#YOU ELECTED ME FOR FUCKS SAKE THEN YOU HAVE TO FUCKIN LISTEN TO MY IDEAS AND INSTRUCTIONS

[nasa-is-shaking]

Good morning tumblr users, it's 8:39 and I'm already at my limit

[stilesssolo]

Well that’s tragic

Lol this is perhaps the crackiest thing I’ve ever written but it’s distracting me from the never ending anxiety this election is causing so WHATEVER. Also this cannot possibly be quantified as a drabble it is firmly a one shot I’M SORRY it got away from me as always. Once again insta post is available on ao3; enjoy! 

18. Well, that’s tragic. 

“You ready to go?” 

Jon looks up from his nearly-packed duffle bag just as Dany reenters the room, wet hair down her back and wrapped in a towel. “Almost,” he says, considering whether or not he can fit one more pullover in there. Although, well— does he really need it, if Dany won’t be there to steal the one he usually brings? 

“When do you leave again? An hour or so?” Jon nods, Dany rifling through her own suitcase as she looks for clothes. 

“That’s if Bran and Rickon have actually managed to pack, of course,” he says. Dany laughs, pulling a hair brush through her long waves. Robb had had the idea a few months back for them to reinstate their brother-camping-trip this summer when they all went back to Winterfell, like they used to back when they were younger and Ned would take them. Jon’s excited, but he also can’t help the feeling that the weekend can only end in disaster. 

“You sure you’re going to be alright?” Jon asks, frowning at her. “I still feel bad, leavin’ you here all alone with my aunt this weekend.” 

Dany rolls her eyes. “Please. I have Sansa and Arya and Talisa; I’ll be fine. And you know Catelyn will still be too distracted by Ben to hate me too much.” 

Jon chuckles. “Aye, that’s true, I suppose.” He exhales, surveying the bag in front of him as Dany unwraps the towel around her to change. “Okay, I think I’m good—” 

His sentence is cut off by the door banging open, Rickon standing there. “Jon, d’you have a—” he says, before his words die in his mouth, anything else he was about to say drowned out by the sound of Dany’s shocked yelp. 

Jon whirls around, suddenly realizing that his little brother is staring, slack jawed, at his naked girlfriend. 

“Rickon, what the fuck!” Jon says, his brother grabbing the door handle and yanking it closed again, leaving him and Dany alone. She’s scrambling for her towel, hastily wrapping it around herself as she blinks in confusion. 

“Hold on,” Jon mutters, making sure Dany is covered again before opening the door, following the quickly retreating footsteps of his brother. “Rickon, get back here!” 

“Help!” Rickon yelps, Jon gaining on him as he reaches the bottom of the stairs, tearing around the corner. “Robb, help me!” 

“What in seven hells is happenin’?” Robb says as Jon bursts into the kitchen after Rickon, their youngest brother cowering behind Robb as he looks up from the cooler he was packing in bewildered confusion. “Rickon, knock it off, it’s too early in the morning for this.” 

“You’re just saying that because you have an eight month old and you never sleep anymore,” Bran reasons, hauling dog food from the cupboard to the island. Robb glares at him, before his eyes turn back to their cowering brother. 

“Jon’s going to kill me!” Rickon declares. “He’s going to drag me off into the woods and leave my body for the bears!” 

“What bears, you idiot?” Bran snickers. Robb shakes his head, looking even more confused. 

“Have you ever heard of knocking?” Jon demands, eyes narrowing at Rickon. “What the fuck is wrong with you, burstin’ into people’s rooms at seven in the morning?” 

“I couldn’t find my hiking socks!” Rickon wails. “And I know you have loads from Tyrell so I wanted some! I didn’t know Dany was going to be fucking naked!” 

Understanding dawns on Robb’s face at the same time that Bran bursts into laughter, doubling over. “So, let me just make sure I understand here,” Robb says, shaking his head. “You burst into Jon’s room, to which the door was closed, and saw his girlfriend naked,” Robb says. “Is that it?” 

Rickon nods, still refusing to meet Jon’s eyes. His cheeks are still red as Sansa’s hair, gaze darting nervously around the room. 

“Well, that’s tragic,” Robb says. “It’s been nice knowin’ you, Rickon. Maybe you should use the time before Jon murders you to learn how to fuckin’ knock on a door.” 

“How was I supposed to know she’d be changing?!” Rickon yelps. 

