The Bookstore

Hey guys! It’s me again, and I sorta wanted to write a Tom meet-cute because I daydream about those 25/8? This is just soft, fluffy and sweet, I hope you like it!
Author’s note: Tom is my screensaver and I went to Barnes and Noble today and the girl that was ringing me up was really, really nice and we were talking about Marvel because I was buying a comic, (I finally found Spider-Man Blue, three cheers for me!) and she was literally like, “oh my gosh, you and Tom would be super adorable together! I can just see it now!” And I sort of died? So this is just a story branching off of that?
The Bookstore
“Is that your boyfriend?” The saleslady asked, referencing the girl’s phone, as a smile that stretched from ear to ear crossed over her features. “He comes in quite often, has mostly good taste in books, although, sometimes his choices are questionable at best. Likes fantasy and adventure, some good, some not.”
The girl’s eyes widened and her mouth flopped open and shut like a guppy’s as she attempted to stutter out an appropriate response.
Tom Holland was the girl’s screensaver, and no, he most definitely wasn’t her boyfriend because he had no idea that she existed. Even if he had stumbled across her fan account, she’d just be another fan to Tom, maybe she’d even stand out for being an ultimate creep.
“He’s a very polite boy, you’re so lucky! My daughters are only interested in self-obsessed assholes.” The lady began to scan her choices, continuing to rant about her daughter’s apparent bad taste in men.
The girl was still struggling to comprehend her situation. The saleswoman clearly knew Tom, who apparently came in often, as did she, so she couldn’t really say that he wasn’t her boyfriend without looking like an utter and complete weirdo.
Pondering, she bit the inside of her cheek. Their paths had never crosses, so what could be the harm in indulging in a little fantasy? “We’ve been dating since last Spring,” She said, not daring to look into the kind eyes of the saleswoman.
“Ah, I see. I bet you two look absolutely adorable together, maybe turn him onto some high quality literature next time he comes in, eh?” The woman smiled from across the counter, waving the girl’s new Philip Roth books in the air before handing them over.
Reaching for her five purchases, the girl smiled and nodded, “I’ll do my very best!” She called and waved as she left the store.
Over the next few days, Tom wandered back into the bookstore. Navigating his way down the store’s narrow aisles, Tom searched for something that he could read on the plane that he’d inevitably be boarding sometime soon. He paused every so often to pick up a book, glance over the summary on the back, and reshelve it to it’s proper home.
After shuffling down another section, he came across the very same saleswoman who had helped the girl moonlighting as his girlfriend.
“How come you guys never come in together? She knows some good authors, I’m sure she’d love to help broaden your horizons.” The saleswoman said, maintaining her position, crouched over to straighten and tidy the shelves.
Tom looked around, unsure of who the woman was speaking to, because as far as he knew, none of his friends knew about this store. They opted for Barnes and Noble, while he prefered to dig.
“Yes, you. I just met your girlfriend and she’s lovely. Great taste in books.” The woman said again.
Scratching his head, Tom wasn’t exactly sure what to say, so he played along, not wanting to be rude. Surely she must be confusing him with someone else, because he didn’t have a girlfriend to share books with, as much as he’d like one.
“Yeah, we just have different schedules, she’s usually in class when I peruse the bookstore.” Tom said, bending down to help the woman on the floor.
“She’s very cute, and very sweet. It’s nice to see young people reading something that isn’t their twitter feed.” The woman said, taking one last glance at the fixed up shelf, before nodding decisively and standing up.
Tom stood as well, chuckling, “My Dad’s an author, so reading has always been apart of my life.”
“You guys are lovely, let me know if I can be of any help.” The woman began to walk away and Tom shook his head and laughed.
“How do you know that my girl is my girl? We never come in at the same time.” Tom asked suddenly, curiosity leaking into his bloodstream.
“She comes in more often than you, buys more books than you, and you’re her screensaver. It’s quite cute, actually.” The saleslady called out.
There it is, Tom thought, she might be a fan. He couldn’t think of any other reason that he’d be her screensaver. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Tom smirked and picked out not one, but two books. One to leave at the register for her the next time that he came in, and one for him to read while he was on the press tour.
“That is so thoughtful! She’ll love it!” The woman said from behind the cash register, clapping her hands together. “I’ll make sure that she gets it, alright? Wanna put a little message in it, promise I won’t peak! I’ve got a pen right here!” She chirped happily.
“Yeah, alright, I’ll actually do that. Could I please borrow your pen?” Tom asked.
Drawing a heart to conclude the note to his ‘girlfriend’ that he’d never met, he said thank you one to the lady one last time and left the store.
The very next morning, the girl pushed her wallet back into her purse at the bookstore’s register, waiting for the same saleswoman to finish ringing her up.
“Saw your boyfriend yesterday, left a little something for you.” The saleswoman smiled, turning around to sift through the books on display behind her to find Tom’s choice for the girl.
The girl felt the fiery licks of scarlet coloring her skin again. Her hands shook, surely Tom thought that she was a mega, ultra stalker. He’d probably left her a note begging her to kindly fuck off. She wished Mother Earth would swallow her up the same way it did to Sita in ‘The Ramayana.’
“Don’t be embarrassed, silly, it’s endearing.” The woman handed her a book titled, ‘Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair’ by Pablo Neruda. “He’s paid for it, of course, and he left you a little note on the first page. Lent him the pen myself.”
“He really shouldn’t have,” the girl stuttered, her hands almost noticeably shaking as she held the book within her palms.
Inside, Tom had scribbled out,
Seeing as you’re my girlfriend, I thought it was only fitting to leave you at least twenty love poems. Left you a song of despair as well, seeing as we haven’t met yet.
Love always,
Your devoted boyfriend, Tom

