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Halloween is Bee’s favorite holiday and while for most people it’s focused on becoming something new, transforming into fantasies, it is for others about becoming who they really are. 

Related to Silver Fox. Can be read alone. SingleDad!Cal+ Halloween + Cuteness.


Read Silver Fox Here. 

Enjoy my masterlist. 

Support me on Ko-Fi. 


Anahera reads over the text several times, exits the text messaging app, reopens it and still shocks finds her when the text does not disappear. Halloween party on Saturday, 8pm You’re invited. Costume contest too! This isn’t a text message that she should’ve gotten–Anahera played on the school’s field hockey team but she wasn’t that popular to get a text message from Chelsea. Chelsea was on the school’s cheerleading team, up next for captain once the current senior graduated. They worked together once on a physics project and exchanged numbers only to talk about who would do what and to meet after school to run the lab. But that was pretty much the existent of their interactions, besides saying hi in passing in the hallways. 

But here Chelsea was texting Anahera about a Halloween party. Looking up from her phone, Anahera risks a quick glance to her father. He stands outside the car, phone pressed to his ear. A call came in right as Anahera walked up to the car. He paused long enough to greet her and ask how she was doing but he had to return to the call pretty quickly after that. Her practice ran long–mostly because their coach was getting on their case about two girls that got into a physical fight in school and thus were benched for two games. Her dad’s not the type to be overly strict about her going out. But he was a small bit of a worrier and liked to know the parents or at least have their numbers. 

Anahera turns back to her phone and pulled up Levi’s thread. Did you get an invite to a Halloween party on Saturday?

It’s only a couple of moments before Levi replies. Yeah. ‘rents already said yes. What about you?

Levi was the last child in a line of four, so it was never really a shock that their parents let them do pretty much anything as long as they could say who they were going with and what time they were going to be back home by. Anahera glances back out to the window and notices Calum nodding along to whatever is being said. When they catch eyes, Calum puffs up his cheeks and crosses his eyes just to get a laugh out of her. Anahera shakes her head with a small chuckle and sticks her tongue out in return before returning to her phone. 

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Harry and Catalina have known each other for decades. But he’s never know her like this, set into the world that she comes from before. And along the way, Catalina serves to remind Harry that there’s good even in the bad. 

AfroLatina OC!-Vampire!Harry, Demon!OC 13k+ words about 28 pages long. Reader be warned. 

CW: Mature content (smut so only 18+ and up), Gore, Graphic Depictions of violence. 

Title is taken from Impossible by Nothing But Thieves. 


Moodboard made by the wonderful @notinthesameguey​ (Happy Early Birthday!!!!!)

Enjoy my masterlist

Support me on Kofi


It shouldn’t shock him. It shouldn’t make Harry stop in his tracks, seeing her leaning against the brick building, a cigarette dangling between her fingers. She never brings it up to her lips. It’s her signature; a sign of her coming and a sign of her going too– the smoke trailing from the butt of a burning piece of paper around the tobacco. That paper is never lifted to her lips. It’s always a trail of smoke from her fingers. It’s all too fitting, all too ironic for anyone that knew Catalina. Like really knew her, like besides the permanent red lipstick that she loved to wear, and really knew the reason for the bruises that were on her knuckles. They’d know that the puff of smoke was a warning–always a sign to anyone that cared to read it. 

Harry always read it. He always turned his head to the smell of a cigarette just to see who was holding it, if they were puffing it. He looks for her–more than he really should look for her. Catalina has to disappear sometimes. She has to go back, has to recharge. Harry can’t tell what makes it hurt, what makes him always sad that she leaves. He knows she comes back. Maybe it was because they were always at a distance. They got time together; they had their fun, but it was always with the sinking feeling that eventually, it would have to come to an end. That’s what made it bittersweet, knowing that inevitably it wouldn’t last as long as Harry wanted it too. 

Still paused in the sidewalk, Harry’s aware of all the bodies passing him by. And there she is. Leaning against the brick of the building, a cigarette dangling between fingers. He knows it’s her. Even in the dark of the night and the distance, there’s no way to miss her forever painted red lips–sometimes they are glossy, sometimes they are matte. And even though she’s dressed in a black overcoat thanks to fall’s incoming chill, Harry knows that Catalina. 

