#stan is wide eyed and mortified (because he liked it)

[pines4thetwin]

So I've got this idea of Stan with a tongue piercing (lets be honest he's had a bunch of piercings, a lot of them just closed over time or he had to take em out cause he couldn't take care of them)

Anyways, Ford finding out because he sees it glint in Stans mouth and the first time he thinks its a trick of the light but eventually he realizes and asks Stan about it and Stan brushes him off.

All this to say, Ford gripping the back of Stans head and commanding him to open up then getting frustrated when Stan doesn't respond quick enough and just gripping stans jaw and forcing his thumb into Stans mouth, pressing his tongue down, to pry it open so he can see for himself since Stan wants to be stubborn about it.

[lupin-for-president]

Scorbus Headcanons

(Please tell me if you would like me to write a short fic off of any of these, because I love them)

Scorpius is insanely affectionate, don’t even try to argue with me on this one, you know it’s true

Even when he and Albus are still “just friends” he is touching him All. The. Time.

The worst part is Albus doesn’t even realize Scorp is doing it at this point because he’s just so used to all of this affection from him

James passes them in the library one day and sees Scorpius with his arms wrapped around his brother’s waist while Albus is looking on the shelves for a book and he’s just like “????”

When James asks Albus about it later he is just like “Oh, I didn’t even notice.”

By the time they start their third year no one in the school is sure whether they’re dating or just friends because they’re with each other 24/7

Albus does weird motherly things for Scorpius like fold his clothes and wipes the crumbs off of his face at dinner

Albus also picks out all of Scorpius’ clothes for when they go to Hogsmeade or other trips and complains the entire time which drives Scorpius mad

“You’d think coming from a family like yours you’d have more class, Scorp. Really, it’s almost shameful.”

“Well I’m sorry that you took more after my own father than I did, Al.”

Even though he has better fashion sense, Albus literally just walks around in their dorm shirtless and in grey sweats which drives Scorpius up the fucking wall

Albus gets jealous as hell any time someone apart from his family talks to Scorpius for more than fifteen minutes at a time and will pull him away without an explanation

“Al, that was rude! She was in the middle of her sentence!”

“I don’t fucking care what she was in the middle of, she was basically undressing you with her eyes and it was bloody disgusting.”

Scorpius just smiles and throws an arm around Albus’ shoulders whispering things like “Jealous, love?” and “You want to do that yourself?”

Albus blushes like crazy any time he gets called out for showing any interest at all in Scorpius and you can’t change my mind

The amount of sass in this relationship is unmatched. I mean, their father’s are Draco I-didn’t-know-you-could-read Malfoy and Harry No-need-to-call-me-sir-Professor Potter, would you expect anything less???

Like when they’re sitting on the couch in the common room

“Hey Scorp, mind running up to the dorm and grabbing my book for me?”

“I wasn’t aware I was your errand boy, Al. Would you like me to fetch you some supper next?”

Or when they’re in the middle of class working on a new Potion

“Al, you think you could lend me an extra hand over here?”

“Sure, but I actually really fancy having two, ya know. And the blood would be a real bugger to get out of my robes.”

Albus doesn’t even know what a chair is anymore because he’s always sitting in Scorpius’ lap, regardless of where they are and who they’re in front of

There is so much unintentional PDA between the two of them it is unreal

The first time Scorpius kisses Albus on the cheek in public it’s a total accident

He was on his way to study but Albus had scored a detention for backtalking a Professor so he had to separate from him for a few hours

Without thinking, he just leans in and places a quick peck to Albus’ cheek

He doesn’t even realize what he’s done until he turns around and comes face to face with a wide eyed Rose

“Scorpius, did you just do what I think you just did?” Rose asks, bewildered.

