Did anyone in the fic surprise me by doing anything? If so, what?
Let me tell you about Eren.
When I first started fooling around with this ot3 heist AU Eren was this tightly wound ball of anger and aggression who was basically primed to go off like a powder keg at any second.
And then I started writing. Stuff happened. the twitsquad got involved and headcanon jams were held. And then. And then.
And now I’ve got this floppy 165 pound puppy who still tries to sleep in his dad’s lap even though he’s 5 inches taller and 20 pounds heavier than his dad now, and is addicted to Capri Sun and cooking shows and teaches tae kwon do to small children at a community center and pretty much wags his tail whenever Marco walks into a room.
Genderfluid Armin being an assassin who leaves lipstick stains on the necks of his targets and comes home to his boyfriend at night, and when they have sex he kisses him everywhere except for the neck. Then one night, Armin swipes a coat of blood-red lipstick and straddles Jean's hips, whispering that he loves him, and Jean's world goes white as the pain racks his body and Armin leaves a rose-colored lipstain on his throat.
THIS IS MY FAVORITE THING IT SOUNDS LIKE A MOVIE OMG
Happy Birthday, vashiane ! You were one of the first friends I made on tumblr and you’re always a joy to see on my dash. You’re a lovely person and I love you heaps! <3 so here is a spiderconnie (miles morales style) ! :^)
I literally watched Godzilla 2014 for Bryan Cranston and that worked out /fantastically/.
yaasss, his voice over/appearance in the trailer was 100% the reason why I wanted to see godzilla and then he fucking dies on a walkway 20 minutes in and we get stuck with baby-face mcgee and his boyband charisma for the rest of the movie smh
He carefully rolled his shoulders, testing the movements. No pain today, at least for now. Would it stay that way or…?
“You’re going to hurt yourself doing that on your own.” Large hands rested on his shoulders and he looked up into beautifully kind, green eyes. “Here, let me.” He grunted as his boyfriend gently begins massaging his shoulders and neck. It’s almost become a ritual nowadays. Ever since they moved in together. “Say, Sosuke?”
“Nnn?” It was all he could really get out as he leaned into the touch. “Yeah, Makoto?”
“Don’t feel bad using me as a shoulder.” He almost said something, but a kiss on the nape of his neck stopped the words cold. “Okay?”
“…Nnn.” He leaned back and sighed. “…I’ll try.”
“I know.” A feather-soft kiss brushed against his ear. “Ready to teach the kids today?”
Eren slowly pulling the book out of Levi's hand, holding it up juuuuust out of his reach. Levi stretching up to grab it again and being met with Eren's lips against his. Levi folding, falling back against the armchair with his fingers winding into Eren's collar as they kiss, Eren's knees straddling his hips, the book being tossed aside with a thump as it hits the carpet.
My eyes fly open and my breath catches in my throat. I’m paralyzed, trapped somewhere between nightmare and reality. Soon, though, reality takes over and I breath out slowly. Just a dream. Just a nightmare. Right?
I glance over to confirm the person at my side. Still there. Still warm. Still breathing. But… but I still need… "Heichou?“ I call softly, nudging his shoulder slightly. He grumbles in his sleep, but doesn’t wake. "Heichou?”
“Eren, it is three in the morning,” he growls after a moment. I feel myself relax in relief. Even if the voice is annoyed, it was there. “What the hell is it?”
“You do not wake me up for ‘nothing’.” He rolls over to face me, but I hide myself in the pillow and covers, embarrassed now. “Eren. You will tell me.”
He uses the 'command’ voice, so I have no choice, really. So I peek out to look him straight in the scowling eyes. “I… I dreamed you died.” It sounds ridiculous now. “That’s all.”
He stares, frowning, before sighing. I think that’s all to it, but then he forces me onto my back, pressing me into the pillows with a rough, passioned filled kiss that wakes me up and sends me spiraling into a warm haze. “Idiot,” he mutters as he breaks the kiss. He rests his forehead on mine, and I close my eyes to let the warmth sink in. “I’m not dead yet.”