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Calum puts up the last of the grocery. The weather’s starting to break so it’s no surprise when you unearth yourself from the back of the house wrapped up in a blanket. You mentioned feeling a little under the weather, so instead of joining Calum on the grocery trip, you stayed home. 

“How much should I bet that you stole another one of my hoodies, and it’s just hidden under the blankets?”

“Not a lot,” you chuckle and then plop onto the couch. “Sorry about missing the grocery trip, again.” 

Calum waves it off, watching you kick off your bunny slippers and then pulling your feet in under the blankets. He kisses the top of your forehead. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Would rather you get some well needed rest. Want some tea? I picked up some extra cans of soup too.”

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Do not under any circumstances think about the first time you run across Calum watching a rugby game. You’re familiar enough with the sport to know what it is however, you haven’t fully set down to watch a match. But today, you’re paddling about and you walk into the music room to find Calum sitting at his desk, but he’s curled up in the seat, knees hugged to his chest, eyes intently following the screen. 

“Whatcha watching?”

“Rugby game,” he answers, flicking his gaze up with a smile. 

“All Blacks playin’?” you asks, leaning into the molding of the door. He gives a nod, attention diving back to the screen as screams erupt from the speakers. You join in for a few minutes, standing behind the desk chair, arms winding around his chest and neck. 

He drops his head back into your chest/stomach. Your eyes are taking in the scene, the piling, spins, hand offs. Calum tenses for a moment, quietly chanting, “C’mon, c’mon. Your break is right there.”

You chuckle, playing every so lightly at the hair on his head. After a few minutes you kiss his forehead. “Won’t disturb you for too much longer. Let me know how the game goes, yeah?”

At the feeling of your arms slipping from around him, he reaches up to grab your wrist. “You can stay. You’re not disturbing me.”

“Okay.” So you settle down on the couch. Calum pulls one of the side desk out from the wall a little and sets the laptop down before joining you, resting his head on your shoulder and chest. 

Slowly it becomes tradition to watch games together. You ask some questions about the rules, how to play and Calum’s happy to explain it to you. You surprise him, randomly, with an All Blacks singlet and the immense joy that radiates from his face is palpable. “You didn’t have to,” he whispers, sure if he speaks too much louder his voice will give out on him. Or worse the fabric of reality will unravel and reveal to him it’s just a dream. 

You shrug. “Wanted too.” 

There are recordings he has where you’re more into the match than he is, also dressed in an All Blacks jersey. He’s posted once a short clip of you leaping off the couch. “C’mon! How do you not call that?” 

And it’s just the back of you, shouting and pointing at the TV. But Calum’s giggle is evident in the background. You don’t even know you’re being recorded. 

When the season gets delayed thanks to the pandemic, you miss it but understand. There are a lot of rewatches of highlights on YouTube. You and Calum reenact the plays with fits of laughter. But soon the first international match of the season gets underway, you and Calum both make sure to break out the jersey’s and singlets and stock up on snacks. Even if you can’t have a giant party like you’d want, you’re definitely going to celebrate.

At the haka, you wind up watching Calum more than the team. You’ve always loved watching the spark of pride that lights up his face and you can see his fingers twitching and itching, as if the voices on the screen are pulling invisible strings over him. 

“Ready?” you ask as the teams leave the field to start the match. 

His arms winds around your shoulders, squeezing you closer to him. His lips brush over your temple. “Born ready.”

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When Kamden first sees Calum in that bakery, she knew. She knew exactly was happening, that she had found her soulmate. However, what she didn’t know is that she’d wake up not her bed the very next day. 

Baker!Calum x Royal!OC (Black!OC) + Soulmate + Bodyswap.

This was only supposed to be a blurb. How did it end up like this? Here we are at 19 pages, 10k words. 

CW: Brief mentions of anxiety and self harm. 

Enjoy my masterlist. 