Oh, both the boys are completely flustered

On any given afternoon Scorpius can be found curled up in one of Albus’ sweaters and his face buried into his chest/neck

Albus just pretends he’s not there or lightly rubs his back or runs his hands through his hair

When Scorpius goes through his “rebellious” phase about mid fourth year, he convinces Albus to pierce his ears at like midnight on a Tuesday

To make Scorpius stop crying, Albus pierces his too

You can only imagine the slightly mortified look on Ginny’s face (and the immensely proud one on Teddy’s) when Albus comes home for Christmas modeling black studs

Albus ends up liking it so much that by the end of the week he has Teddy pierce a second set of holes, as well as give him an industrial in his right ear

Scorpius finds it hot as hell

Albus is bad about leaving marks all over Scorpius at all the wrong times

For instance, the night that he had dinner over at the Malfoy’s for the first time, Scorpius had three dark purple kisses painted on his pale skin from just a few days prior

Draco was glaring at Albus througout the whole meal

You should’ve seen the look McGonagall gave him, he nearly thought he was going to turn to stone

Right before summer break their sixth year, Scorpius goes through a huge “I stan Teddy Lupin and everything he does” phase and decides he wants to dye his hair

Albus refuses to do it (he loves that diamond blonde way too much)

When he walks into his dorm room one day to find Teddy (“How the hell did you even get in here?”) knuckle deep in a bowl of neon blue hair dye, he nearly loses it, but they’re already halfway done so he had to let him finish

When they all leave Hogwarts a week later for summer vacation, Draco calls the Potter-Weasley household

“Potter!”

“What, Malfoy?” Harry nearly groans, blowing out a huff of air.

“Not you, the younger Potter, the one snogging my son. Put him on the phone, I need to ask why Scorpius’ hair is the color of a fruit loop.”

Albus and Draco have a very heated conversation about how they both absolutely cannot believe that Scorpius would do something like this

Scorpius is dying of laughter in the background the entire time

During their last year at Hogwarts, Albus shows up with a set of rings, each a simple silver band, one with a green gem and the other a diamond

Scorpius nearly cries when Albus gives him the green gem one during breakfast, full on kissing him in front of everyone in the Great Hall

“They’re the color of our eyes. Thought it might be nice to have,” Albus shrugs nonchalantly, but there’s a blush painting the tips of his ears

They both wear them on the middle finger of their right hand (Albus’ is displayed quite often because of how much he flips Rose the bird)

The day of their graduation from Hogwarts, Scorpius cries

When Albus asks him what’s wrong, he nearly feels his entire heart shatter

“This doesn’t mean we’re over, does it? We’re not over just cause we’re done with school, are we? We’re still going to be together?”

Oh Albus is having none of that

“Of course, Scorp! You can’t get rid of me that easily,” Albus teases, kissing Scorpius over and over until the tears finally stop rolling down his cheeks

After they arrive back on platform 9 3/4, they’re inseparable.

Harry and Draco are losing their bloody minds with how much of the other’s son they’re seeing now

“God, Potter. You’d think he practically lived here.”

“I could say the same for yours, I might start charging him rent.”

One day while both the families are out together at a diner (it was Scorpius’ idea), Ginny makes the comment that if they just got a house of their own then it wouldn’t be a problem

She was joking, of course, but the boys took it 100% seriously

So about a month later they bought a small but nice house not too far from either of their parents

And it was there, in the middle of their newly furnished living room, that Albus proposed to Scorpius with another silver band

But this time, it went on his ring finger.

(These are the headcanons I was talking about hahah @ellavaneck)

[proseandsongs]

I Can’t Be Without You

Wishing the happiest of birthdays to the lovely, kind, talented @emberglows! I am so privileged to be your friend, and as a sign of thanks/celebration of your birthday, I’ve written a Fiddlestan fic! I really hope you enjoy it. Happy birthday, love!! <3

“This is stupid.” Stan plucked at the bright red bowtie around his neck and grimaced at his reflection.

His niece swooped in and slapped his hands away. “Don’t touch it! You’ll ruin it.”

Stanley sighed and tugged at his suit jacket to banish the wrinkles. The suit was brand new and snug in the shoulders, but Mabel had refused to let him wear his Mystery Shack suit because it smelled like mothballs and formaldehyde. Stan had suspicions that Fiddleford was immune to the scent due to his work with Stanford, but he didn’t argue. He only put his foot down when Mabel suggested glitter hairspray to keep his hair in place. His hair was hard as a helmet with all the gel; it wasn’t going anywhere.

“Pumpkin, I don’t know about this. This seems a bit too…fancy. I’m just going out with Fiddleford.”

