#Tumblr Ficlet

[bacchusbasil]

Ficlet- Stan Loses his Memory (Shapes and Pines AU)

“Oh my gosh, Grunkle Stan you did it!” Mabel excitedly exclaimed as she placed the fez upon the kneeling man’s head.

Ford, Dipper, and Tad lingered behind, sober looks on their faces. Ford rubs his arm as a tear wells up in Tad’s eye.

“Oh uh... Hey there… Kiddo,” Stan hesitantly greets, gently removing Mabel’s arms from his shoulders. “What’s your name?”

Mabel laughs nervously. “Uh, Grunkle Stan?”

Dipper covers his mouth silently, joining next to his sister.

The man in the trench coat touched the back of his neck with an awkward chuckle and looked around. “Heh… who ya talkin’ to?” 

Tad floats up to Stan’s face, reaching for his chin. “C’mon, Mack! You know us! Don’t ya remember me? Your husband-for-tax-purposes?”

The blue being’s supposed husband just stares blankly. Tad grabs him by the collar. “You can’t just forget our anniversary that easily! C’mon, does twenty years of commitment mean nothing to you?!”

Stan backs away from the two, who now have tears flowing over their faces, and Dipper grabs each by the shoulders to pull them away.

Ford leans over to comfort Mabel. “We had to erase his mind to defeat Bill. It’s all gone.”

The older man glances up at his brother. “Stan has no idea, but he did it. He saved the world.”

Ford moves closer to Stan, placing his arms on either shoulder. “He saved me.”

The amnesiac blinked unrecognizingly as Ford teared up. “You’re our hero, Stanley.” His voice cracks. He embraces his brother for the first time in forty years.

Tad reaches for Mabel’s hand, who takes it and pulls him close like a teddy bear. The square cries into her sweater sleeve and she cries into his bowler hat, Dipper putting a hand on her shoulder and lowering his cap.

The family took a solemn moment to mourn.

(Shapes and Pines belongs to @void-dude )

[sunflower-eddiediaz]

Buck stares at the table - seemingly without seeing - and Eddie waits.

"I feel like I'm rotting inside," Buck finally adds.

"Well, I'm pretty fond of your inside." Eddie answers automatically.

"You're- What?"

Ok, that sounded weird, Eddie wasn't really thinking, but it is how he feels. Buck's frown has softened a bit, so maybe weird is good.

"I mean," Eddie pauses. What does he mean?

"I love everything about you." He settles on. Buck's frown shifts into slightly raised eyebrows, so Eddie continues. "I love you all the way down to your core, from all the way down to mine." Buck is looking at him with shiny eyes, and Eddie can't stop now. "I don't know if you're rotting, but it wouldn't change a thing."

Buck stares at him - as if seeing him for the first time - and Eddie waits.

"You-" Buck tries, and tries again a couple of times without success. Buck is looking at him like he isn't real. Eddie has never felt more real than now.

He swallows the weight lodged in his throat and tries to chuckle. "If I can't be sappy with you, who else then?"

He doesn't know if Buck wants to laugh or cry at that, and the choked sound escaping him isn't any help. So Eddie waits again.

He doesn't know what he's waiting for until Buck's demeanor changes. Until Buck's eyes take on a determined look Eddie has never seen aimed at him. Not like this, not by Buck, not ever. Eddie almost fears Buck's response. Almost.

"I love you."

Oh.

"Eddie," Buck takes his face in his hands. "I love you." He looks at Eddie's face. "I love you." He looks at Eddie. "I-" He follows the movement of his thumb carressing Eddie’s cheek. "Can I kiss you?"

Oh.

Eddie stops staring at Buck's lips and makes his gaze travel to his eyes. He doesn't want to make Buck wait.

"Yes."

[elwenyere]

Those Who Can't Do - Patrick/Tashi/Art (520w)

Author's Note: Thinking about her (Tashi Duncan Donaldson).

...

“I want you to be my coach,” Patrick says, and it’s infuriating: the way he can still shatter her.

“I want you to be my coach,” he says, like the last words he’d said before walking out hadn’t been “I’m definitely not your student.” Like he hadn’t shoved her tennis back in her face just hours before she lost it. And as he keeps talking - about Art, of fucking course, and about what Tashi could bring out of Patrick to match what’s good in Art - she tries to decide whether it hurts more to imagine he remembers or that he doesn’t. 

She slaps him.

“How fucking dare you?” she asks, by which she means: I offered you this when I could still fucking play - when it actually meant something.

Later, in the car, when she gives him her conditions, he turns the question back on her.

“How could you do this to him?” he asks, like Art hasn’t done this to her as well - like they both haven’t: wanting her, always needing her to show them what their bodies can do.

“I’m actually being so nice right now,” she says. “Taking such good care of my little white boys.”