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Her body sinks through the sheets, melting right through mattress springs. Her fingers reach out for something sturdy, for that thing that will let her know that she’s just falling into sleep and into the frame, past it and sinking through the floor beneath her. There is only the sinking feeling and his face. His cheeks were full, the cut of his jaw strong. His eyes, though they were squinting against the high sun, were still friendly. His smile was cautious, a quick tug up on his face. HIs voice was smooth, with a deep rumbly timbre. “What can I do for ya?” That’s all he asked. 

But Kamden knew. She knew the moment she stepped out of the car in the city’s downtown. There was a buzz, a nervous flip in her stomach. She tried to swallow it down. Tried to pretend like it wasn’t happening, but every face that passed she looked intently, wondering if the head rush would finally kick in. The prospect of knowing her soulmate was nearby should’ve worried her more. Kamden was overstepping her brother, Jordan, on the way to the throne because he refused to take it–a rebellious and wild soul, like he always had been. He had all but renounced the family. Kamden couldn’t figure out why her brother didn’t just up and quit. Maybe Jordan was still in it for the money. 

However, not even that thought fully disrupts Kamden’s descent. Not even that thought wipes away the look, the slightly wide eyes of the man behind the counter at her arrival. Kamden is used to the looks. The scuffle that ensues when she walks into a room. This look was different, less the panic to impress and straighten the spine and more the my eyes aren’t believing what they are seeing.

Kamden wasn’t even sure how to respond to the question directed to her. Her head didn’t feel connected to her shoulders anymore. She felt like she had been flipped upside and spun around in circles for about an hour and then suddenly flipped upside right.  And now, she is still falling, unsure if she’s falling down and falling up. What Kamden does know is the depth to his eyes are a thing she wants to grab onto but her fingers can’t–her muscles can’t stretch her out that far. 

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This is a repost. Mostly the same blurb, just a name change

You can support me on ko-fi!

Here’s my masterlist

FAHC!Michael growing his hair out mostly out of laziness, partly because the longer it gets the more Fiona, while in meetings or chilling at the penthouse, will come up and start to braid or plait it for him. At first they’re stubby and she does it because Michael always gripes about it. But the longer and longer the curls get, the more the braids fall right and it’s nice. Because while she does it, Michael gives her tips or tricks, or they shoot the shit, or she tells him he’s most definitely not putting that .45 that he just cleaned back together properly. Michael won’t admit it’s because for three seconds he got a little sleepy and wasn’t paying full attention.

And in meetings, Fiona giggles and mutters snide comments. “That’s some white people shit, what I’m not finna do is that.” It makes Michael snicker too as he mostly pays attention, his hat in his lap, while she stands behind his chair, fingers deftly tucking strands underneath each other. This then sparks Michael to comment about anything, about nothing. More than once Jack has to snap them back to reality because they’ll take one joke and run it into the ground only to turn around and ask, “Wait, what were we talking about? What’s my job?”

And when Michael and Fiona bump heads, never seriously, but just a tiny bit, she’ll always through out, “I won’t braid your hair.”

That usually shuts Michael up or it fuels him to dig his heels even deeper. “You wouldn’t dare. You come to me to braid it anyways. So good luck punishing yourself.” His voice is high and he’s huffy and all Fiona can do is laugh as she screams back. And it eventually dissolves just as quickly as it sparked.

Once after a playful spat that turned more heated than usual, Michael kept one of the braids she had done a couple days earlier, tucked it under the baseball cap but as he was readjusting it, she noticed the braid was still there. Albeit it was a mess and mostly unravelled but still there.

“Didn’t take you as the likes to care,” she says softly just as the meeting starts.

“I was just lazy,” he returns. But he looks over to her with a tiny smile. “And maybe it’s kind of cool looking. Maybe.”

Fiona shoulder bumps him but her smile is big. She digs out of her pocket a piece of candy. “Want some?”

Michael takes the lollipop. “It ain’t no chocolate bar, but it works.”

“Chocolate melts too easily. But how about the corner store after this? I need to re-up.”