“Hush. It’s late. Go back to sleep.” He pushes himself off me and tugs me into a hug. “There. Now if you have a stupid nightmare, you can just check for yourself.”
I couldn’t help but smile and I cheekily nip his neck, just for the brief flush that flashes over his face. “…Good night, then, heichou.”
MERRY CHRISTMAS vashiane !!!! I am your Secret Santa for the JM!Exchange!!! I really hope I was able to incorporate your favorite rare pairing into the piece well!! Overall, I wish you a delightful holiday season :)
“Breathing? Sitting? Eating? Jean, you have to be more specific!”
He took a breath, crossed his legs uncomfortably, and tried not to look as his girlfriend of two years casually used a french fry as a spoon to eat her ice cream. Eating it as slowly as possible, of course. “That. Stop that.”
“Stop what?” She smirked and he fought the urge to groan. She was so doing this on purpose. “Got a problem with how I eat my ice cream and french fries, Jean~?”
He glanced around to make sure no one was eavesdropping before replying. “It makes me want to race you to our house. Now.”
“Jean, jean. There’s this thing called ‘patience’.”
“Right. Patience. Like how Marco tries to…” Something clicked in his head. “You and Marco have been sharing ideas, haven’t you?”
“Well, he wanted some advice on Mikasa, so I kindly offered a trade.” Her smirk widened. “So, is it working?"
He sighed and leaned across the table to lick off a stray bit of ice cream off her lips. "Maybe.”
“Oooo, care to show me later?”
“Sure, sure.” If he could walk comfortably. Damn her.
Bertholdt was in the kitchen when he heard the overhead bell chime out. The clock had just rolled past 2 AM and the sound of boot-clad footsteps echoed throughout the empty restaurant. He was here. Feeling his fingertips tremble against the plastic handle of the now steaming pot of coffee, Bertholdt carefully emptied the contents into a speckled, white mug. Two sugars, one packet of cream (the off-brand too, not like Bertholdt was judging). Moving his fingers through the motions, Bertholdt peared his wandering eyes over the window separating the kitchen from the dining room. He could spot the top of a black brimmed hat, metal emblem glistening off the harsh, florescent lighting. It really was him, not like Bertholdt had any doubts in the first place.
He was over-mixing the coffee now, spinning a bent, metal spoon in spirals around the now hide-colored liquid. Catching a breath in his throat, Bertholdt lightly tossed the utensil into the sink behind him, traveling carefully into view. He was smiling, like he always did, sitting with his elbow propped up under his chin and a newspaper flipped open on the counter. He always smiled, even at 2 am, it was a fact that intrigued Bertholdt enough to anticipate his graveyard shifts, hoping Officer Bodt would stop over while things were slow. His heart was racing now, teeth chattering between his clenched jaw. Maybe today would be the day he actually stopped to chat, rather than simply fumbling through the dialog? Bertholdt seriously doubted that.
As his beeline came to a halt, Bertholdt heard a fearful whine escape from his throat as he set down the mug. What if he was busy tonight, or his shift was difficult and he didn’t wish to speak to anyone, let alone a lowly nightshift employee at some dingy diner. Bertholdt opened his mouth to speak, and before he could choke out a greeting, the strange, tingling sensation of warmth crossed his fingertips. Leaping back in fight, raising a leg into some ridiculous pose that wouldn’t help a thing, he heard the ceramic mug clatter to the floor. Coffee was flowing from the countertop, and a few darkened newspaper pages hung lifelessly beside it. This had to happen, on all nights, and of all people? Glancing up, a look of defeat behind his eyes, Bertholdt bit his lip in expectation for a verbal lashing.
But, he was laughing.
Pausing for a moment, Bertholdt cocked his head whilst settling his limbs back into their relaxed state. Marco was giggling, folding what was left of the newspaper into sections. Why wasn’t he upset? If anything, shouldn’t he be irate about the coffee being only lukewarm? Snapping back to his senses, Bertholdt scurried under the counter, retrieving a worn-out rag to soak the pooled liquid behind the counter.