“You would have if you’d asked before comin’ in!” Jon huffs. “What the bloody hell were you thinkin’?” 

“Hey,” Dany says, appearing behind them— mercifully, fully dressed this time, with Jon’s bag slung over her shoulder. “What’s going on?” 

“Daenerys, I’m so sorry!” Rickon says, eyes wide, cheeks growing even redder. He’s still half hidden behind Robb, running a hand through his hair agitatedly. It makes his mop of curls even messier. “I didn’t know—” 

“Mm, but you would have if you knocked,” she responds primly. Rickon gulps, but Jon can see that glimmer of light in her eyes that tells him she’s not really mad. 

“Alright, enough,” Robb says. “We have to get on the road. Rickon, go get everyone’s things in the car. Try not to catch anyone without their clothes on in the process.” 

He scrambles out of the kitchen, cheeks still burning furiously, Bran laughing as he follows behind with the dogs’ things. “Hey,” Jon murmurs, catching Dany by the waist. “Gods, I’m sorry about him. You alright?” 

“Of course,” she says, trying to fight back a smile and failing. “Honestly, I think Rickon’s the one more emotionally scarred. You should have seen his face when he realized you realized what was happening.” 

“Fuckin’ idiot,” Jon grumbles, but he leans down to kiss Dany goodbye anyways. Three days without her— is it bad he already wishes this weekend was over? 

“Have fun on your trip,” Dany whispers. “And don’t actually murder your brother.” 

“No promises,” Jon teases. “I love you.” 

“Love you too,” she says, giving him one last kiss, a squeeze of the hand, before she hands over his duffle. “See you on Tuesday.” 

The cars are mostly packed when Jon gets out to the drive, all four of the dogs circling them and barking their heads off as they finish loading the rest of their things into the car. “Alright,” Robb says, nodding. “I think we’re ready to go. Who wants to ride with who—” 

“I’m with Robb!” Rickon says, practically leaping at the opportunity. “I call Robb!” 

“Rickon,” Jon says with a roll of his eyes. “I’m not really goin’ to murder you.” 

“That’s what you say!” Rickon exclaims. “And then next thing you know the police are findin’ a body bag at the bottom of the river with my name on it!” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Robb grumbles. “Can we just get the dogs in the car and go?” 

The drive is uneventful, with Bran next to him— Jon listens to his brother speak about all his classes, the two of them chatting amiably the whole way up. Jon almost forgets about the incident of this morning until they’re at the campsite, and Rickon still won’t make eye contact with him. The whole time they’re setting up camp, pitching tents, Robb getting a fire going as Bran watches the dogs race around, his youngest brother turns scarlet every time he catches sight of him, running in the other direction. 

“Rickon,” Jon finally says as they all make dinner, the dogs gathered together in a pigpile as they nap, tired out from the afternoon hike they took. “Could we please just move past this? The weekend’s going to be insufferable if not.” 

“How am I supposed to forget when you’re actively plannin’ to leave me in the woods for dead?” he demands. Jon sighs, scrubbing at his face with his hand. 

“I think the real issue here,” Bran teases, “is that Rickon doesn’t want to forget what he saw, and it’s makin’ it hard to look at you in exchange.” 

“Oh, does Rickon have a crush?” Robb teases, and their youngest brother’s cheeks turn even darker red as he’s left spluttering for words. “Tell us, was that the first time you ever saw a girl naked?” 

“Fuck you, Robb, of course not!” he retorts, arms flailing wildly. “And I don’t have a crush on Jon’s girlfriend, even if she is really hot!” He seems to catch himself a moment too late, eyes going wide with dread. “Fuck! I didn’t mean that!” 

“Mm, I think you did,” Bran says. Honestly, at this point, any aggravation Jon had had is pretty much gone— Dany is fine, which is what he really cares about, even if his brother has no fucking manners. He laughs, tipping his head back as Rickon looks like he’d rather die than be here any longer. 

“Quit while you’re ahead, brother,” Robb says, slapping Rickon’s shoulder. “Not that you’re really ahead now, of course.” 

“I didn’t mean it, Jon,” Rickon begs. “Please don’t drag me out to the woods and plot my death.” 

Jon laughs, ruffling his brother’s hair. “I’m not going to murder you,” he promises, and Rickon sighs, seeming to relax a little bit. “But if you ever forget to knock and barge into our room again, I’m not responsible for Dany’s actions.” 