And they depend too much on her toughness to understand it, but it’s true. She’d seen it the first night they’d met: the way they each want to be the one in her place. The way Art wants the posters and the polish and the power - wants to feel sure of her, sure through her, sure like her. The way Patrick wants to be the one who Art wants. 

That’s why she’s here to make this shitty deal in the first place: to keep Art from feeling like he’s lost her, to keep Patrick from losing Art, even if it means giving up the only thing she has left to want for herself. Some good fucking tennis.

If either of them could pull their heads out of their asses for a goddamn second, they’d see Tashi is the one who can never stand in Tashi’s place. They’d see she’s given both of them more of Tashi Duncan than she’ll ever have again.

“I miss watching you play,” Patrick says, his lips still damp with spit against her hair. “You were so beautiful.”

And she knows: she knows she was. She remembers what it felt like to command the court. No coaching, no coaxing, no cajoling misshapen wants out of other people’s confusion because her body was its own source of pleasure and protection. 

She remembers her game and how it made her feel untouchable: a shield against every white bitch who thought Tashi Duncan should really know her place. You only got in because Stanford wants the advertising. He doesn’t love you. I’m not your fucking groupie. But with a racket in her hand, no one could say shit to her. She was so good she was ungraspable, imperceptible except as a force of speed and power.

She knows she’ll never feel that way again. She’s never been able to forgive Art for watching it happen - or Patrick for looking away.

[sad-girl-hours23]

Found this on my Google drive from September. Will I ever do anything with it? Who knows.

——————————————————————-

Buck has a long history of outsourcing his need for certainty; whether that means reading self-help books or reaching out to others for advice, he doesn’t have a lot of practice listening within. He’s not sure he’d recognize the voice of his own intuition. Which isn’t to say that others can’t be a good resource, especially when it fosters connection, it’s just to say he has a lot of work to do to build his own trust.

Which is how he finds himself at a tarot booth at the Los Angeles county fair after a particularly emotional fight with Tommy. He’s feeling at a crossroads, let down, and maybe a little impulsive. So all things considered, of all the things he could do to satisfy the self-destructive itch under his skin, consulting life advice from a stranger seems the least life-altering.

The woman across from his shuffles the deck as he talks, explaining his situation and asking what he should do. She takes some of the cards and positions them in a spread: past, present, future. Buck wipes his sweaty palms on his jean-clad thighs.

She flips over the first card and frowns. She looks to Buck as if he has the answers, but this is his first tarot reading and he’s not sure what any of this means.

He clears his throat and he looks upside down at the man on the card, engulfed in flames. “Is that bad?”

Her brow is furrowed as she pulls her gaze from the card, meeting his eyes. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen this card before.”

[lauronk]

happy birthday to my wonderful friend @march-flowerr who i love and adore and admire!

i wish i had more to offer you today, but for now i hope you accept all my love and this follow up to rocky's bday fic (just a dream)

breath of fresh air through smoke rings

word count: ~2k tags: alternate universe - canon divergence; joel & ellie; star wars; joel needs a hug; ellie needs a hug; fluff with a touch of angst; hurt & comfort; but mostly comfort

It’s not a big deal. It’s not a big deal. It’s normal, everything’s normal, this is just…normal. He can be normal.

Or, Joel tells himself resignedly, he can just accept the fact that he’s nervous as all get out. Worse than the first time he asked Sarah’s mom out, damn near as bad as the time he let her go to her first sleepover without him. Heart beating a kick drum in his chest with every step he takes across the floor.

Tommy’s watching him pace with an amused glint to his eyes, perched on the arm of the recliner. “Seemin’ a little stressed there, Joel.”

Joel just grunts, coming to a halt at the wall only to pivot and turn back the other way. “Maybe I oughta pick out a different movie.”

“Ellie loves Star Wars.”

“Yeah.” He stops pacing, hands on his hips. “But maybe she’s tired of it, maybe she’s seen it too many times. Maybe she don’t actually like it anymore, I don’t…” Joel hangs his head, not quite wanting to see the pity sure to be on his brother’s face. “She ain’t talked to me in nearly two years, Tommy, I feel like I don’t know her at all, not anymore.”

Firm hands clamp down on his shoulders, shaking gently until Joel gives in and looks up. There’s no pity to be found in Tommy’s eyes, only understanding and encouragement. “You know her just fine, Joel. You know what movies she likes and what snacks she likes and how to make her tea. And the biggest bridge is already crossed - she’s willin’ to come hang out with you.” He releases Joel, stepping back and leaving him wondering when his little brother got to be the wise one. “It’ll be a good evenin’, alright?”

Joel’s pained noise of agreement is muffled by the faint rapping on the back door, and his heart launches itself into his throat.