“You remembered my coffee,” Marco began, “Two pack-“
“Two packs sugar, one cream. Only the generic brand because the normal has too much vanilla.” Bertholdt recited, glancing up from the floor.
“I guess that means I get a free one then, right?” Marco grinned, pulling some napkins from the tray beside him to assist in the cleanup.
“It was already free,” Bertholdt mumbled shyly under his breath, “I made it just for you so…”
“You know you don’t have to do that, you work hard enough. Things can’t be easy this late at night. Plus, I’m just a cop; I get enough reward just being of service.”
“I know,” Bertholdt began again, averting his eyes towards the tile, “It wasn’t about that, your job I meant. It was just for you.”
Marco had gone quiet, and in an act of pure boldness, Bertholdt pried his eyes from the drying droplets of coffee to see his eyes breaking over the crest of the counter. He had so many freckles under the shade of that hat, he had no idea. But, Marco was still smiling, a bit softer now than before.
“I’d really like that,” He started, “Especially from a guy like you.”
So I wrote this after seeing a post that Vashiane reblogged- I got kinda inspired and barfed this out in like a half an hour. The original post was something about “imagine your OTP getting married…just before they’re about to kiss, one of them wakes up- their partner died years ago.”
Anyway I tweaked it so this isn’t a “getting married” fic but hopefully it’s still cute and a little sad ^^
It happened each time, sadly. They’d finally find a place to camp that wasn’t infested with darkspawn, taint, or bandits. They’d finally pitch their tents in their normal, habitual order. They’d eat whatever Wynne and Morrigan fixed up tonight (and somehow didn’t kill each other over). They’d fix up some sort of watch system (with Sten normally taking first and last shift because ‘that was the job of the Beresaad or something’). They’d retire…
And then she’d nod off before doing anything more than kissing. It was a wonder why Zevran didn’t growl in frustration.
“Mi amore,” he laughed, ghosting a kiss across her cheek as his hands ran down her side. Sweaty side, mind. How he thought her appealing while covered in sweat, grime, and blood, she had no idea. “You seem a little tired.”
“Bite me, Zevran,” she sighed, taking off the armor Alistair insisted she wore. It was heavy, and cumbersome, but she remembered the arrow that had nearly killed her, back at Ostagar. She knew he remembered it too, and was terrified of losing yet another member of his 'family’.
“Mmm, with relish, if you desire~” She made a face at him, but he just grinned. “However, if you would like, I can demonstrate one of my many, many talents.”
“Besides keeping my bedroll warm?”
“Ah, my lady Amell, you wound me! I know at least one or two other tricks. Well, more than that, but you’re too exhausted for any exertions, fun as they might be.” She grumbled something under her breath. “Now, now. Let’s not be mean to the poor assassin!”
“So, this talent?” she prompted, slipping out of her robe. Once, she was shy, but not now. They’d shared their tent too long, really, for her to even think about it. “If it’s nice, I’ll need it for the coming days.”
“Right, the Landsmeet.” Yay, more politics. And hopefully gutting a certain Teyrn. “Well, I’ve just the thing.”
“First, lay down. On your stomach.”
“…Okay?” Shrugging, she did as he asked, feeling herself sink into the bedroll. How Leliana kept the things plush, she had no idea. But she liked it. “You’re not going to dump something on me like Oghren did yesterday, right?”
“You must admit, Shale chasing him around for that was funny,” he snickered. “But no. Just, trust me.”
“Always.” There was silence, as if he’d been caught by surprise. But before she could ask, she felt his hands gently press into her back. Oh, a massage? …A very, very nice one… “Mmm… you have until forever to stop.”
“Don’t tempt me,” he teased, leaning over to press another kiss on the tip of her ear. “Let me just work on the tension a bit. You, relax. Assassin’s orders.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” she mumbled sleepily, already nodding off again. After all, what was there to worry about? She was with Zevran, the love of her life, and no one would attack them (hopefully). All was well.