“Could I go back and pick one out for him as well?” The girl asked, feeling a tiny bit braver after reading Tom’s cheeky message for her.
“Of course! I love this, I wish more couples did things like this for each other, it’s endearing!” The saleswoman smiled, shutting the register.
After picking out an appropriate novel, she left the store, smiling, blushing and practically gliding on air.
Later that very afternoon, Tom was chased by the overbearing coldness of the afternoon breeze, and his own excitement over whether or not she’d received his present, back into the bookstore.
Not even bothering to look at anything, he came to a halt in front of the saleswoman, who upon seeing him enter, tore through her display to retrieve the novel that she’d left for him.
“Did she get it? Did she like it, I haven’t heard from her yet.” Tom asked, beaming at the woman.
“She loved it! She loved it so much, in fact, that she’s left one for you as well.” She handed him a novel called ‘One Day.’ “She’s left a love note for you as well!”
Tearing the book open, Tom came across her delicate handwriting sprawled in black ink.
Here’s to hoping that I meet you one day.
With all the love in my heart-
Your mystery girlfriend
Fighting the urge to hug the book closer to his chest, Tom made a choice.
“I’m going to go pick her a book out right now, and I’m going to wait right here until she comes back in. I want to give her this one in person.” Tom turned on his heel to search for the perfect book for to give her, when the saleswoman informed him that she’d already been in today.
“Alright then, I’ll be back first thing tomorrow.” Tom blushed, but continued on his way down through the shelves, desperate to find the perfect book for her.
Deciding on ‘You,’ by Caroline Kepnes, Tom paid and left the store, planning to return right when the bookstore opened.
The very next morning, Tom was perched in a cushy, plush chair, obscured by stacks and shelves housing novels, waiting for her. He’d positioned himself perfectly, ensuring that he could see the register at all times, but that the people at the register wouldn’t be able to spot him, unless they knew where he was hiding.
He was completely on edge. Every time the door opened, he’d practically leap to his feet, only to be met with disappointment because mostly everyone who wandered in off the street was either male, or too old to be his mystery girlfriend.
Finally, when Tom had all but lost hope, a girl so otherworldly beautiful that Tom truly debated in his mind whether or not the girl was even a girl, he briefly wondered if she was an ethereal fairy of sorts, floated into the room.
Her hair reflected light the same way that waves in the sea did, and her voice was so soft and warm that it sounded as he imagined his favorite hot drink would taste. She waved hello to the saleswoman before diving into the poetry section, hidden deep within the store.
Jumping to his feet, Tom rushed to finally meet her, rolling the book he planned to give her in between his palms.
Checking his hair one more time, Tom came to a stop next to her.
“Excuse me miss, I was just wondering if you happen to be my mystery girlfriend, who apparently has better taste in books than me?” Tom’s confidence was evaporating as she turned around to face him.
She was even prettier up close and Tom wanted to scratch his own eyes out for beginning the conversation with such a shit line.
Thankfully, she smiled, a strawberry jam colored blush widening across her delicate features. “That would be me, but unfortunately, you’ve caught me off guard and now I don’t have anything to give to you.” Her eyes refused to meet his own for more than a few seconds.
She could barely believe any of this. First, her celebrity crush and her happened to both shop at the same bookstore. Then, he goes along with the charade of being her boyfriend, and even leaves her gifts, and now, he was standing in front of her.
He looked like Prince Charming and her brain was turning to mush.
“Lucky for you, I don’t mind. But, I do have a book for you.” Holding the novel, ‘You,’ out to her, he began to sway from foot to foot, nervous that she’d hate it.
“Funny enough, that’s one of my favorite books,” She laughed, “But are you planning to kill me?” She referenced the plot of ‘You,’ which was more or less a horror story, hardly the conventional romance.
Stuttering, Tom attempted to clear his name. “I just thought it was fitting, seeing as we met in a bookstore, and so did Joe and Beck,” the main characters who become romantically involved in the novel, “And really, I just wanted you to have the line about the mouse in the house.”
“Are you going to get a cat to chase me out?” She teased, and Tom laughed.
“Absolutely not, you’re just all I’ve been thinking about. I wanna know you, and learn from your apparently epic choices in literature.” Tom said, leaning in closer to her.
“Than sit, and I’ll pick you something out?” She questioned, shyly moving to sit on the floor, her arm curled around more than a few options.
The pair scooched into one another one the floor, and the saleswoman watched, smiling from her spot at the register. Her two favorite customers were finally together.
Her eyes twinkled as she turned the radio onto a station that played only love songs.
They read love poems, and love stories together, so it only seemed fair that they listened to only love songs as well.