Ellie’s here.

He gives his living room one last sweep; no dust, no clutter, blankets on the couch, A New Hope sitting by the TV waiting to be loaded in. There’s water in the kettle in case she wants tea, he’s still got honey to add to it because that’s what she likes, and he’d picked up some of Heidi’s roasted pumpkin seeds just an hour ago because they’re her favorite. He’s as prepared as possible, and terrified down to his core that this is his last chance at making in-roads with Ellie.

She knocks again, a little louder, and Joel hears Tommy chuckle behind him.

“Shut the hell up,” he mutters, taking one last deep breath before crossing to the back door and opening it wide. Ellie’s waiting there; hand lowering, all her weight on her left foot, the same nerves sitting in Joel’s chest flickering across her face.

Least it ain’t just him.

“C’mon in,” he tells her, reaching automatically to steady her when she hobbles forward. She’s in slide-on sandals, the thick white of the bandage around her foot peeking through, and she leans easily on his arm as they shuffle towards the couch.

Tommy gives her a small wave. “How’s the foot, darlin’?”

“Hurts,” Ellie tells him flatly, flopping down onto the couch and swinging her foot up onto the coffee table. “Sorry to be messing up the patrol schedule for a couple weeks.”

Tommy just shrugs, easygoing as ever. “‘S alright, we’ll just shuffle some people around, make Joel pick up an extra route or two.” He pushes up from where he’d been braced on the arm of the chair. “I’ll leave y’all to the movie, I’ll be back by tomorrow with the updated schedule.”

They give him a wave as he lets himself out, shutting the door firmly behind him, and then it’s just Joel and Ellie.

The silence is thick, heavy, Ellie staring determinedly at the darkened TV screen. There’s a sort of unease to her face, a discomfort that Joel hates to think is from her regretting her invitation and wishing she was anywhere but in his living room.

But then her head lifts and her eyes lighten and she asks teasingly, “Are you just gonna stand there all night?”

Joel startles. “No, I – no. D’you need anythin’? Water? Tea? I got snacks too if you –”

“Joel,” Ellie interrupts, lips pressed together like she’s trying not to smile, “let’s just put the movie in.”

“Yeah - yeah, alright.”

He crosses to the TV, holds up the case so Ellie can see what’s on the itinerary for the evening. She visibly brightens, and Joel feels a little of his earlier fears slip away. Maybe he does still know her, maybe she did mean it when she said she wanted to try forgiveness.

Maybe it’s all gonna work out.

–

The movie flies by. It feels like the droids have barely managed to escape Vader, and then suddenly the Death Star is exploding and the credits are rolling. The jar of pumpkin seeds sits empty on the coffee table; Ellie had devoured them as soon as he’d handed them over. Joel had also dug out his small stash of jerky and popcorn to make something of a pitiful dinner - he hadn’t said it, but it had reminded him of their time on the road, even as he kicked himself for not making anything better.

He presses the power button on the remote, the screen fizzling into darkness and leaving them with only the faint light of the lamp in the corner. Ellie makes no move to leave, fingers playing with the corner of a pillow.

“Thanks for joinin’ me,” Joel says quietly, a little unsure of what to do now. He doesn’t want her to leave; he doesn’t want to make her feel like she has to stay if she doesn’t want to. “It was fun.”

Ellie just looks up at him speculatively, something unreadable flickering through her eyes. “It was. I — thanks for having me.”

“Anytime,” he replies, maybe a little too eagerly; Ellie smiles. “You can pick next time, if you want. I just…knew this was one of your favorites.”

“We can just keep going through the Star Wars movies,” she says with a shrug, and Joel tries not to let the elation at her planning ahead show on his face. “And I bet there’s a ton of other space movies out there I haven’t seen yet. Oh!” She snaps her fingers excitedly, leaning forward with a grin. “We can watch the Jurassic Parks!”

“We can,” Joel agrees, chuckling at her exuberance. Wild to him how she’s nineteen, closing in on twenty - he can still see that irrepressible fourteen-year-old clear as day.

He feels like he missed so much of her growing into this woman; he can’t believe it took a nightmare to bring her back.

Ellie’s eyes rove over the living room, much like they had that morning when he’d bandaged up the slice on her foot. He doesn’t know if she’s looking for changes, for things that may be the same, or if she’s just wondering what in the hell she’s still doing there.

“Can I ask you something?” Her gaze is locked on the frame on the mantel, the drawing of him she’d done. There’s a weight to her voice that tells Joel this isn’t something like what movie do we watch next? or do you have any more of those pumpkin seeds?

He nods and waits with his hands clasped between his knees, elbows braced on his thighs.

Ellie picks at invisible fluff on the pillow in her lap. “Why didn’t you — I mean, why, at the hospital —” She cuts herself off, lower lip between her teeth.