“Yeah, for your anniversary!” Mabel brushed back a stray hair from her Grunkle’s forehead and beamed at him in the mirror. After a few summers of growth spurts, Mabel now stood at her Grunkle’s shoulder, which meant she could now pick at him whenever she wanted. However, the careful adjustments – straightening a crooked tie, swiping at a smudge on his glasses with her sleeve, flattening a cowlick – were appreciated.

Mabel giggled in excitement and added, “I can’t believe you’ve been dating for a whole year!”

Stan swallowed hard as he grimaced at his reflection. “Me either.”

The whole thing was a bit strange. He had never predicted – never could have predicted – how the summer after their journey on the Stan o’ War would go.

After spending nearly a year alone in his mansion, with weekly visits from his son, Tate, Fiddleford had grown lonely. Despite his regular correspondence with Stanford as he travelled the world, Fiddleford sought company. Which is why, when Stanley and Stanford returned to Gravity Falls for summer vacation, Fiddleford proposed that they move into his mansion. There was far more space than at the Mystery Shack where Soos and now Melody lived, and Fiddleford practically shoved his Southern hospitality down their throats. They couldn’t say no.  

It was Fiddleford’s odd colloquialisms and erratic behaviour that made Stan fret about staying in the mansion. Once they moved in, he was surprised to see Stanford was just as happy working with Fiddleford in his lab as they had been on the ocean. Even more surprising: Stanley was enjoying himself, too. It wasn’t because of the Olympic swimming pool in the backyard (although that didn’t hurt) or the silverware he had pawned shortly after moving in: it was because Fiddleford was so kind. The man who had suffered homelessness, abandonment, and poverty for thirty years couldn’t stop giving. He donated to the children’s program at the library, the senior’s residence, and drew up blueprints for a year-round homeless shelter that was now under construction.

In addition to Fiddleford’s generosity and success as an engineer, Stanley had been startled by his great sense of humour. The first time he heard Fiddleford sass Stanford, he laughed himself into stitches. That had been the first time Fiddleford’s grin had brought heat into his face, although he was quick to blame this on the laughter.

Stanley got to know Fiddleford, to the point where they could have long conversations without the intervention of Stanford. He was sleeping more now, and would often doze while Stanley and Fiddleford spoke; no doubt catching up on thirty years of sleep deprivation. The more Stanley spoke to Fiddleford, the more smitten he became, to the point that even Dipper and Mabel could tell there was something suspicious going on. Stanley dodged the questions, but he couldn’t avoid the unfamiliar pull Fiddleford had on him.

Soon the evening soaks in the pool with just the two of them – Stanford claimed it was unsanitary – turned into long conversations that stretched until the moon was at its highest. Those chats turned into heart-pounding flirting sessions, where Stanley didn’t know up from down and couldn’t determine whether Fiddleford was reciprocating, or merely being polite.

He got the hint one evening near the end of the summer when, in response to a blatant come-on, Fiddleford shot him with an exasperated look and blurted, “Stanley Pines, if you don’t steel your gut and kiss me silly, I don’t know what I’m going to do with you!”

He obliged, of course, and proceeded to kiss Fiddleford silly – that is until Stanford burst onto the scene with a ceptopod latched onto his ear.

Stanley had been mortified, but all Stanford said was, “It’s about time,” before he started gushing about his newest finding.

How far they had come from that uncertain night, both embarrassing and sweet; now he stood in front of a mirror, dressed to the nines by his niece and set to take his partner for a great dinner for their anniversary. Anniversary. He had never expected anyone to stick around that long.

Stan smiled at his reflection and admired Mabel’s styling. “Nice work, kid.”

He ruffled her hair and grinned at her little squawk of surprise. With a laugh, Stan pulled open his dresser drawer and scooped up a small black box. It fit in his suit coat pocket without leaving a suspicious lump. Good; it was better if he didn’t see it coming.

“I’ve gotta get going. You know how Fidds gets about being late.”

“The only people excused from punctuality are the dead, Stanley,” Mabel recited in an on-point imitation of Fiddleford.

“Yeah yeah, you little gremlin,” Stan said as he ruffled her hair again.

Much like his niece, nephew, and brother, Fiddleford was strange.

Stanley had always had a soft spot for strange.

If the waiter didn’t interrupt him soon to take their order, Stan was positive he was going to drown himself with all the water he was drinking. The truth was he was so nervous he could hardly form a sentence, and sweating buckets to boot.