Haven’t Seen Her

Title: Haven’t Seen Her

Author: SomeonexSomeone

Pairing: Jacksepticeye x fem!reader

Word Count: 1766 

Summary: Jack has a new girlfriend?

A/N: This story is told as the reader is female. For my NonBinary/Male pals out there, if you would like for me to rewrite the story with genderless pronouns, just let me know and I’ll get it up as soon as possible

Originally posted by riciehmon

Jack had a new girlfriend. The internet was buzzing, his community talking about it on every form of social media. Who had managed to catch the eye of the sweet, loud, Irish boy? More importantly, how had they not noticed? The clues should have been as clear as day, not to mention all the times he mentioned you.

       The first time he mentioned you, it was a passing remark. No one really took notice of it, too occupied laughing and focused on what the Irish man was doing. Smiling, he held up a handful of containers, and a small note with scribbles on it.

       “So, I got my make up here that was so generously loaned to me. (Y/N) put a little list here for me so I knew what order to put them on.”

       The second time was a few months later, when he was doing a new and improved house tour. Not much changed, though it was always entertaining to watch the shaky camera and the happy voice accompanying it.

       “This plant is very pretty. Its not mine though, I’m just watching over it while (Y/N) visits her family.”

       Yet, the fans still didn’t seem to pick up on anything. Sure, there were a few comments here and there about what he had said, but they were buried deep in the comments section, covered by links and click bait ads.

       The third time sparked interest within his community, more and more people noticing your name popping up here and there, casually as if he had already told them who you were. Had he? Or was this a new development?

       “What’s my favourite memory of 2015? Oh, that’d have to be the time a bunch of my friends and I went on a group camping trip. It was amazing. I never really get to hang out with people as much, not that I’m complaining or anything. It was just nice to get away for the weekend. (Y/N) and I had canoed down the river, and almost got lost if it wasn’t for her being smart enough to bring a compass.”

       By now, theories began to pop up. Did Jack get a girlfriend? An old family friend? A neighbour? No one could figure it out, and Jack had given them no clues. People began writing stories, drawing art, trying to guess who you were and what you looked like. It wasn’t until the four incident, when they finally got some clue into who you were.

       “Top of the morning to you laddies. My name is Jacksepticeye!”