“Why did I kill the Fireflies instead of lettin’ make the cure?” Joel guesses, and Ellie nods slowly, her face tight and unreadable. He lets out a slow breath, tapping his right thumb on the back of his left hand. “It’s…there’s a lot of reasons really, reasons I’ll sit and talk to you about if that’s what you want. But what all those reasons add up to is that, to me, nothing was worth your life. Not a cure for cordyceps or cancer or an end to every conflict ever. None of it was worth you.”

“But it wasn’t up to you to decide,” Ellie says, the first bite of anger slipping into her voice.

“I know that,” Joel admits, trying to read the emotions flickering over her face. “I know. And I knew it even then, knew it was somethin’ that you were probably gonna hate me for. But it…I couldn’t let them do it. If hearin’ that again makes you wanna go back to how you had things, kiddo, I don’t blame you. But at this point I owe it to you to be honest, and in my mind there was nothin’ that justified killin’ a little girl. Not even a cure.”

Ellie swipes at her cheeks, chin ducking to her chest. “It’s crossed my mind,” she whispers. “Not coming here, going back to not speaking to you because I’m still so fucking mad. And then that…that fucking nightmare comes back to me.”

 “Ellie…” Joel sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “I know that dream freaked you out, but I don’t want that bein’ what makes you decide you want me in your life again. You gotta make that decision for yourself, because it’s what you want.”

“I don’t want any regrets.” Another drag of her hand across her cheek, a missed tear tracking down and dripping from her chin. “I can’t - if that dream would have been real, I would have torn myself apart with regret. Being mad at myself for not trying, hating how much time I let go by and everything I didn’t say to you. And I can’t fucking do that.”

“Okay.” Tentatively, he reaches over and pats her knee, retracting his hand when she stiffens. “Okay. I’m just…I’ll follow your lead here. ‘S all up to you.”

Ellie nods, a sharp, jerky motion. The smile she offers him is forced, nothing like the easy one she’d given him when the movie had started, and Joel’s stomach sinks ever so slightly. He’d known it wasn’t gonna be instantaneous, or even quick, repaving this road between the two of them. Knew it was gonna take a lot on his part, and so much grace on Ellie’s.

But that don’t mean he ain’t disappointed.

“I think…I think I’m gonna head out,” Ellie says quietly. “I don’t have patrol tomorrow because of my foot, so I’ll be in the swap helping Oscar sort stuff instead. Early start, you know.”

She doesn’t wait for a response, just uncurls from the couch and begins to hobble towards the back door. Joel stands and follows but doesn’t try to steady her this time; his hands stay tucked in his pockets. This is probably it, he knows that - this was his chance and it’s over now, and he just has to accept that. This is still more than anything he would’ve thought to get again, and he’s damn grateful. Maybe with a little more time…but ain’t no point in getting his expectations too high.

Ellie limps carefully over the threshold and out onto his back porch - Joel lingers behind and holds the door open, unwilling to let her out of his sight until he absolutely has to.

She hesitates at the top of the steps down to the yard, hand gripping the railing, and Joel takes a half-step forward. In case she needs help getting down again, even though she’d done it earlier by herself.

But Ellie surprises him - she turns back to face him, one corner of her lips pulled up ever so slightly. “Empire Strikes Back tomorrow? Or later this week?”

Hope flares in his chest, bright and warm. “Any time you like, Ellie. Any time.”

Maybe…maybe he’s still got a chance.

happy birthday girly, i love you lots and i hope you have the most marvelous day!

[wangxianficrecs]

Follower Recs

~*~

I wanted to rec this tumblr ficlet. Loved the line where jc said he could suddenly understand his father.

《the midnight sun》

Specifically, snippet seven.

by @drwcn

Summary: A female Wei Wuxian AU, in which Wei Ying had a child before her death.

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[homosociallyyours]

for the trope mash up: 8 and 65, harry and louis

Hi Lou!! Thank you for these!! They seem angsty...but I need a happy ending, so...

Hospital AU/It's Not You, It's Me:

I'm thinking girl direction here, but it could go either way. Harry is a doula and Louis is a labor and delivery nurse, and the two of them meet during a particularly stressful birth where they end up working together to basically save the life of the gestational parent-- a queer, trans masculine person whose partner is unable to be there due to the birth happening a few weeks before the due date.

They end up running into one another a few times after that first meeting, and every time they do, they end up talking more and more, but it's always in the hospital and kinda rushed, and though Louis wants more, she feels like there's something Harry's not telling her. And then she sees Harry out somewhere with a man and a young child. She wants to brush it off, but then the kid calls them "Mommy and Daddy," and Louis starts to think she's built all this up in her head.