Rickon nods, Robb cackling as he pokes the fire. “Trust me, she seems like the one you need to be more scared of anyways,” he says. Jon laughs, his youngest brother’s cheeks turning red again. 

“Aye,” Jon says with a nod. “She certainly is.”

[writer-rochelle]

Statesman:Ablaze Ch.1: Rules

(a/n: i’m not sure what happened to my original post, so here it is again. i’m having to use my phone’s hotspot and it’s not the most reliable thing so i apologize for all the mixups) ft ocs by: @sunshinepascal @harrytags @pomelloe-me & myself

“Huh, what’d you say?” 

“Have you seriously not heard a word I just said, Pomegranate?” Alicia King said, sighing. Stakeouts were the worst, and usually being paired up with her good friend Pom Graham, they could be a lot of fun. But it seemed that the young southern woman’s mind wasn’t in the mint green bug they had been in for the past 5 hours. 

“I said I haven’t heard you talk about Whiskey lately...everything okay with y’all?” Alicia asked her friend. Pom had until very recently jabbered on and on about the older Agent Whiskey taking her under his wing. It wasn’t often that the veteran agents took much interest in the new recruits, but Pom was a family friend and as he affectionately called her, “his little pomegranate”.

“No, the stupid cunt has been too fuckin’ busy doing shit in New York to reply to my messages,” Pom said, scrolling through her phone. She didn’t want to admit the sense of abandonment she was starting to feel. She was 24 years old, for fuck's sake, not 4.  She was usually one to share anything that was bothering her, and she knew Alicia would understand, but this was something that she wanted to keep reserved. Maybe she was just overthinking.

“Absinthe! Come in Agent Absinthe!”

Alicia reached up and lightly placed a finger on the left leg of her green aviators. Instantly she could see into the Statesman meeting room. A quick glance showed that Champagne was seated at the head of the table, and from where she (or rather her hologram) sat she could tell she was at the opposite end. Next to him was Agent Cognac and across from her was Agent Whiskey’s hologram. It still never ceased to amaze her how incredibly talented Ginger Ale was. Every weapon, every piece of equipment, hell even every fiber of clothing the agents were given all had Ginger's magic touch. 

“Is Agent Rum still there with you?” Champagne asked, taking off his glasses and cleaning them with the cloth square in the front pocket of his jacket, before placing them back onto his face. He gestured towards Ginger, who walked forward from where she had been standing off to the side with her clipboard. As soon as the other Agent was present they could continue their debrief. 

“The old man is asking for you” Alicia laughed, nudging Pom who had once again turned her attention to the view out her window. Pom rolled her eyes, pushing her tortoise framed glasses onto the bridge of her nose. 

“You rang?” she said, making her voice deep and gravelly like Lurch, the Franken-butler from the Addams Family. The girls erupted into a fit of giggles, as Champagne shook his head in disappointment.

 “She gets that tomfoolery from watching you!” He said, pointing an accusatory finger at Agent Whiskey’s hologram, the man in question shrugging with a smirk on his face. Champagne turned his attention back to the girls. 

“  When y’all are finished, I’d like to carry on with this debrief  .” Alicia silently shook with the aftermath of the giggle fit she and Pom had pitched themselves into, but quickly grew serious. If Agent Whiskey was on the call it had to be of grave importance.

“Well I’ve got some good news, and some bad news,” Champagne said, regarding the two holograms at the end of the table. Agent Cognac shifted in her seat next to her boss and grandfather, she was familiar with the temperament of her two friends and braced herself for the fit they were about to throw.      

“Well, the good news is we found out where those rascals are keeping the Senator's daughter hostage. The bad news is that it's not in that warehouse y’all have been staking out all evenin’.” He pulled a fat cigar out of his jacket pocket, passing it under his nose, sucking the smell of it into his nostrils.  

“What the fuck, Champ?!!! You could have told us sooner!!” Pom shouted, she was seething. The color of her face turned red from anger. Not only had she already missed the weekly update of the Mandalorian on Disney+, but she had been stuck in a cramped car with a mix of Alicia’s perfume, her own deodorant, and the leftover stench of the KFC they had eaten. She was on the verge of a headache, and more importantly on the verge of beating the old man with her bat. 

“I told you she was gonna be pissed.” Whiskey muttered. Champ glared at his hologram before continuing his spiel.  