       Thousands of people watched in confusion as Jack sat in front of the screen, his face being the only thing seen, awe and confusion on his face as he looked off screen, and not the game that was put in the title. That wasn’t the only thing that was off. The voice of the intro, however, wasn’t his. It was a woman’s voice, melodic and teasing as she practically screamed the line he was known for. Jack laughed, slouching over the table slightly before quickly standing up, only the corner of his jaw seen of his face, whispering something to someone off screen. There was a laugh, then Jack getting pushed back into view of the camera, before the video reset, playing the intro as it should have been, as if nothing had happened. An arm, a hand, and a glimpse of hair was all they got, but it was enough to explode the internet.  

       The fifth incident was different than the others. It was a vlog, nothing too unusual for Jack to do every now and then. However, this time, he stood in front of a hair salon, his green hair faded so much it was practically yellow.

       “Top of the morning to you laddies! My name is Jacksepticeye, and welcome to another vlog! I know I’ve been doing quite a few of these lately, but this time, I’ve brought you to the hairdresser! Tons of people asked me to show me going to get my haired dyed, and the process of it. And in order to not bore myself. I’ve brought along a friend!”

       There was a cheerful hello in the background, but Jack hadn’t turned the camera, the voice hidden, and the person unknown. Was this (Y/N)? The girl that had started showing up in Jacks videos more and more? The audience waited in anticipation, enjoying themselves already.

       The video continues, Jack doing things here and there, cracking a few jokes and introducing the lady who was dying his hair. However, it was soon obvious whom he had brought with him, as the same name rang out half way through, and a woman walking behind Jack as he filmed himself looking in the mirror. The mystery girl had returned. Fans eagerly watched, hoping to catch another glimpse of her. However, the only thing they got was Jack retelling a joke you had said, or repeating a funny comment while you laughed in the background. It wasn’t until the end, when you were revealed again.

       “Don’t I look soooooo pretty!”

       Jack’s voice was high pitched, hands pulling your hair so it curled over his head, which was partially dyed to match his, as he smiled sweetly into the camera. You laughed from behind him, quickly stealing the camera, and your hair back, from his hands and flipping the camera to filming him. However, the camera had turned to your face, and for a split second, the world saw your face.

       Twitter blew up minutes after the vlog was posted, the hashtag #WhoIsJack’sNewGirlfriend? spread like wildfire, single shots of your blurry face everywhere.

       The sixth mention, wasn’t as much as a mention, but more a video. The video was titled “HAPPY WHEELS CHALLENGE…WITH A GUEST?!?!”, no mention of who it was, or if they had been on a video with him before. Fans spectated the video, starting with the intro, just as it always was. However, the camera was placed differently, so that Jack was completely visible till his waist. His arms were behind him, and two smaller hands replaced them, high-fiving the air beside the camera. Jack laughed as the hand totally failed, but continued to do his intro.

       "Top of the morning to you laddies! My name is Jacksepticeye, and welcome back to…HAPPY WHEELS! I have a very special guest with me today, (Y/N)! And this is a very stupid video we decided to do, because why not?! I’m going to have my arms behind my back, and (Y/N) is going to control the game for me, but she can’t see a thing! Hopefully this wont be a total disaster!“

       The video was full of laughs, screams, and Jacks new hands smacking his shoulder several times, which just made them laugh harder. It was hard not to laugh along, especially when Jack kept screaming while (Y/N) tried to do a spike fall. The fans hoped that they could at least see a small view of your face, however, Jacks back and shoulders covered everything that could have been seen.

       The seventh and final instance, was when the truth came out.

       Jack was filming another reading your comments video, a half a year after you were first mentioned. He started the first few as he normally did, a few silly one, a few serious ones with silly answers, and one serious one. And then, the moment of truth.

“Jack, can you please tell us who (Y/N) is? You’ve mentioned her a lot recently, and I know I’m not the one wondering. I’ve seen a lot of these comments recently, and yes, I have seen them and haven’t answered them. (Y/N) is a very special person to me, and I respect her enough not to be forcing her to do things she doesn’t want to do. She enjoys her privacy, and can be shy sometimes, so I don’t want to be forcing her to sit with me on camera, or be constantly filming what we do. When (Y/N) and I hang out, I don’t have to pretend with her. Not that I’m saying I pretend when I talk to you guys, but when I film, I constantly have to make things interesting, keep the energy going. (Y/N) is my rock, and I couldn’t imagine her not being in my life. When she’s ready, maybe she’ll introduce herself to you, but for now, please don’t pressure her into anything she doesn’t want to do. If you haven’t figured it out, (Y/N) is my girlfriend. We’ve been dating for almost eight months now, and honestly I’m so happy. I love her to death, and I hope you guys will love her just as much as I do. Okay, maybe not that much.”