But then Harry asks her out. Louis makes excuses.

---

Harry takes a sip of her cafeteria coffee, wincing at the flavor as she sets it down. Louis watches her open three vanilla creamers and dump them in one by one, losing herself in the motion of Harry's long, delicate fingers until she shakes her head to clear herself out of her daze.

"I-- I don't think I can see you outside of here," Louis says in a single rushed breath, inhaling deeply when she finishes the sentence. She sighs, looking down at her own hands as she twists a paper straw wrapper into a curlicue.

"No? I'm not invisible outside the hospital. Promise," Harry teases, poking Louis in the arm. Louis chuckles, biting her lip before looking back into Harry's eyes.

"I'm sure of that," she says, slumping down so she's practically resting her chin on the table. This whole conversation is a spring coiling itself up in her belly and if she almost worries that if she doesn't push herself down she'll explode everywhere. "It's just, umm,"

"What's the matter, Louis?"

"It's just that I'm struggling to hold it all together as is," Louis says, pushing herself to sit up straight and face Harry with all she's got. "We had two nurses leave last week and Elena is actually on maternity leave starting tomorrow, and I just don't think I could juggle all that plus actually dating someone, you know?"

"Oh." Harry gulps her coffee this time, coughing as she sets her mug down. "Yeah, I get it. I--" she looks over Louis' head and stands, gathering her things. "I should go, actually, I didn't realize how late it is."

She's gone before Louis can confirm that everything's okay between them. It is though, Louis thinks. It has to be.

---

Anyway it's ok! Because it turns out that the man was Harry's ex-husband, and they're amicable co-parents of their daughter because Harry realized that while she loved her husband as a person, she's not as bi as she thought she was when they met. Or rather, she WAS bi at the time, and has since realized she's a panromantic homosexual who'd like to call herself a lesbian if she's picking labels.

Her initial hesitance to see Louis outside the hospital was mostly because she and her ex are very particular about who they introduce their daughter to, and Harry didn't trust herself not to just say fuck it and drag Louis back to her house for makeouts and sex if the opportunity arose.

That's exactly what happens, of course, once they figure it all out.

[christinesficrecs]

Hi Christine! I'm looking for a fic where Derek gets kidnapped by a dragon and I was hoping you could help me find it. The dragon takes him to this canyon and rolls a boulder over a cave to lock him inside when she goes out to steal shopping trolleys full of groceries for him to live off. She likes sparkly things and her favourite are tampons, which Derek promises to bring her some of when the pack eventually rescue him. He's wearing bright orange booty shorts he got from one of the trolleys when they do. She let's him go because Stiles says Derek is his and she can't keep a "prince" if his heart belongs to someone else (I think?). Thanks in advance!

Sorry, I don't remember this one. Anyone else?

theydraggedmein found it. Thank you!!

It's one of DevilDoll's ficlets, you can read it here.

[valewright67]

https://bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher.tumblr.com/post/633985280198754304/winters-at-kaer-morhen-are-long-and-empty

I don't remember if it's cross posted, and if I remember correctly, Jaskier does end up going to kaer morhen.

https://bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher.tumblr.com/post/633985280198754304/winters-at-kaer-morhen-are-long-and-empty

I don't remember if it's cross posted, and if I remember correctly, Jaskier does end up going to kaer morhen.

I think I found it! I'll reblog it too, in case the link doesn't work, but is this it?

[sparkagrace]

A small collection of random ficlets written just for tumblr.

Steve/Bucky

Toxic | Steve/Winter Soldier: part one | two | three

All My Exes' Moms | post-break up: one | two

There's No Way | outsider pov, friends to lovers

Please Mr Postman | shrinkyclinks, office au

Getaway Car | new years eve

Love You For A Long Time | established relationship

Misc

Everywhere | evanstan, accidental roommates

Son's Gonna Rise | steve & maria bffs, undercover

[hello-starlingfics]

Happy WW! Please tell me about your favourite flavours of Sam/Dean: a) kissing and b) arguing <3

Happy belated Wincest Wednesday due to time differences!

This is a great question and I hope I do it justice.

This got long and ended up as ficlets. Thank you so much!

Kissing, I like all kinds, but at the moment I’m loving late season first time kisses. One a bit like this:

They’re in the bunker, just back from a hunt. Routine really, nothing notable or odd about it. A standard salt and burn and then out of there. Sam suggests some Netflix, and Dean suggests a beer, and so they’re sitting on Sam’s bed watching a movie. With a bottle each, of course. The movie doesn’t matter to Sam; it’s about winding down and doing something together that doesn’t involve mud, or blood, or death. He lets Dean choose, and he goes for The Lost Boys, again, and Sam smiles fondly.