Lollipop tucked into his cheek, Michael nods. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

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bullets but danger days:

honey this desert isnt big enough for the two of us

driving lessons

vultures will never hurt you

skylines and… tanlines

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wow goooooood morning to whoever left a comment on liiiiike every chapter of my fic lol. i hope u are in a dif timezone than me (aka did not stay up all til 5am) or that u (blissfully) have no pressing engagements today and are catching some peaceful Zs

for the rest of you, i hope you also have a blissfully empty schedule ahead of you ; )

(i fucking do not)

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he comes to and the first thing he notices is that he cant see the sky

he cant see the lake

whatever hes laying on is solid

and dry.

beautifully fucking dry.

he’s laying on a floor

a wooden floor

there’s a ceiling above him

he’s inside.

he glances over to find gerard, holding the cloth

the mirror sits on a desk, propped against the wall

“what did you do” frank asks

“i freed you. sort of. really i just bound your soul to a different object.”

“without asking” comments frank

he doesnt know why he’s upset

the lights flicker

gerard flinches. he notices the flicker too

“how am i supposed to find the sword now”

(how am i supposed to die)

(he supposes he could sit up and try to shatter the mirror)

“i can transfer you back to the sword. i think.”

(((bro. musical chairs but with franks ghost. lol. musical… cursed objects?)))

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concept: couple thousand word oneshot detailing lwj’s soft jealousy for wei wuxian & wen ning’s relationship. not even rlly romantic jealousy, just this persistent “it should be me by your side” kind of thing. fuck around and call it “does he take care of you”

no i do NOT have time

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Luke learns the hard way what it means to be a dad and how to keep his family safe and together. Dad!Luke with a South Asian Reader. This is a collaborative experience with A Family of Five.

CW: Over the course of this series, themes of racism and prejudice on the basis of religion are present. Please read or skip as necessary.

Back to main masterlist

Parts are listed in chronological order. 

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@notinthesameguey thought she could try me.

This is the little sister to this blurb

The alarm goes off and you groan, pulling the comforter over your head. It doesn’t block out the noise of the alarm. Almost instantly you’re regretting spending the weekend with Calum. You usually worked Fridays but took the day to have more time with him. Calum rolls over, pulling the sheets from your face. “Mornin’,” his voice is thick and gruff with sleep. 

“Hmmph,” you huff, puffy eyes barely cracking opening. “Morning,” you return turning to look at him. 

His eyes are closed too but his fingers are brushing up and down your cheek. “Last one out bed is a rotten egg.”

Your laughter is mostly an exhale. Neither of you move for another ten minutes and when the bed does dip, Calum’s the first one up. “Ha!” he cheers, arms lazily thrown over his head. “Not a rotten egg this time.”

“Well throw me out and call me stinky.”

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The past few days have been both excruciatingly uncomfortable and comfortable. The heat wave that hit us was shocking because 1) it is only May, 2) if people still thinking global warming is not real then what the fuck, and 3) my partner and I live in an old pre-WW2 apartment with no air-conditioning and up until today (the heat wave is now over) did not own a fan, and did I mention our buildings radiators were still on and running at full force?!? It was hot, humid, and the air was stagnant. Even the action of taking a breath seemed to induce more sweat and stickiness. And yet even while my legs stuck to the kitchen chair and touching my partner resulted in repulse due to extreme body heat, I was and am happy. You see, this tropical weather feels familiar and comfortable. Growing up in the jungle close to the equator means you are in this weather 24/7. You are eating, breathing, and sleeping that humidity and heat to the point that 2 hour naps after lunch is normal, and you’d better not think about buying candy at that time because the little shops will be closed, and if you sneak outside the house to suck on the sugar cane that someone brought over, your parents will definitely not catch you. 

I honestly am in awe of how I lived in those conditions and was fine with it. I guess our bodies adapt and maybe when everyone is in the same boat (not having a.c. or fans and taking midday naps (that should be a law tbh) your brain is like, “I got this!”. But goddamn! these past few days were hard!

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Before this global pandemic I wanted to be alone. I wanted space. I wanted silence. I wanted exactly what I have been given and now I don’t want it it.  I would love if I could open a little hatch in the sky and pop it through all tied up in a burlap sack and say, “Thank you for listening universe but I have changed my mind.”