Fiddleford must have noticed, because he paused in the middle of his story about the director’s meeting he had earlier that day to ask, “Are you alright, Stanley?”

His brow was furrowed behind his spectacles, and the genuine concern made Stanley’s mouth go dry. He guzzled the last of his glass of water and set it down with gusto.

“Yeah, of course!”

He hoped that Fiddleford hadn’t heard the crack in his voice. He adjusted his suit coat to hide the steadily growing sweat stains with a bit of embarrassment.

When Stanley looked up at Fiddleford, he was torn between admiration and a deep feeling of inadequacy. Fiddleford was fresh and crisp in a simple grey suit and purple tie. The small white rose that decorated the lapel of his jacket matched his newly trimmed beard, fluffy and bright.

Next to his handsome partner, Stan felt like an absolute mess.

Stan must have stared too long, because Fiddleford frowned at him again and looked like he was about to question him again. Eager for a distraction, Stanley craned his neck and said gruffly, “Where’s that waiter? I’m getting ready to eat my hand.”

At Stan’s complaint, a few disapproving looks turned their way. However, Fiddleford was mild when he replied, “I’m sure he’ll be by soon. In the meantime…”

When Fiddleford unexpectedly reached across the table to hold Stanley’s hand, he jumped a bit. Stan met his partner’s eyes and was relieved to see they were soft, like his smile. It was enough to make him relax under Fiddleford’s touch.

“Stanley, tonight is very important to me, and I’m so glad I get to spend it together,” Fiddleford began. “And I – I just wanted to say thank you.”

Stan was surprised. “Eh? What for?”

Fiddleford gave Stanley’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “I want to thank you for being so understanding these last few months. I know I’ve been off negotiating with a bunch of stiff coats almost every day this month about patenting and selling my inventions, but you’ve been so good about our time apart. It’s been difficult navigating all the corporate mazes, but being able to talk to you at the end of the day makes it all worthwhile.”

Stanley sniffled and blinked a couple times to rid his eyes of the sting. He chuckled to hide the fact that his throat was tight with emotion and caressed the inside of Fiddleford’s thumb with his own. “You’re one of the best parts of my day, too. I…I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Fiddleford insisted with a smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The words struck Stanley to the core, and he felt a surge of courage. His hand fell to the box in his pocket.  

“I’m glad you said that,” Stanley said, his voice stilted as he pulled his hand away. On shaking legs, Stanley stood and took a step around the table, much to Fiddleford’s bemusement. As he dipped his hand into his pocket, Stanley added, “It’ll make it a whole lot easier to do this.”

While Stan lowered himself slowly to one knee, he pulled the box out of his pocket and was met with a gasp. Fiddleford had clapped a hand over his mouth and was staring at him, wide-eyed with shock. The adrenaline of the moment pushed Stanley to speak in a rush.

“Will you marry me?”

He popped open the box to reveal the simple gold band filigreed with patterns that resembled the circuit boards that Fiddleford often worked on when he needed to get over a mental block.

Fiddleford blinked once, twice, and then whispered, “Stanley–”

“Look, I know it’s a bit sudden, after only a year,” Stan blurted; he was flushing like a fiend. “But a couple of old farts like us don’t have time to waste. I want to make an honest man of you, and it wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t do it properly. You never know how much time you have with someone; I wish I had learned that sooner, but it’s not too late for us. If I didn’t ask you this, I don’t know how I could live with myself.”

Stan blinked back a few tears and cleared his throat. “I can’t imagine being without you, and I don’t want to be, ever. I’m here with you until the end, if you’ll have me.”

He held his breath as he waited for Fiddleford’s response. Teary eyed, his partner let out a breathless “Yes, Stanley,” and proceeded to shower kisses all over his forehead and cheeks. With a grin, Stan slid the ring onto Fiddleford’s finger and caught him with a quick kiss on the lips. Applause rose from the other restaurant goers and wait staff as they broke apart, and Stanley whipped around with a half-hearted scowl.

“Nosy jerks. How’s a guy supposed to propose with a bunch of snoops?” he muttered with a glare at the rowdy bunch of college-age students pounding the table and chanting “Kiss! Kiss!”

