“You don’t have to tell them it was me. I mean, you don’t have to do anything. I’ll stop leaving marks if you want me to. Just..." He lifts up Jack’s shirt and touches one of the hickeys. When he looks back up, his eyes have gone dark. “I really, really like it. Do you mind?”
There are reasons he doesn't usually come down for the parties: people, mostly, and alcohol. But there's a reason he has, this time, and that reason made four dozen cookies earlier and is currently pressed up against his side.
Sometimes Bitty sleeps in Jack's bed. It's not a thing, until it is.
“Shit, man, you’ve got your eye on someone? Who is it? Do I know her? What’s the hold up?” Shitty asks. Jack furrows his brow, confused. “Uh, what? Shitty, no, there’s no girl-” “A guy?” Shitty interrupts, clearly having entirely missed the point. Jack opens his mouth to point his out, but Shitty beats him to it. “Oh, shit. Bitty?”
When Bittle first showed up at a meeting with management, sitting next to Sara with wide, scared eyes, Jack didn't think he had a chance in hell. Sara hired new assistants all the time, most of whom barely made it through a season.
2014: Ice Bucket Challenge. 2015: Wax Off Heart Disease. 2016: mass hysteria.
The empty nest sure is empty sometimes.
Some further events of Hazeapalooza '14. Shitty wants Bitty to see that hazing can be fun even without sweaters and pie. Jack helps.
Good friends share. Lardo and Bitty are good friends.
Favors requested, favors rejected, the wrong people impressed, etc.
Because Tim Drake would be a superhero fanboy in any universe.
Steve's favorite shirt is at the center of a debate about masculinity, sexuality, and whether or not he did in fact steal it like a thief in the night from Tony.
He feels helpless, and not in the good way. Not in the way he needs to feel, the way that means freedom. Being the Alpha means not getting to feel that anymore.
The Avengers discover that there are fans who write explicit RPF fic about them. Some of them are very confused. Some are proud. Some don't understand why everyone writes the pairings who aren't together but hardly anyone writes the couple who actually is together. Much silliness ensues.
In which Robert Baratheon weds Catelyn Tully on the eve of rebellion while Cersei Lannister, the rising sun of Casterly Rock, is sent to the far North to marry Ned Stark and become Lady of Winterfell. In consequence, the fates of these two women, the people they love, and the game of thrones are changed forever. But winter is coming, as it always will.
There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, or: Sansa goes home.
In the dark, under the bedclothes, Margaery calls Sansa her Queen in the North, her Red Wolf.
Myrcella knows what is said of her rule behind her back, that she presides over a court of bastards and women. Who better to rule a realm of bastards and women?
Somewhere far away, far from the home she once knew – the home she can no longer remember, or she can but she does not wish too – there is a girl who does not remember her name, nor anything of the life she came from. Until the night she dreams of wolves.
In her dreams Sansa Stark wanders the ruins of Winterfell, wearing a crown and paced by a pack of wolves.
Val didn't save Jon Snow - that was his direwolf and the red woman - but she did steal him.
Lyanna Stark departed this life leaving her brother with only secrets, regrets, and her newly born daughter.
When Dorne became one of the Seven Kingdoms, they agreed to replace the Westeros Law of Inheritance with the Dornish Law, so that the same laws would be followed throughout the realm. Or, Five times there was no male primogeniture in Westeros, and this wasn't as helpful as you might expect.
Brienne nearly starts a brawl at Sansa Stark's wedding when she elbows Littlefinger in the face and bloodies his nose.
The king is dead, but a cousin cannot inherit before a brother, or before a sister.
Cat told herself that it wasn't improper. They would be family when she wed Brandon, and kissing games between ladies were not unheard of. As though anything involving Lyanna Stark could be proper. The wolf girl rode like a man and carried a dagger on her hip that would have been a sword had her father allowed it; she cloaked herself in impropriety.
"You could always stay." "And what should I do at the Wall, Sam, style myself as the Night's Queen? Or Lady Commander of the Night's Watch?" "Well, we do let girls in nowadays."
I didn't realise that it was the Silver Queen's heart you were trying to get inside.
Myrcella Hill is her mother's daughter, more or less.
"I get it, you want to—" "Ride the Bull, yes." She's a whisper of ruffles and fine silk passing him before he even knows it, leaving him leaning stupidly in her doorway. "Or rather, no. I am occupied for the remainder of the day with treatise work, Iron Bull. You will have to try again some other time. Please locate your pants and leave before the marquis arrives, which will be shortly." Bull isn't exactly courting material, but Josephine isn't always particularly courtly. Work Text:
The Antivan language and sex on the war table: just two of Bull's varied interests.
Bull read the letter, his face growing more grave by the line. "Cooper is coming," he said finally. "They've probably sent him to finish me off."
Jensen's got love letters to Cougar in his bag but knows he'll never let anyone else see them. It's not that he wants to keep it a secret, he just knows that it might be best that way what with DADT, Cougar's Catholic values and the risk of getting a bullet between his eyes. Writing letters in secret is one of the few outlets Jensen has. But it's really just a matter of time before the truth comes out...
Loki falls from the Bifrost, and lands in Lilo's garden. Chaos ensues.
He hears: “turn here” and “listen carefully” and Poe nearly trips as a Stormtrooper says the words that wrap around Poe’s right thigh.
“There just - there weren’t a lot of prospects in the desert!” Rey folds her arms, furious.
An alternate take on leupagus's Space Princess Poe.
Rey steals Finn’s clothes. So in some way she’s stealing his clothes.
“Shut up and hand me that tiara,” she snarls at him, flapping her hand at the dresser where it's perched jauntily on top of his blast helmet.
Finn is somewhat underprepared. Poe is only trying to help.
someone said "touch-starved Finn" and the next thing I know I'm writing a tragic backstory and sickeningly cute OT3 cuddles - “Pick yourself up, FN-2187,” they’d tell him. And then they’d hit him again.
The idea brings its own problems, of course. Rey was a one for so long that it’s been hard to get used to being a two with Finn, but at least for that she has seen models that she could learn from, even living and scavenging in the wastes of Jakku. There were some raggedy families headed up by parents; one or two young couples who shared their food and took turns sheltering each other from the sun. She has no frame of reference for this, for threeness, but she knows she wants it. Never mind that she’s never seen it done before. She’ll have to make it up as she goes; at least she’s good at that. There’s the family you’re born into, and then there’s the one you make for yourself.
“An exciting change for the greatest pilot in the Resistance,” the General tells him, “I would hope that we have a more successful trip than last time.” “I would argue that my last mission was very successful, ma’am.” In more ways than she knows. It’s early enough that Finn is still pretending to be asleep, and Rey is curled next to him, a tiny lump in the pile of blankets. (a sequel to room of heartbeats)
Rey is different from Finn; all sharp angles with kinetic energy beneath pale skin, eyes wide enough to take in the sky. A completely different kind of beauty from Finn, but beautiful all the same. Oh no, thinks Poe Dameron, with a sinking realisation.
There are times when, for the greater good, one might choose to lose a bet. This is one of those times.
Dorian is quite magnanimous in victory, and perfectly willing to reward Bull for being so gracious in defeat.
Dorian is feeling frisky in the crowded Herald's Rest.
