#uhh not sure about the tagging protocol sorry

[qiu-yan]

idk if the chengxian shippers have found this blog yet but if so. how does jiang yanli feel about it? not a hater post i promise im legitimately curious

[f-b-a-w-t-f-t]

Stalker

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader.

Warnings: None. A/N: You could say this is a Peter Parker x Fem!Tomboy!Reader if you wanted. I thought that fit the story better. xD. Also I’m thinking of doing a part two of this, where it’s them at the party, What do you think?

"Excuse me." Peter mumbled as someone sped past him on a bike. He just wanted to go home, but he had the strangest feeling that someone was following him. He was about to give up looking for the person, but then he heard a rustling in the bushes.

"Okay, if your following me, can you please stop?!" He said to the bush. When there was no response, or further movement, he decided that he was probably just tired. He hadn't been getting much sleep, due to the nighttime crime fighting.

He shook it off and continued his walk home.

he had almost forgotten the event, until he was in the hallway opening his apartment door, and he heard a loud thud behind him. However, before he could turn around all the way, Aunt May grabbed him and pulled him into the room.

He did, however, catch a glance of something, or, someone. It looked as though they were wearing a shirt that he also owned; so if there was someone following him, they were probably a boy around his age.

That night, Ned had actually asked Peter if he was okay. Because Peter was completely paranoid, constantly looking around the room anxiously, and even opening the window a few times, just to make sure there wasn't someone lurking around outside. "-but they're all disabled by the - 'training wheels protocol'" Ned scoffed.

Peter had turned around to verify what Ned had said, but stopped when he heard a soft chuckling from outside his window. Ned and Peter shared a glance, then Peter stood up to look out the window.

He was walking slowly toward it, but sped up when he heard a loud crash from outside.

"What the-?!" He hollered when he realized what had happened. He looked down and saw a half broken branch hanging from a tree, and a young girl on the ground next to it. Peter took a good look at her shirt, and it was indeed the same on from earlier.

"Are you okay?!" He leaned his head out of the window.

"Do I look okay?!" She asked sarcastically, turning her hands to the sky.

"Well I mean you could look wor-"

She turned her head to the side at made eyes at him telling him to shut up. She stood up, wiping her hands on her jeans. She turned and climbed back up the tree. Peter watched in shock. He was still trying to figure out who the heck she was. When she reached the window cell she reached her hand out and waved her fingers in front of Peter's face, motioning for him to move out of the way.

Peter pierced his lips and moved to the side.

"-Alrighty then," She moved and sat on his bed.

"Uhh, yeah, who are you again?" He furrowed his eyebrows.

"Y/N!" She beamed, extending her hand out to his. He shook it awkwardly and looked at Ned who shrugged. "-Stark." She added quickly, shifting on the bed.

Peter's jaw nearly hit the floor. His wide eyes matching Ned's, "So, so you're-- His-?"

She looked around the room awkwardly.

"Yeah, uh," She broke the silence, "Sorry about earlier, my dad made me follow you around today, to make sure you didn't 'Get into any more trouble'" She held up quote marks with her fingers. "Oh yeah! I almost forgot-" She stuck her tongue out to the side as she reached into her pocket. She pulled out a scrunched up invitation and handed it to Peter.

"See you there!" She winked before going out the window the way she came, without even turning back to him.

Leaving both Ned and Peter in compete shock.

May/29/2017

Tags,

@ 8181pjh

[impalawanderlust]

12x18 Wincest Tag

question about the lore research you were talking about

That’s the subject line of the most recent email in Sam’s inbox. It’s from Dean, which would be weird enough on its own, but the fact that he’s asking a question about some research that Sam read weeks ago, that had nothing to do with a case, well...

He didn’t actually think Dean listened to him when he talked about stuff like that. It doesn’t bother him. Really--he knows he can get annoying when he’s excited about statistics or whatever. Particularly when Dean’s always been more interested in the bottom line than in the cause-and-effect that led to it.

Still, it warms the part of his heart that still needs his big brother to validate him. He types out a quick answer, a tiny smile on his face when Dean shuffles in still half-asleep, hair sticking up in every direction as he clutches his coffee mug--only seconds after Sam clicks send.

*

This is not a case IMO, Dean emails two days later.

It takes Sam a second to get past the shock of his technophobic brother using chat speak, but when he does, he opens the email and reads rest of the message:

but I thought it might be interesting to u. gotta love that true crime, huh Sammy? 

ps have u watched that people vs OJ thing yet? looks right up ur alley.

There’s that tiny, pleased feeling again, but now it’s sharing space with no small amount of confusion. Dean’s going out of his way to acknowledge Sam’s interests, but only in emails. They spend almost every waking moment together; is emailing really necessary? Is something wrong? Their relationship is in a pretty good place right now, so unless Dean’s buttering him up before revealing some horrible secret, Sam is flummoxed. 

“Your relationship,” jeers the voice in the back of his head that always manages to sound like Lucifer. “How good can it be when you’re the one keeping a horrible, twenty year-old secret?”