“Stanley,” Fiddleford brought him back with a soft word and a dopey smile, “this is a lovely moment, please don’t ruin it.”

“All I’m saying is that they could at least pretend not to look–”

“Stanley.”

He sighed. “Alright, alright. It doesn’t matter, anyway. All that matters is you said yes.”

Fiddleford smiled again. “That I did.”

When their lips met again to a chorus of cheers, Stanley didn’t care about the noise. He only had eyes for his fiancé and hope for the life they would build together.

[floralreddie]

prompt idea: eddie and richie sleeping next to each other in a bed. theyre not dating but they both clearly like each other and theyre just being awkward little shits

okay yas bitch here ya go

they’re fifteen in this btw

tag list for all the shit i post: @arielgirly @trashmouth-smashmouth @mzcescapie @somenates27 @reddiesballoons @cawcawhawkeye @richietoaster

They stare at each other from across the room, both their hearts hammering and both their cheeks flushed red.

‘What?’ Eddie blurts out, brown eyes wide and fists clenched at his side.

Richie thinks about denying what he just said, or changing it, but figured that Eddie fucking heard him so he might as well go along with it. Hell, he and Eddie haven’t slept in the same bed in about a year and a half, and he’s pretty fucking mortified at how much he wants to.

He’s so fucking sappy. What the fuck.

‘I said,’ Richie iterates, already decked out in his pyjama bottoms and band shirt. His parents are away for the weekend, and the others are all busy tonight. Although, when he had asked them all round, Eddie had been the first to agree, desperate to get away from his mother. Mike had gone to agree next, but Stan had not-so-subtly elbowed him in the side. 

Suddenly, none of the Losers were able to come to Richie’s. He called bullshit.

‘We should just share the bed. There’s only the two of us, right?’ He sighs and kicks aside one of his t-shirts as he makes his way over to said bed, avoiding eye contact with Eddie. ‘I trust you not to take advantage of lil’ old me, Ed’s’.

‘Don’t fucking call me that,’ Eddie snaps, before sighing and shuffling forward. Richie plonks heavily onto the single bed and grins wolfishly at Eddie, whose cheeks go that little bit pinker. Richie doesn’t care how fucking gay it sounds, but Eddie is pretty as fuck when he blushes.

‘You love it’.

‘I fucking don’t’.

Still, Richie clambers into bed and pushes himself against the wall, and Eddie stands awkwardly before following suite, his fingers twitching and his gaze nervous.

Richie lays against the pillow and stares up at him, a smile twitching onto his features. ‘You seem nervous, Spaghetti Man’.

Eddie stiffens, glares, and then yanks back the covers and climbs awkwardly into the bed. He lays stiffly on his back, arms on his chest, and stares up at the ceiling for a good ten seconds. 

‘You look comfy-’

‘Richie,’ Eddie snaps, turning to face him. Their faces are suddenly only inches apart, and Richie is having a hard time not counting the cinnamon coloured freckled splattered across Eddie’s nose. ‘Will you shut the fuck up?’

Richie snickers. Eddie sighs.

Richie stares at Eddie, half tempted to reach out and poke the smaller boys cheek. He had elected to stare at the ceiling once again, shoulders stiff an dark hair mussed by the pillow. Richie wants to reach out. He wants to grab Eddie by the shoulders with a sigh, and drag the idiot into a spoon and just fucking sleep, because it was 2 AM and he was fucking tired.

He doesn’t. He just breathes extra noisily thought his nose until Eddie is forced to turn toward him with a heated glare.

‘What?’ Richie asks innocently. 

‘You know what,’ Eddie shoots back. 

Silence settles again, and Richie watches Eddie reach over and snap off the bedside lamp and, suddenly, they’re enveloped in darkness.

There’s a beat of silence.

‘Eddie?’

‘What, Richie?’

‘I need to put my glasses on the table’.

‘Oh, for fuck-’ Eddie sits up and scrambles blindly for Richie’s face, yelping when his finger ends up slipping inside Richie’s mouth. ‘Oh, gross!’

Richie, who is half between spluttering and laughing in the darkness, retorts, ‘That was your fault!’

