of light over them both, keeping the shadows of night at bay. For the past half hour Derek’s head has been gradually lolling back onto the armrest of Stiles’ chair, edging closer and closer to Stiles’ knee. Stiles keeps getting distracted by it, half tempted to reach out and scritch the fine hairs on the nape of Derek’s neck. He avoids the impulse though, and eventually Derek starts to snore gently.

Stiles is debating whether to wake him up and make him go to bed when Derek startles awake with a sudden snort. Stiles snaps his book shut and places it on the end table next to him. “Okay,” he says, “time for you to go to bed.”

Derek looks round at him, blinking blearily. “S’okay,” he says, “I c’n–”

“You’re dead on your feet,” Stiles says, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “You had a full day at work, then got gutted by a weird hairless dog lizard thing, and now you’ve spent the last three hours reading ancient grimoires trying to research the weird hairless dog lizard. You’ve done enough.” Experience has taught Stiles that extreme healing always makes the wolves tired eventually, although it tends to be a delayed reaction. Sure, they seem fine in the initial aftermath, but the sheer amount of energy it takes to regenerate skin and muscle and regrow bone takes its toll eventually. After a ‘big heal,’ within a few hours they almost always need a ‘big sleep’. Frankly Stiles is amazed Derek’s kept going this long.

“S’late,” Derek says, “You wanna stay over?”

“Was planning too,” says Stiles with a yawn.

“Cool. I’ll get–”

“I know where the bed linen is,” Stiles says forcing himself to his feet, and then reaching out a hand and tugging Derek up. “Don’t worry. I can sort myself out.”

More often than he cares to admit he ends up sleeping on Derek’s couch, too tired to drive back to his dad’s after a long night of research. As the only two original pack members living in Beacon Hills at present, they started out being thrown together for supernatural emergencies. Over the last few months, though, they’ve begun to just hang out just for the sake of it, enjoying each others company. Sometimes they’ll watch a movie, or eat a meal together, sometimes they’ll just talk. It’s been happening more and more. Case in point: This will be the third time this week Stiles has stayed over and the only one that’s been preceded by a supernatural crisis.

If he’s honest with himself, now that Scott is post-grad in Wisconsin, finishing up his veterinarian training, Derek Hale has officially graduated from pain in Stiles’ ass and reluctant ally, to one of his best friends. Who’da thunk?

If sixteen year old Stiles could see him now he would be shocked.

It’s become so commonplace for Stiles to sleep over now, they have a whole routine which they perform almost on autopilot. Load the dishwasher together. Sort the recycling. Box up any leftovers from dinner and put them in the fridge to take to work tomorrow. Close the big window so the noise from early morning traffic doesn’t wake Stiles before he’s ready. Double check the apartment door is locked. Pour two glasses of water, one for each of them.

It’s a perfectly choreographed dance, they both know their parts, and tired as Derek is, he still insists on contributing, even now. The only difference is that this time it’s Stiles who goes and collects the spare bed sheets from the linen closet, and the extra pillow from Derek’s bed.

He’s just reached the bottom of the twisty spiral staircase, his arms full of bed linen, as Derek shuffles towards him, shoulders slumped, eyes heavy lidded, a glass of water clutched in one hand.

“Got everything?” he asks, barely repressing a yawn.

“Yeah,” Stiles grins sleepily.

Derek nods. “‘K,” he says. “Night.” And as he passes Stiles he leans in and presses a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Stiles goes perfectly still, mouth falling open, eyes following Derek’s progress up the stairs. He sees the moment when Derek realizes what he’s done because he pauses, his back to Stiles, hand clenching the rail in a white knuckle grip, posture totally rigid.

“Night,” Stiles says, voice coming out a little hoarse.

After a beat Derek continues his progress up the stairs. He doesn’t look back. Doesn’t say anything else. And eventually Stiles goes and makes up his bed on the couch, even though he’s certain it’s a pointless exercise, because right now he’s certain the last thing he’ll be able to do is relax enough to fall asleep.

By the time Stiles finally manages to shut his brain off and drifts into restless slumber, the sky is pink, and dawn is creeping over the horizon.

He’s woken the next day by the sound of Derek moving around the kitchen.

Stiles cracks an eye, reaches out a hand for his phone and jabs roughly at it, the screen flickers to life.

It’s afternoon. They’ve both slept in. Stiles clenches his eyes shut, feigning sleep.

He doesn’t quite know what to do. Are they going to talk about what happened? Or just ignore it? What did it mean? Was it a friend thing? It didn’t feel like a friend thing. But it was hardly a declaration of romantic intent either.  Stiles had spent last night with all these questions buzzing around his head like a swarm of confused bees. Now he’s awake again and he still doesn’t have any answers.

Stiles groans inwardly. This is exactly the kind of situation that he hates, and in an ideal world he would have woken early and sneaked out to avoid any awkwardness.