I am so alone, I have never felt this lonely in a long time. I simultaneously have space to do the things I always told myself I didn’t have the space to do AND have lost physical spaces I use to navigate through life. The silence, it’s so quiet I’ve been getting stuck in my brain. My left side brain has regular chats over tea with my right side brain about whether the anxiety trumps the feelings of loneliness. 

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47 for the kissing prompts pls

Hi I’m a mess because I wrote this three weeks ago but wasn’t sure if I liked it so I just pretended it didn’t exist until I forced my fiance to proofread it and he said he loved it so…. this is a really long way of saying I’m so, so sorry this is so late but I really hope you like it.

Read here on ao3.

Prompt taken from this list.

The setting sun hits Eddie’s eyes at an angle that makes them glow like the fucking moon or something, Richie’s no poet but he’s not blind and there’s no denying that the boy in front of him is so heart-wrenchingly beautiful he’d write a million shitty sonnets about him. He’d write about the sight in front of him right now, Eddie sitting on the tailgate of his 1981 truck that is almost as old as he is, wearing an orange sweater that looks like it was made just for him, just for this moment, all wrapped up in the glow of the sunset with wide eyes and parted lips. 

But now is not the time to write sonnets or poetry, because it’s been a solid minute since either of them have spoken, maybe longer. And Eddie has just stared up at him, sitting on the plaid blanket he’d taken from his house before they left, just stared at him in a state of permanent, unflinching shock.

And as beautiful as Richie finds him in this moment, he tears his gaze away because staring at him will only make it worse. So, he looks away and looks at the expanse of the field in front of them where he had pulled aside. It was beautiful, too beautiful. So beautiful, that Richie had gotten caught up in the sunset and brown grass glowing in the light and the way Eddie’s pretty face looked as he was laughing at something Richie said and he’d just- 

“Eddie, I’m in love with you.”

And that was it.

That was the last thing either of them had said.

With a jolt, he jumps down from the bed of the truck. His chest heaves rapidly, but it’s not from the exertion of jumping down from the tailgate. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think he was dying from how dizzy he feels. 

A laugh grinds its way through his throat, “What the fuck was that? Sorry, Eds, I think it’s been too long since I got laid. Starting to get love-horny or somethin’.”

He kicks at the ground absentmindedly, wanting to look at Eddie so badly but ignoring the urge like he’s done so many times before. And Eddie, he’s still completely silent from his spot on the tailgate. Richie flexes his hands in and out of fists and wishes he hadn’t given his last cigarette away to Beverly so he would have something to do with his hands. 

“Come on, let’s get home before the sun sets. Don’t want to upset Mrs. K, yeah?” The keys are jammed deep in his pocket and he nearly breaks his hand trying to get them out of his tight jeans, but once he does he drops them on the ground because his fingers are shaking so much. As he bends over to grab them, he hears Eddie jump down onto the dusty ground and thinks ‘thank god, he’s not frozen anymore’. The keys are covered in dirt, now, which he grimaces out as he stands back up, finding Eddie right in front of him with the same expression of shock on his face. Richie is tall, so much taller than Eddie, but he feels like he’s shrinking underneath his gaze and he thinks that he’d be okay with suffocating and dying right now if it meant Eddie would stop looking at him like that.

“I’m- I’m sorry, okay?” He says, and he’s surprised at just how hoarse his voice sounds, like he’s been riding rollercoasters at the fair all day. Even Eddie seems taken aback by it, the muscles in his forehead tightening and flexing in perplexion. He feels like Eddie is waiting for him to say more, which really isn’t fair because Eddie hasn’t spoken a word, “Just say ‘Beep Beep, Richie’ or something and I can drop you off at home and we can pretend this is all a joke, okay?”

“But it’s not a joke?” It’s a question, but Eddie says it with such certainty that Richie knows he’s been completely found out, that there’s no taking it back this time, that he’d managed to keep it under wraps for nearly five years but it had all been thrown out the window because he was a stupid fucking sap and Eddie had just looked too pretty in the sunset. Richie’s eyes burn, but he shakes his head in response. No, it has never been a joke, I love you so much.