Eddie, fucking tired, blushing, and done with Richie’s shit, grabs into the darkness again and snatches Richie’s glasses off his face. With that, he all but throws them onto Richie’s bedside table and lays back down quickly.

‘Thank you,’ Richie says curtly. Eddie doesn’t reply, but instead clenches his eyes shut and tries to ignore the way Richie shifts next to him, because from the way Richie is moving, it means he’s probably now facing Eddie.

And the thought makes Eddie’s heart rate speed up.

His whole body feels tight and awkward as he lays there, listening to Richie’s quiet breathing. Richie shifts a little bit more, and his foot knocks against Eddie’s. 

Richie, in turn, was staring at the blurred shape of Eddie’s head in the darkness, hoping that small action of touching Eddie’s foot with his own might be taken as some sort of hint. Yeah, Tozier. He’s suddenly going to know that you’ve been pining after him since you were twelve because you fuckin’ played footsie with him when he thinks you’re asleep, nice one-

But then Eddie moves slightly, and his foot edges just that little bit closer until its practically on top of Richie’s.

Unbeknown to Richie, Eddie was pretty sure this was as obvious as he could get about his feelings to Richie. Wasn’t this the kind of shit they did in movies, or whatever?

Richie, just a few inches away, was wide eyed and having a very small heart attack. Should he do something else? What the fuck. He needed Bev.

Eddie was staring up at the darkness above and wondering what the hell to do now, because he sure as shit couldn’t sleep when all he wanted to do was tell Trashmouth Tozier that he fancied the pants off of him.

‘Eddie?’

Eddie jumps and blurts out, far too loudly and quickly, ‘What?’

Richie blinks hard. ‘Er - nothing’.

Eddie sighs, tuts, and tries to close his eyes and will himself to sleep. They’re meeting the others at the Quarry tomorrow morning, and he doesn’t want to be too tired. 

Richie shifts some more, and Eddie feels a curl of Richie’s hair tickle his cheek. He blinks his eyes open and turns, and suddenly the dark shape of Richie is far closer. Their noses are almost touching, and Eddie can almost see the shine of Richie’s eyes. 

‘Can you stay tomorrow night, too?’ Richie asks, and Eddie is almost surprised at the rare use of Richie’s ‘serious voice’. He swallows tightly, trying not to draw back from Richie’s closeness. ‘I know your mom will probably have a shit fit, but I don’t know if my parents will be back tomorrow and, er, I’m not a fan of being in the house alone-’

Eddie shifts his foot against Richie’s sharply, shutting him up. He knows how sad Richie gets about his parents, even though he’ll never admit it. Bill said that Richie cried about it to him just once, last year. It was when his mom fell down the stairs after drinking too much. ‘Quit talking for two fucking seconds, will you? I’ll stay, Rich. What’s she going to do?’

Eddie sees the shift in Richie’s face, and knows that he’s smiling.

Richie watches the shape of Eddie’s chest raise a little fast, and he can’t help but wonder if he did that.

‘Thanks, Ed’s’.

And, rather than berate Richie, Eddie replies, ‘You’ve…yknow, always got me,’ Eddie coughs into the quiet. ‘Even when your parents are dickweeds, you’ve got me and the Losers. Especially, er…especially me, Rich’.

He hears Richie’s sudden intake of breath, and his heart all but fucking explodes in his chest.

Should not have said that, Kaspbrak! Now you’ve ruined shit between the two of you oh for fucks sake you are such an idiot-

There’s a moment of quiet, and Eddie watches in silence horror as Richie sits up a little, shifts the pillow beneath him, and all but yanks Eddie’s arm up (Eddie yelps and starts to snap at him) and throws it around his shoulder.

And, just like that, Eddie is letting Richie rest his curly-haired head on his chest, and his arm is wrapped around the Trashmouth. Slowly, in some state of shock, he curls it tighter around Richie’s back and presses his taller form closer to Eddie’s shorter one.

‘This, er, this okay?’ Richie asks because, shit, whilst he’s always wanted to draw Eddie to him and hug him (and, most of the time, he did), all he wanted to do just then was wrap himself as close to Eddie as he could.

He feels oddly safe when he’s with Eddie.

He smiles in relief when Eddie lets out a sudden breath (and Richie can hear his heart hammering through his t-shirt) and replies, all breathy and weird, ‘More than’.