“As I was sayin’, Tequila was wrong; it turns out she's being held in the basement of her own house. Ginger Ale, if you’ll please?” Champ said, watching as the resident tech wiz pulled up security footage on a screen on the wall of the conference room. The Agents watched as Molly Dubois was dragged out of her house and shoved into an unmarked car, only to be returned hours later (still bound with her head in a sack) back to the mansion. 

“As it turns out, with the elections coming up soon, the Senator is looking to boost his image with the voters to ensure he’s re-elected. We were able to intercept some phone calls, I’ll be sending you all the audio recordings to listen to on your own time.” Ginger said, tapping around on her clipboard. Alicia looked over at Pom, the two agents seemingly on the same brain wave. They both knew that Senator Xavier Dubois was a ruthless, greasy, piece of crap. He would do anything to keep the state of Kentucky under his control. 

“What do you need us to do, Champ?” Alicia said, revving her green bug to life and buckling her seat belt. No need for discretion when it wasn’t the right location. “Pom, I know your ass is not wearing a seatbelt, bitch,” Alicia said quietly, stepping on the brake, cackling when Pom lurched forward in her seat colliding with the dashboard. 

“AAARGH! Fuck you!! You didn’t have to fucking brake check me!” Pom yelled, hitting Alicia’s arm before buckling her seatbelt and crossing her arms over her chest.  

“Alright kids, that’s enough! Y’all should know better than to be acting a fool and havin' an attitude during debriefs and y’all are just goofing off, actin’ like y’all ain’t got no good sense.” Champagne said harshly, watching as their holograms faded out. “Whiskey, I want you flying out to HQ asap!” 

“Sure thing boss, I’m on my way.” Whiskey said, winking at Agent Cognac before his hologram also faded out. 

Other agents sitting at the table began to remove their glasses, mirroring the actions of Whiskey, their respective holograms also disappearing. Champ and Agent Cognac were the only ones remaining in the room. Ginger, having slipped out quietly to return to her lab. Cognac turned, realizing her grandpa was staring at her closely. She blushed as she slipped her glasses into the pocket of her jacket.

“What?” She said, sheepishly pouring herself a glass of water. Champagne glared knowingly at her, putting an end to any other words about to come out of her cherry-red lips. After the tragic death of her parents (both statesman alum), he made it a point to take her in and continue to raise her as his own. He'd be damned if he let his granddaughter fall off onto the wrong side of the law. 

“Don’t think you can pull the wool over my eyes, young lady. I may be old, but I haven’t lost my sight yet!” The elder agent said with great discipline, shaking his finger at her like she was five again. He rose from his seat, moving to stand in front of the window with his hands clasped behind his back. 

“Why are you doing this to me, Carey? You know the rules! No-“

“No fraternizing with fellow Agents! I know, Grandpa,” she said, moving to stand next to him. She felt guilty; Champ had put his neck out for her countless times, hell, he was the sole reason she was still alive. The same people who had killed her parents were set out to kill her too. If he hadn't stepped in when he had….the thought of it made her shudder. 

“First of all, don’t interrupt your old man, Carey Ann. Secondly, if you know you shouldn’t, why do it?! Whiskey is a highly skilled agent; but when he’s off the clock? Jack Daniels is not the kind of man I’d want dating my granddaughter.” Champagne said. Carey sighed, knowing that he was only looking out for her. But if he knew the true extent of the relationship she had with Whiskey, he would grow even more furious.  

“It’s nothing, I promise! I just assist him with things around the New York offices from time to time...” She said innocently, turning to grab her jacket and head for the door.

“Well those ‘things’,” Champagne made air quotes around the words ‘things’, following the young woman with his cold gaze, “Those things better not be in his pants, missy! I’ll tan both of your hides; I don’t give a rat’s ass if you’re 30 years old, damn it!” His words falling on deaf ears, his granddaughter having already disappeared out the door. He sighed in defeat. Wrangling these kids was starting to get harder and harder. 

“Lord help me.”

a/n: i’m real upset, i have no clue what happened to the original post. I apologize for the mess. Thanks for reading <3 roach

Statesman: Ablaze is a multi-part fic that is a collaboration between myself and the ladies tagged. After throwing our ideas around late one night, this baby was born. We are very excited to share this with y’all, and hope you like reading it as much as @pomelloe-me and I do writing it. 

[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’.