Except, no. That’s not true. He wouldn’t do that.

Not to Derek.

Maybe there would have been a time– but not now.

He’s so lost in his own thoughts he doesn’t hear Derek’s soft footsteps, and he almost jumps out of his skin when Derek looms over him, carrying two steaming cups of coffee. Stiles flails, almost tumbling off the couch in surprise.

“Hey,” Derek says, smirking slightly.

“Hey.” Stiles wrestles himself into a seated position, and pulls his sheets around himself in a blanket burrito. Then he sticks out a hand and takes the offered coffee.

With a sigh, Derek takes a seat opposite him on the coffee table, and cups his own mug between his palms. For a long moment neither of them say anything.

“So,” Stiles says, clearing his throat awkwardly, eyes darting around the apartment. “How ‘bout them Mets, eh?”

Derek raises one eyebrow and stares at him. “Stiles–”

“Did you see deGrom–”


Stiles sniffs. “Yeah?”

“Is it weird?”

Stiles clutches his mug to his chest with one hand, the other twisting the bed sheets nervously. He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say. In the end he goes with the truth. “It was weird because it wasn’t weird,” he admits, chancing a glance at Derek.

Derek lets go of a breath and it seems to whoosh out of him, shoulders slumping, maybe in relief. “Yeah.”

“I mean–” Stiles says, “I haven’t ever consciously thought about us like that before, but it felt– It felt right.”

“Natural,” Derek agrees.

“Like we’d always been doing it. Or we could have been.”



They sit in silence, and then something occurs to Stiles. “Are we–” Stiles pauses. Considers. Takes another run at the sentence. “Have we been dating?”

Derek scrunches his face up thoughtfully. Eventually he says, “I think maybe we have.”

“Huh.” They both take a sip from their respective coffees.

“So, are we gonna keep doing– that–” Stiles gestures between them. “then?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, nodding. “Obviously. Unless you don’t–”

“No. It’s good. I’m good. Just checking.”


Stiles takes another long sip of his coffee, and opposite him Derek does the same.

“You want some breakfast?” Derek asks.

“Do we have bacon?”

“And eggs.”


Derek scowls at that word, but he gets to his feet, and Stiles drains the rest of his coffee, then stands too. He still has the bed sheet cocooned around himself.

“Can we have waffles too?” he asks.

Derek nods.

“Will you use your fancy pants waffle iron?”

Derek rolls his eyes. Smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “Of course.”

Stiles leans into him a little nudges their shoulders together. “Your waffles are the best waffles.”

“Thanks,” Derek says gruffly.

“I’m serious. I spent most of last night awake thinking about it and they’re pretty much the only waffles I want from now on.” Stiles stares at him seriously. “They’ve basically ruined me for all other waffles.”

Derek snorts. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, but he looks pleased.

Stiles shuffles closer, leans in a little further, presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, an echo of the first kiss Derek gave him. Derek turns into it a little, so their lips finally meet just so. When they finally break apart, they’re both smiling.

Together they head into the kitchen and make breakfast.

tudormary-deactivated20180416  asked:

blue for the destiel thing <3

“Sam, what’s your favorite color?” Dean asked from the passenger’s seat of the impala. Cas couldn’t see exactly what he was looking at on his phone, but from small glances, he was pretty sure it was some kind of quiz.  

Sam smiled, staring far down the road.

“Brown,” he said with a smirk.

Dean nodded, not looking up, but Cas smiled in understanding as he shoved his feet under the seat at the front of the car.

“What about you, Cas?” Dean asked using one finger to scroll on his phone.

Cas leaned forward across the seat, his chin digging into the back of it. When he tried to spy Dean’s phone, the hunter pulled it away subtly.

He sighed, peeking at one of Dean’s eyes.

“Green,” he said definitively.

Sam snorted from the front seat. Dean looked confused.

“Ok, weirdos,” he said. “Just trying to figure out what ninja turtles you would be.”

After a moment of silence, he shrugged. “What?” he asked. “Can’t spend the whole trip listening to classic rock.”

Sam was full-on-laughing at this point and Dean turned off his phone, embarrassed.

“Shut up,” he said, then turned away.

Cas slung an elbow across the front seat.

“What about you, Dean? What’s your favorite color?”

“Bet I could guess,” Sam interrupted from the front seat with a knowing look towards Cas.

Dean’s eyes narrowed.

“Ok, why are you two being so weird.”

Sam shrugged. “It’s nothing. We’re just curious about what your favorite color is, that’s all. Is it pink, or black, or maybe,” he paused, “blue?”

Cas blushed.

“Sure,” Dean replied, eyes still squinting in confusion. “Blue’s ok. I think I like red, better.”

Cas shifted forward so his head was close to Dean’s.

“Only ok?” he said, disappointed.