       He ended the question with a giggle, and that was that.
       Of course you were mentioned more and more over the course of the year, Jacks face lighting up at your name and the stories he told. He apologized most of the time when a story got away from him about the two of you, but instead if receiving hate or comments that told him they didn’t want to hear stories about you, all the comments were positive. They loved hearing stories about you, about the life Jack had outside of YouTube. As soon as he started mentioning you, others did as well. Mark, Felix, and even Ken mentioned you at least once in their videos, excited for Jack and happy that he found someone to love as much as they had. Mark of course had to be the odd man out and have a whole story on one of his videos, but the fans loved it, laughing about how you got lost at the mall with them and had to huddle next to him until you two managed to find Jack again.

       It wasn’t until a year and a half later, when you were finally introduced to the world. It wasn’t a video like most hoped, a picture was what revealed you. Your face wasn’t in it completely, you were turned away, just the side of your face being seen, but Jack was full center. The pictured seemed almost better than a video when everyone saw the smiles on yours and Jacks face as he held your hand up, a ring on your ring finger sparkling in the light, did they realize that they didn’t need to see you to know that you made Jack incredibly happy. And that was enough for them.

sillyfudgemonkeys  asked:

Hey neni, I remembered you made a picture guide to the different planes in Persona (like the Dark Hour and TV world and Velvet Room etc). I can't seem to find the post tho. ;w; Could you link me to it? (and btw where would you put the Palace and Mementos on said plane?) THan you!

While I still have that graphic, I don’t entirely agree with how I drew it back then anymore, and feel a new version is in order! Here I go:

For everyone who doesn’t understand what this is, this is an updated version of the diagram I posted back in THIS POST. (Link)

It’s supposed to be a rough approximation of how the unconscious world in the Persona Series are structured, and how “deep in” all the sections we’ve seen of it so far I believe to be, based on educated guesses. 

A reminder; The P3 Club Book, which contains some information from the series bible, states that all deities are actually archetypes born from collective human thought and emotion as a means to keep the Collective Unconscious stable (tho they often lose that balance as of late), while Shadows are born of individual, personal emotions. This is why I have the entities closer to the surface mainly labeled as Shadows and the entities closer to the center mainly labeled as deities. 

However, considering that the Persona Universe is based on Jungian ideas and Jung proposed that the complexes of the human soul usually “channel” archetypes, connecting to them, it makes perfect sense that the Shadows in P5 look and act like demons and deities; the distortion of the Palaces and Mementos puts them under the influence of their archetype, and they thus act it out 100%, being avatars of the deities they are “assigned” to.

Anyway, as you can see, I peg Mementos as fairly extensive, spanning multiple layers of the unconscious realms, but not going quite to the core. The reason I think this is spoilery, so follow me under the cut

Keep reading

Romancing the Interrogation

So there’s this post in which someone complains about reylos romanticizing the interrogation scene.  They were kind enough to say “go and ship what you want, but no… she’s crying!”  To which I say, you really have a weird understanding of how reylos think….

Romance is defined as “a feeling of excitement and mystery associated with LOVE.”

Who the HELL would actually expect Kylo Ren and Rey to be in love with each other during that interrogation scene?!  You chose the wrong word.  You can’t have a fucking romance when these two characters are still at each other’s throats.  You can joke about it, cause this is fandom, but let me explain what is ACTUALLY GOING THROUGH OUR HEADS…

Interrogation Scene:

Originally posted by boomdafunk

Rey sees Kylo without his mask, and we see her looking at him.  She is confused, and definitely a little nervous, because he’s sexy as ever and she’d called him a monster.  He’s curious about her, takes a look inside her mind.  Through this interaction there is definitely some sexual tension, but that isn’t romance.  