Their shoulders brush occasionally, at first only when Dean raises his arm to drink his beer, but then every time one of them shifts as they drift closer. Dean’s pretty engrossed in the movie, and it’s only until they’re about halfway through that he glances over at Sam and notices he’s not paying attention to the screen at all. Instead, he’s just looking at Dean, a kind of soft amusement on his face at how his brother can still get so much joy from something he’s seen so many times it must be in the hundreds.

Dean raises his eyebrows at Sam questioningly, and Sam leans in and kisses him, too sure now it’ll be okay to really be impulsive.

It’s their first kiss, but it’s so easy that it could have been for the hundredth time also.

Arguing is a real early seasons love for me. In particular S3, when Sam is so frustrated and resentful at Dean’s attitude to the deal. It plays out kind of like:

They’ve just gone through the back door of the squat they’re staying in that night, no motels in their price range within eighty miles of this town so they have to take what they can. This place is in pretty bad shape, with the wallpaper peeling off in chunks, the floorboards rotted away in the corner of the sitting room furthest from the door, and the entire place reeking of decay. This town was unusually prosperous compared to the places they usually wound up in, some freak economic microclimate in the middle of Iowa, and that meant few derelict properties. They had to take what they could get.

They’d been to a bar that night, trying to find out something about their vics, but it was a wash. Sam ended up staring at Dean, drinking one or two whiskeys more than he should and letting resentment rise in his chest: resentment at Dean’s cavalier attitude to his deal and the clock, his lack of regard for himself, all twisted up with the fear and anxiety that was constantly in the back of Sam’s mind these days. He was also pissed at his lack of regard for Sam, leaving him behind over and over again, like tonight as he flirted his way around the bar, looking for a willing partner for the night. Like he did in every town they went to, like he was desperate to be away from Sam even before his time ran out.

Sam had stared, and he’d brooded, until Dean decided he’d officially struck out that night and elbowed Sam in the shoulder, his cue to get up and leave. He followed Dean out of the bar, sullenly and silently. He didn’t bother to reply to Dean’s questions, or non-sequiturs. He just trailed a couple of steps behind him and let his anger fester.

As soon as the door shuts behind them, Dean turns and starts to speak - ‘Dude, what’s your problem?” - but Sam’s too pissed off at him now, and it bubbles over, and he grabs his brother by the shoulders, slamming him against the wall as hard as he can.

“Shut up.” Sam practically spits the words into Dean’s face, can smell the booze on his own breath as he pushes his forehead against Dean’s, far more aggressive than usually comes naturally to him but he’s just so fucking angry, frustrated, terrified and it all comes out in a rush. “What the fuck is your problem? We’re out here wasting time, and you’re doing nothing to help yourself. What the fuck is your problem?”

“Sammy, I told you there’s no way outta this, I might as well have some fun before-“

This is the worst thing Dean could possibly be saying to him right now. He’s so done with this posturing and burying himself in hedonism schtick Dean’s pulling that he’s somehow even more enraged, an anger that he didn’t think he could achieve. He slams Dean against the wall again, as hard as he can, a twist of satisfaction as his head hits the wall.

“Bullshit. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Dean isn’t fighting back. Sam wishes that he would; it would give him something to throw himself against, vent all his rage and terror into. But Dean just looks at him calmly.

“I keep telling you, you have to accept-“

Sam punches him. Socks him right on the jaw, as hard as he can, a crack reverberating through the room like a ball off a bat. Dean’s head bounces off the wall again, the bruise blooming on his jaw already, Sam’s rage branding him with blood.

Dean doesn’t say anything, or move. He just stares at Sam, their labored breathing the only sounds in their makeshift bedroom.

All the fight drains out of Sam, replaced by a heavy, helpless misery. He’s tried being cautious, optimistic, and now angry, and nothing has changed. He just feels tired.

“No, I don’t have to accept anything.” He steps away from Dean. “I’m going to sleep.”

He curls up in his sleeping bag and blankets on the floor, ignoring the sounds of Dean doing the same thing on the other side of the room.

He doesn’t cry, but he wishes he could.

[sunflower-eddiediaz]

the potential of bobby being back in the hospital is reminding me of a daydream fic I never had the mindspace to write so I'm just gonna ramble about it.

It's from Buck's pov. He's sitting in a hospital waiting room. Bobby has been injured and they're all waiting while he goes through exams. Buck is sitting in between Maddie and Eddie. He's holding Maddie's right hand with his left, their fingers intertwined, resting on his lap. With his free hand he absentmindly alternates between carressing and softly taping each of their fingers, one by one, his, hers, his, hers... At some point, Maddie has to get up.