If Richie didn’t love him so much, he might’ve strangled him for continuing to just stand there and stare at him like he was some puzzle or crossword Eddie couldn’t quite figure out. Richie’s about to step back when Eddie’s perplexion finally morphs into something different- a face that he makes only after Richie’s made a particularly bad joke or when he dances to Queen in a goofy way to cheer Eddie up. It’s that look that says ‘this boy is an idiot but he’s my best friend’. It’s a look that always makes Richie feel exceptionally loved. Before he even has a second to contemplate it, Eddie surges forward and wraps his arms around his middle at the same time that he plants his lips on Richie’s, tearing his breath right out of his lungs.

And now, he might really be dying. He can hardly breathe with the way Eddie is pressed against him, lips moving against his and arms squeezing impossibly tighter. He might really suffocate and die, but it doesn’t matter one bit because Eddie is kissing him and he’s kissing back and his lips are softer than he’d ever thought they’d be. All those years he’d spent tracing the curve of his smile with his eyes imagining what they would feel like on his own couldn’t have prepared him for this, this feeling of soft lips and nipping teeth and- shit, is that Eddie’s tongue?

Richie turns his face to the right, gasping in air and exhaling it all in a fit of giggles. Eddie doesn’t release his torso but scrunches up his nose and says, “Hey, what are you laughing at, asshole?”

“Sorry,” Richie breathes, punctuated with another laugh, “Just can’t believe little Eddie Kaspbrak is kissing ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier without bitching about germs.”

“Not little,” Eddie takes a swing at his chest right above his heart, “I better not get herpes from kissing you.”

“If you did, Eds,” Richie leans down to kiss Eddie once more, “It would be because I got it from your mother.”

And then Eddie is shrieking, pushing at his chest and sheepishly claiming he won’t ever kiss Richie again if he keeps saying things like that. But then he’s pouncing on him, kissing the air out of his lungs once more, and for once Richie is happy he can never keep his mouth shut.

Tag List: @constantreaderfool @violetreddie @girasol-eddie @thorn-harvester-ven

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Omg for the sentence starters, can we do 1 for reddie, but can it not end in angst, I can’t handle that

I hope this is what you wanted! It turned out… a lot more sappy than I was expecting.

Read here on ao3

Prompt taken from this list.

There are two things in this world Richie Tozier is absolutely, without-a-doubt, one hundred percent certain about. Those two things are:

  1. Eddie Kaspbrak is a resilient badass.
  2. Richie is unequivocally in love with him.

Perhaps that’s redundant, but that’s just how sure he is.

He’s always been sure about this, ever since he met him all those years ago. He’s only grown more certain over time, after moving out of Derry and struggling through college and monthly rent payments for their shared apartment. He’d seen him at his worst and best and only wanted more. The only thing stopping him from getting down onto one knee and asking him for his hand in marriage was saving up for a ring (which was really just an excuse to procrastinate turning into a nervous wreck for the weeks leading up to the big question). Now that he’d purchased the ring, he was left with the question of when to do it and how to not puke from nerves midway through the proposal. That was a problem for another time, though.

Eddie was a badass, through and through. He was the perfect amount of feisty to counteract Richie’s humor, he’d escaped the clutches of his mother when he was barely eighteen and built a life for himself from nothing, and he was working harder than Richie had ever seen anyone work to become a surgeon. Richie was ridiculously proud of him and ceaselessly reminded him of that fact.

With all that badassery, though, came a difficult side effect. Sometimes he grew so overwhelmed with the pressure of school, work, and Richie (though Eddie would never admit it, Richie knew he was a handful) that he popped like a balloon. In fact, Eddie had referred to himself as a soda bottle on several occasions- the world keeps vigorously shaking him until he explodes. 

Today is one of those soda bottle days, Richie can just tell. Eddie had a big exam he had been studying for the whole night, finally falling asleep at five in the morning just to wake up and leave before Richie had even woken up at eight o’clock. When he’d wandered out of the bedroom, he’d discovered that their apartment was a mess. Eddie’s homework was scattered all over the kitchen counters, dishes over the past few days had piled up in the sink, and the laundry had grown into a conglomerate monster in the hamper. It certainly wasn’t like Eddie at all to leave the apartment like this, and Richie knew they were moments away from a big blowout.