Sam pushes the thought away and types a quick thank-you for the link. He’s closed out of his email inbox and is surfing a monster-sighting blog by the time Dean gets back from the grocery store. His green eyes shine as he crows about homemade hamburgers and fries, so Sam gets up from the computer to help him and resolves to put the whole email thing out of his mind. 

*

click this link?

Sam stares at the new email that’s just popped up in his inbox, incredulous. It’s been over a week since the last email from Dean (not counting the youtube video of a hot dog eating contest gone terribly wrong). Sam thought that it was over.

Stranger still, Dean is sitting directly across the table from him looking, for all intents and purposes, totally engrossed in his Words with Friends game. Sam stares at him for a long second, but Dean just hunches his shoulders and keeps tapping away at the screen. 

With a put-upon sigh and no small amount of trepidation, Sam clicks on the link. It redirects him to youtube and he braces himself for another vomit video, or, if he’s slightly luckier, a rickroll.

It’s neither of those things. It’s Pearl Jam covering Metallica’s Nothing Else Matters, and even though the picture quality is questionable, the audio bursts from Sam’s laptop speakers, making them both jump.

Sam hits the mute button as quickly as he can, ears burning. When he chances a glance at his brother, Dean isn’t looking much better. There’s a dull red flush creeping up his neck and he’s staring at his phone, fingers frozen.

“Uhh, thanks?” Sam ventures. He’s not exactly sure what the protocol is, but he’s pretty sure that he can’t pretend that he wasn’t just reading Dean’s email.

Dean shrugs, grunts. “Know you like Pearl Jam.” he mumbles, still not looking up from his phone. “If you’re gonna listen to pansy-ass alternative music, ‘least it’s a damn good song.” 

Sam thinks about telling him he’s always thought of the lyrics as being about the two of them. He thinks about saying that Dean’s the only person he’s ever really trusted. The only person he’s ever loved so completely.

He doesn’t say anything. He never does. The urge always passes after a few moments.

*

The night they carve their initials on the bunker table, Sam goes to bed early. He was already emotionally raw from nearly losing his brother during the hunt, and then Dean had pulled out his knife and started talking about their legacies.

Sam won’t have a legacy, and it’s probably better that way. He’s done too much bad to have it outweighed by the good.

His phone chimes, heralding a new message, and Sam throws a glance at the notification. An email.

From Dean. 

The subject line says legacy and Sam has to smile at how, even after all these years, they still manage to be in sync.

Sammy u have saved a lot of people. u saved the whole world. u deserve to be remembered forever.

Sam blinks away the tears that are suddenly pricking at his eyes. He’s stunned.

Didn’t know you felt that way.

Dean’s answer comes so quickly he can’t be doing anything other than staring at his inbox.

i know. startin to realize u dont know a lot of what i feel. 

my fault. im not very good at talking about it Sammy.

Sam’s fingers tremble as he writes back.

I wish you’d trust me.

Dean’s reply is puzzling.

u might not like what u hear

Frowning, Sam runs his thumb over the screen. There’s plenty that Dean could say that he wouldn’t like to hear. That he’s a failure, a fuck-up. That Dean still thinks he’s a monster that should be put down. Somehow, though, Sam knows that’s not what this is. This feels like something that should’ve happened a long time ago. Something that could clear away all the years of misunderstandings between them. But if he’s wrong, it could ruin everything. Sam’s heart pounds as he taps out a rejoinder.

Try me.

He waits for a few long moments, but Dean doesn’t email back. Disappointment starts to creep in, like a pit forming in his stomach. He pushed too hard, he’s always pushing too hard...

There’s a single, sharp knock at the door and Sam bolts to his feet. He takes two long strides over and wrenches it open. He barely gets a look at Dean’s expression, hope and fear warring in his eyes, before his brother shoulders his way in and grabs Sam by the front of his nightshirt.

“Sammy, I--I...” he falters, fists tightening in the front of Sam’s shirt as his bravado deserts him. 

Sam reaches up and puts his hands over his brother’s. “Dean. Trust me. Please just let me in.”

Dean opens his mouth to speak again, but still nothing comes out. Before Sam can do anything else, he makes a frustrated noise and drags him down to his level, crushing their mouths together.

Sam gasps and Dean takes the opportunity to press deeper, saying with his lips, and teeth, and tongue all the things he can’t manage to give voice to.

I trust you implicitly. I’m sorry for the times I didn’t. I believe in you. I love you. Sam hears it all in the frantic drum of his brother’s heartbeat. He feels it in Dean’s calloused fingers at the back of his neck. He tastes it in the candy-coffee-Dean of this kiss. 

And he knows that Dean doesn’t verbalize his feelings very well, knows that he has to respond in a way that his brother can understand. So he wraps his arms around Dean’s waist and kisses back, putting a lifetime of devotion into it.

I want to give you everything. I’ll always look up to you. I’ve never loved anyone else so completely.

Dean smiles against his mouth and Sam knows he heard the message loud and clear.