Buck's thoughts are all about Bobby, and he tries to not focus on the worst case scenarios but he's struggling. His leg is bouncing and he doesn't realize how fidgety he is until Eddie puts his hand on his. Buck looks at their hands, at Eddie’s hand moving into his. He focuses on their hand, resting on his lap. He focuses on how warm Eddie’s hand is, how calming his energy is, how grateful he is to have Eddie in his life, to have every member of their family, to have Bobby- and his thoughts go back to Bobby and worse case scenarios. His leg starts bouncing again.

Eddie squeezes his hand before intertwining their fingers. It helps. He turns his head and expects Eddie to look as calm as he makes him feel, but he's wrong. The tension in his shoulders and back, the way he's staring straight ahead, being unnaturally still; Eddie might seem calm from a far, but Buck knows his best friend too well. He knows Eddie cares about Bobby as much as him. He understands how they both need comfort right now. He starts moving his thumb back and forth on Eddie's hand. He's still watching him, he sees the tension seeping out him. Eddie's still looking into the void in front of him. Buck squeezes his hand and Eddie squeezes back.

Buck settles as comfortably as he can in his chair, keeps their intertwined hands on his lap, and resumes his soft touches with his free hand. He basks in the calmness provided by Eddie’s presence, and the pride he feels at being a source of calm for Eddie too.

maybe I'll edit it and post it on ao3, maybe this will never more than this, who knows

[killerpancakeburger]

Thinking about a Reader who ends up having Scary Dog Privileges with Ghost without meaning to. It just happened.

Then they have to deal with the fact that this comes with duties too.

Tags: civilian!reader, gn!reader, mostly fluff, a bit suggestive, smug!Ghost, smooth!Ghost. 800 words.

Part 2. Part 3.

When Ghost is reluctant to getting sutured in Medical after accidentally opening his stitches, grumbling he can do it himself, who does the nurse call for? Yeah, you.

She could stand her ground, after all she's used to dealing with big, whiny men, but it's much more fun to knock on your door and smile at your bewildered gaze and gaping mouth when she explains the situation in two sentences.

"Ghost's being difficult, mind taking over?" "I'm sorry, what the hell does this have to do with me?" "C'm'on, everyone on base knows he's got a soft spot for you. Don't you want to make my job easier?"

You roll your eyes and slam your hands on your desk as you get up. Groaning as you walk past her— "I'm doing this for you, nothing else, got it?"

Mumbling to yourself "you've got to be kidding me" as you barge into the sick bay. Ghost is coolly seated at the end of a bed, large as life, casual clothes as black as his mask and— oh. You weren't told the wound was on his thigh— you weren't warned that he didn’t have pants on. You can’t help it, your eyes go down, down, your lingering gaze and your flustered silence forming a confession louder than words.

A noise — a scoff or a grunt, you’re not sure — emanates from him, breaks your trance, makes you look up. The amusement in his gaze tells you he noticed your oggling— of course he did. Nothing gets past the Ghost, and you've been remarkably unsubtle. Despite the mask, you swear you can make out the smug smirk on his lips. His cockiness reignites your irritation. Annoyance making you bolder than you really are, you charge at him, crossing the distance between you two in a stride, stopping close— too close. He doesn't back off.

"What's wrong with you?" you snarl. "Nothin'," he retorts, imperturbable.

It's actually the first time you’re overlooking him. You may be enjoying it a bit too much. Nevermind the fact that you've had to wedge yourself between his parted legs to get there.

You frown, unconvinced by his answer.

“Did Soap contaminate you?”

Bargaining to be cleared out earlier was the Scotsman's trademark.

“Johnny throws a fit cos he hates feeling useless. That's not what I'm doing.”

A smirk stretches your lips.

“Oh, no? I'm sure your reasons are much more noble.”

“Doesn't matter. Got what I wanted anyway.”

He's way too self-satisfied for a man in his underwear.

You throw an unequivocal look in the direction of his injury.

“What you wanted? A still open wound?”

“You.”

He replied without missing a beat, as confident as usual. It is both alluring and aggravating.

“And your idea of wooing me is making me upset?”

You don't add “because if it is, that's really fucking stupid” out loud, but you’re sure he got the message through your tone.

“Nah. But you're more honest when you’re angry. Gutsier.”

You only realize he slipped his index and middle fingers in your trouser loops when he sharply tugs at them. Off balance, you steady yourself by catching his shoulders.

Taking advantage of the strip of bare skin between your shirt and bottoms, the pads of his thumbs idly stroke your hip bones. The contact sends electricity through you, shivers of pleasure running down your sides.

“Ghost,” you start, severe, trying not to let the effect his touch has on you show in your voice.

“Simon,” he counters, surly. “Told ya it's Simon when we're alone, didn't I?”

He did, but you didn’t think he was serious. If that's what it takes to get him to listen… you’ll play by his rules.

“Simon. What's the rest of your brilliant plan? I'm here, but I can’t stitch you up.”