He knew what he had to do.

He spent all morning cleaning the entirety of the apartment, putting away the homework and dishes, sorting through the laundry in record time. When the apartment was squeaky clean- though Eddie would certainly have done some things differently- he headed out to pick up some ingredients for Eddie’s favorite dinner that Richie could make, Beef Merlot. It sounded fancy but was easy to make and Eddie always requested it on special occasions, like his birthday or their anniversary. He also picked up a frozen Marie Calendar’s chocolate pie, another favorite of Eddie’s that always cheered him up. 

Richie was over-the-moon with himself when he had it all set up, complete with candles and a bouquet of sunflowers- not roses, Eddie hated cliches- on the dining table. When he heard Eddie open the front door, he peeked around the divider that separated the living room from the dining area with a big smile on his face. Eddie threw the door open, looking a bit chilly and frustrated. The red hue on his cheeks accented the small spots of freckles and warmed Richie’s heart until it could almost burst. Eddie shucked off his jacket, getting up on his tiptoes and hooking it on the coat rack. Richie noticed a second too late that it teetered, rounding about on its little pegs, and he couldn’t reach it in time before it crashed down on Eddie’s head, rolling off and hitting the ground with a solid thump. The knob at the top snapped off, traveling across the floor. Eddie groaned and his hands flew up to the back of his head where a bump was already forming. Richie was on him within seconds, hands covering Eddie’s.

“Oh baby, are you okay?” He crooned.

“Never fucking better,” Eddie snapped, looking up at him with a hard expression that quickly softened into a pout. He looked down at the coat rack and jackets that had been spilled across the floor, “I’m so sorry, I can’t do anything right.

“It’s just a coat rack, Eds. Don’t worry about it,” Richie soothed, finally fighting his way past Eddie’s hands to stroke over his hair, making sure not to press too hard on his injury.

“It’s not just the coat rack,” Eddie cried, big eyes welling up with tears. It wasn’t often Richie saw him this way- almost never, actually, “I’m pretty sure I bombed my exam after getting almost no sleep last night, a customer yelled at me for accidentally making their order with caffeine instead of decaf and accused me of trying to kill her, and to top it all off, the apartment’s a mess because I haven’t had any time to clean it!” He throws his hands towards the room, but his gesture falters when he realizes that it’s not anywhere near as dirty as it was when he had left that morning, “Did you… clean?”

Richie can’t help the pride that swells up in his chest, “I might’ve,” He admits with a smile, “But before you get all excited, can I show you what else I did?” 

Eddie knits his brows together in confusion but nods anyway. Richie grabs him by the wrist and tugs him around the corner to their candlelit dinner. 

“Is that Beef Merlot?” Eddie asks, mouth open and eyes wide.

“Mhm. I didn’t start a fire while making it, I promise,” He looks down at Eddie to see his reaction and is a little startled to find that tears have spilled down onto his cheeks, “Eds?”

Eddie’s arms wrap around Richie’s torso like a vice, face burrowing into the soft fabric of his sweater. He sniffs and hugs him tighter when Richie returns the gesture, pressing sweet kisses to his soft brown hair, “Thank you so much, Rich.”

“Hey,” He says, voice soft and gentle, fingertips pulling Eddie’s face up to look at him, “I am so proud of you for working your ass off all the time. You deserve this.”

Eddie’s face smiles up at him for several moments before he speaks up again. His eyes move over to stare at the romantic lighting on the dining table, “Is now a bad time to tell you that I found the ring in your sock drawer?”

Richie pulls back a smidge, eyes wide behind his glasses, “What?”

Eddie beams at him, moving over to pull out one of the dining chairs, “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop. But, seeing all this,” He gestures at the table, “I just know there’s no one else in this world I’d rather marry.”

“Did you just propose to yourself and accept?” Eddie removes his hand from the dining chair, using it to pull Richie in for a deep kiss.

“Why don’t you ask me yourself and find out?”