Shrugging, Dean started getting defensive, sensing there was something he was missing.

“I don’t know, yeah, it’s a good color. What the hell is going on with you guys?”

Sam, in between short bursts of laughter, managed to say: “Dean, ask me why brown is my favorite color.”

He rolled his eyes, but finally Dean decided to bite: “Ok, I give, why is it your favorite color?”

Sam’s features sobered. “It’s the color of Eileen’s eyes,” he said fondly.

Dean laughed. “Alright, so you’re a big sap. We get it.”

He was about to let it go when Cas leaned forward, placing a soft hand on Dean’s arm. His head was peeking out over the seat awkwardly, his expression shy.

“But you didn’t ask me why my favorite color was green,” he said softly.

Sam was grinning in pure entertainment at this point, but the other two men ignored this.

It took a second. Then slowly, Dean’s expression dawned in understanding.

“Oh,” he said, blushing and turning away. Cas smiled.

Dean stared at the road, processing for a moment. It was quiet except for the small bumps the impala hit. Then:

“I’d like to change my answer,” Dean said. He couldn’t bring himself to look at anyone in particular, and his cheeks were bright red. His last words were quiet and shy, but he was smiling:

“My favorite color is definitely blue.”


‘I’m with you till the end of the line’

Make me choose:
⤷  Anonymous asked Steve and Bucky or Steve and Tony
⤷  Anonymous asked bucky x steve or bucky x nat?

starwarsdragons  asked:

Your art is some of the best I've EVER seen in my life, I have an art idea: Virgil says he doesn't laugh but the other sides prove him wrong by tickling him. If it sounds weird, I understand. I just thought it would make a funny comic or something. Hope you're having a great day 😁

First of all I’m INCREDIBLY flattered, second of all this is an adorable idea? Sorry Virgil, you can’t hide behind your edgy facade anymore any longer haha

embyrr922  asked:

for the friends prompt: the one where [ross] can’t flirt

Thank you so much for this prompt! To those who don’t know, it’s from this thing I reblogged. Sorry for the wait, but I had a little trouble finding inspiration for this one. I wrote like two thirds of a version of this and decided I didn’t like it (idk maybe I’ll finish it one day) so I went in a whole different direction, but I think I like how it turned out. It’s a bit of a weird interpretation of the prompt but I think it works. So, without further ado, I give you

The One Where Dex Can’t Flirt

           It starts with some shelves.

           The room in the Haus (Shitty’s, Lardo’s theirs, whatever) isn’t actually that big. There’s a reason why only one person has been living in it. They get some tips from Ollie and Wicks about maximizing space, they bring in some dressers for their clothes, buy a whole bunch of those containers that slip under beds for extra space, but still. They both have textbooks, their own wardrobes, hockey equipment. They manage to fit it all somewhere but they wind up with no space for Nursey’s books.

           “It’s fine, dude,” Nursey says, as he repacks the box he brought his books in. “I’ll put them downstairs somewhere, it’s no biggie.” It does irk him a little, though, because he likes having his books close. Some of them are old, gifts from his parents with little inscriptions wishing him a happy birthday. Others are well-worn from rereading, familiar stories he likes to have around whenever things get heavy. Some are new and have yet to be read and probably won’t be read unless they sit in Nursey’s face constantly and yell at him to do so.

           Nursey likes having books around. The simple presence of them comforts him. He likes to be able to look over and see a lifetime of stories that he’s gotten to live and settle in the knowledge that he’s got them to go back to whenever he needs it.

           But there’s no space in their new room and he isn’t going to make a fuss, especially since he’s actively trying not to fight with Dex this year. So he packs up his books and keeps them in one of the downstairs closets and moves on.

           A week passes. Nursey comes back from class a little disgruntled, half because he doesn’t like his new professor, half because it’s raining and he tripped and fell in a puddle on his way back to the Haus. Bitty isn’t in the kitchen, but there’s a plate of cookies sitting on the counter, so Nursey snags two and heads for the stairs. He tries to remove his shoes while walking there, and the coordination it takes to hop while removing a shoe and eating a cookie is not something Nursey possesses, so he ends up face planting into the couch. He loses his cookie in a crease between the cushions and now his nose hurts too and it is just turning out to be a monumentally shit day.

           He walks up the stairs with only one shoe on and waits until he’s pushing open the door to his room to try and get to other off and he’s mid-hop when he notices Dex, wearing a deer-frozen-in-the-headlights look on his face, transferring books from a box to a newly installed shelf.

           “Wha,” Nursey says around the cookie in his mouth.

Keep reading


“Don’t mention it S-


@pigzfairy Boy howdy this got out of hand but I loved doing it .;D

Whether anyone chooses to view this as the Deathglare ship or just some good ol’ bonding between 2 friends is entirely up to them! Happy Valentine’s Day everyone :’>