“How ‘bout a deal. I'll stop resisting… for a price.”

You raise an amused eyebrow.

“What kind of price?”

“A kiss.”

You snort. You didn’t believe him capable of something so… puerile.

“With the mask on?”

He doesn't move a muscle to get rid of it.

“Take it off.”

You usually wouldn’t obey what sounds like an order so easily, but it's the first time you get to touch the skull. Slipping two fingers between skin and cloth, you slowly roll up the mask all the way under his nose.

You gently trace the scars surrounding his lips. Then, the second you feel him relax, grip on your hips slackening and intensity of his gaze waning, you grab the bottom of his mask and drag it back down vigorously, making the holes for the eyes land way too low for him to see anything.

“If you thought you'd get a reward for acting out, you've got another think coming.”

[homosociallyyours]

56 & 63 👀

Hi Lauren!! THANK YOUUUUU!!! This is such a good one.

Awful First Meeting + Everybody Knows/Mistaken for a Couple

Harry and Louis meet when they're stuck in an elevator heading to their cars after seeing a double feature at the local movie theater. It probably wouldn't be so awful of a first meeting if Harry hadn't decided to eat nachos with extra cheese sauce and drink what felt like a gallon of soda PLUS his usual travel water bottle during the last movie. In short, he shits his shorts-- and then pees himself, because WHY NOT, at a certain point?-- in front of the hot stranger he hopes he never has to see again.

Unfortunately, the new hire in his department starts that Monday and GUESS WHO IT IS?? Harry's co-workers take his unusual awkwardness around Louis as evidence that they've hooked up in the past, and Louis' teasing banter only makes things worse.

Just when it feels like things couldn't get worse, the two of them get trapped in the elevator again, this time at work.

---

"We really have to stop meeting like this," Louis says, biting back a teasing smile, and Harry wishes he could laugh but all he can think about is the wave of shame he'd felt a few weeks earlier in nearly this exact situation. At least this time he used the toilet less than twenty minutes earlier and had been staying away from lactose since that day. Still, he can't stifle his groan as he shuffles forward and lays his pointer finger on the button for the lobby, pressing as hard as he can.

"Hopefully it won't be as--" Harry stops himself from using the word 'shitty,' because REALLY? "Bad." He turns to Louis, brow furrowed, and frowns. "As bad as that particular, um, incident."

"Y'know what? It could've been worse."

Harry huffs a laugh as he looks back at Louis expectantly. "If we'd been stuck there another five minutes, I would've been in exactly the same boat as you.

--

That's RIGHT, Louis is also an IBS girlie or whatever, and literally shit his pants in his car on the way home! PLOT? MEET TWIST!

[aduckwithears]

"Crowley, I'm going to need the use of my hand." *

"Nah" <hand-holding intensifies>

"... Quite right." **

*Aziraphale needs to be able to use both hands for reasons likely related to Plot

**Ah, it probably isn't that important.

I want Aziraphale and Crowley to hash out all the emotional shit the first fucking episode of S3 and the rest of the season is them toddling around as they always have, trying to save the world but like... kissing about it.

[metalmiez]

It's ineffable, my dear

With a content sigh, the demon slung his left arm around the angel. He snaked his head across Aziraphale's right shoulder and nuzzled his nose against his cheek.

"Whatcha doin', angel?" Crowley murmured lazily and pressed a kiss against Aziraphale's temple. He felt the angel lean into the soft touch, humming softly.

"About to put the kettle on for my afternoon tea. Did you have a nice nap, dear?" His warm hand wrapped around Crowley's and tenderly caressed the skin on his wrist.

"Mrm. Would've been nicer if someone had allowed me to sleep around his neck."

Aziraphale chuckled.

"You nearly discorporated me last time, when you turned back into your human shape in your sleep, darling."

Crowley grinned about this particular memory. He wanted to tease his angel more, but his silly thoughts derailed when he felt Aziraphale's right hand reaching out and caressing his hair. The demon hummed appreciatively and leaned his face against the soft fabric of his sky-blue shirt. For Satan's sake, it shouldn't feel so nice to bask in Aziraphale's warmth and tender touch - he was a demon after all.

But on the other hand. He had grown quite comfortable in Aziraphale's presence. Every soft touch, every kiss, every affectionate nickname had burned away a tiny bit of Crowley's millennia-old defense. Truth be told, he really liked the tender affections, and to be soft and vulnerable and gentle. If he ever felt the urge to be demonic, he still had his plants to threaten.

With another sigh, he closed his eyes and leaned closer.

I felt the urge to draw some tooth rotting fluff again, and the urge to grin like an idiot was strong with this one. Hopefully, it gives you the same amount of dopamine as it gave me while drawing it <3