It only takes a matter of seconds for Richie to be back by his side, shaky hands fumbling with the box. He doesn’t even know why he’s nervous. Eddie watches him with big eyes, equally as nervous. Richie goes down on one knee, stupid tears filling up his eyes.

“Edward Spaghetti Kaspbrak-”

“Fuck you, that’s not my name-”

“I won’t propose to you if you don’t let me use Spaghetti as your middle name.”

“Fine,” Eddie huffs, a flustered smile on his face.

“Edward Spaghetti Kaspbrak, I have been in love with you for as long as I can remember. You are the bravest, kindest, most beautiful person I have ever met. I want nothing more than to spend forever with you. Will you please do me the honor of marrying me?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but Richie can see the wetness sparkling on his cheeks in the dim candlelight, “Of fucking course, you idiot. Now put the ring on me before our food gets cold.”

Richie rockets up off the ground and pulls Eddie in for another kiss. His hands wrap around Eddie’s hips to bring him even closer, but Eddie moves back.

“I’m serious. I’m starving. I will eat you if I don’t get food soon.”

“Alright, alright!” Richie exclaims, hands up in surrender. He slides the silver band on Eddie’s finger with a smile, “Can’t believe you said yes.”

“We’ve been dating for six years, Richie.” Eddie rolls his eyes, eagerly collapsing into the chair and starting in on his food.

“But still, you’re willing to marry me. I just scored for the rest of my life.”

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um kierark w/ 37?

Mark was drunk. Kieran could tell by the way he was smiling. Mark had a lot of different smiles but his drunken smile was his loosest smile. He looked like his eyes might drift shut at any moment.

“Mmph.” Mark leaned against him, pressing his face into Kieran’s shirt. Kieran put an arm around him without thinking. It was almost second nature now. In the hunt they’d been so careful about showing affection. Any emotional attachment there could have been exploited and the other hunters hadn’t exactly been fond of either of them.

Now though, he could thread his fingers through Mark’s without thinking about it. Now in Mark’s room, leaning against the bed, they had more comfort that any of the countless nights in the hunt where they’d tangled together and counted the stars.

“Are you sure you can’t lie?” Mark asked him suddenly.

Kieran blinked down at him, a little tipsy himself. It took less for Mark to get drunk, but Kieran was well on his way there. He set the bottle he was holding down so he could rest both arms on Mark’s shoulders. “I’m very sure I can’t lie.” He mumbled into Mark’s white-gold hair.

“Lie to me then.”

“I can’t.”

Mark giggled. “That could be a lie.”

“I’m sure if I could lie I would have done it by now.” Kieran said.

Mark absentmindedly played with Kieran’s fingers. “It could all be a centuries old hoax by the faeries to have people take their words as truth.”

Kieran smiled. “Then I wouldn’t have spent so long learning how to bend my words around the truth.”

Mark gave an exaggerated huff. “You would never know.”

“Actually yes because I can’t actually lie.”

“Lie to me then. Or try to.” Mark tangled their feet together. “What happens?”

Kieran smiled. “I don’t really know. It’s more like—” he gestured aimlessly with their intertwined hands. “My brain just—it doesn’t do it. And if I try really hard to lie my voice doesn’t work.”

Mark was silent for a bit. “Huh.” He finally said. “That’s boring.”

Kieran supposed there was more than one way to lie. Faeries weren’t exactly known for their honesty. And he personally thought humans were worse at deception, maybe because they only learned how to hide the truth with their words and not their faces.

Kieran laughed, Mark’s back warm against his chest. “You should sleep.”

It took a moment of silence before he realized that Mark had already started snoring.

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I’m trying to plot out an alternate-glaciator fic where instead of Ladybug finding out Chat likes her for real, Adrien learns Marinette likes him. I was going for a cute, suddenly-I-notice-you, gradual reveal kind of thing.

But it keeps wanting to turn into a crackfic where Adrien is backed into a conversational corner where the only options are revealing his identity ooorrr letting Marinette believe he’s his own ex-boyfriend. So he Does The Right Thing. And then Marinette grills him for info on how to win his own heart and it turns out? With intel that good, she’s more than capable.

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