The fact that he’d gotten up close to her, looking her up and down, eyes wide with curiosity as he spoke softly in her ear… sexual.  He’s attracted to her.  She’s definitely got an attraction to him, though he’s the enemy, so damn… that’s uncomfortable and awkward.  The idea of them slipping into each other’s minds, making Kylo Ren actually pull away from her PANTING and wide eyed, cause she’s dug down deep into the secret section of his head space… yeah, that feels sexual.  

Kylo walks away from that experience DEVELOPING COMPASSION, which involves sympathy or empathy, care, sensitivity, and yes… love.  So that interrogation scene was certainly a spark, but it wasn’t the fire.  The start of any GOOD romance is a spark.  It’s that sexual attraction, or moment of “WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING IN MY PANTS?!”  That’s what we witnessed when they meet.  Romance comes AFTER the sexual attraction, it’s something that takes time, it needs to be earned.  

And yes, there will be some screaming at the top of their lungs that “OMG THAT WASN’T SEXUAL, THAT WAS MIND RAPE!”  and to you I say, if that was fucking mind rape, please do not go watch The Phantom Menace, cause that means literally the entire Jedi Council “mind raped” Anakin Skywalker before deciding what to do with him.  And if you tell me it’s different because he was okay with it, I’m gonna remind you that he didn’t seem all that pleased with the conversation, and he’s still a child.

anonymous asked:

I really liked this earlier Imagine: 'Imagine in ep 1 they party stops to sleep for a little bit and Claire is freezing, so Jamie offers to warm her discreetly'. Would any mods be willing to continue this story or another alt point-of-view where J & C get closer, more affectionate, more sexual tension in those moments in beginning of book Outlander? Love your fanfic!! You ladies are so creative!

Mod Note: Hey anon, I opted to do simply another version of the “Claire’s cold” idea rather than a continuation of the earlier fic. I was dying to do a bit of pre-marriage Frasers (and I wanted a bit of a break from my beloved angst). This seemed to fit the bill!  Mod Bonnie 

Hail Mary 

Jamie deposited the night’s firewood, freshly cut, and sat down beside Murtagh, gratefully accepting the canteen of whisky and coughing a little in surprise as he took a swig. “This is fine stuff, man! Finer than your purse typically would allow, aye?”

“Nicked it from Dougal’s personal supply,” said his godfather with a grin, eyes glinting in the light of the new-lit fire. “Figured he willna miss it. And if he does, weel, he’ll have two days to forget about it before seein’ me next, won’t he!”

The party had split into two that afternoon when Dougal took half of the party and the wagons with him to replenish supplies at a nearby trading hub. The remainder had continued on their path, led by Ned, to carry on with the collection of rents. They would meet up again two days hence at the crossroads to begin the slow, circuitous route back to Leoch.

Jamie took another long swig before handing back the canteen. “Aye, well, ye’d better mind your back once he does see ye again, else—”

“What in God’s name??”

Jamie jumped to his feet at Murtagh’s exclamation, instinctively drawing his dirk. Ned Gowan had just come into sight in the hazy twilit distance, perhaps a quarter mile off. Gowan was walking slowly with Mistress Beauchamp on his arm. No danger, then, Jamie thought, resheathing the weapon; but no, as he peered into the distance, it became evident that something was terribly wrong. Tiny and frail as the ancient lawyer was, he was supporting almost all of the lady’s weight.

Jamie’s heart lurched, and the world seemed to narrow dizzyingly to a single point.


His Claire

He ran to her at breakneck speed, blood hammering in terror. As he drew close, he could see that she was soaked through. Her lips were nearly blue, and she was shaking like a leaf in a gale as she struggled to remain upright against Ned.

Jamie elbowed aside the other men who had run to help, and scooped Claire up possessively into his arms, eyes and free hand frantically searching her for damage even as he did so. “Claire? Lass, are ye hurt?”

Jesus, she was completely soaked through from head to toe, nearly double her normal weight from it. Jamie could feel the icy water from her clothing and hair soaking into his shirt and plaid.  She was conscious, but couldn’t seem to keep her eyes open. They fluttered uncontrollably as she make tiny, weak whimpering sounds. 

He pulled her tighter against his chest as he turned and made for camp as fast as he could, murmuring softly to her, “Dinna fash, I’ve got ye, now, Sassenach.”

I’ve got ye, now, mo ghraidh.

“How the devil did she manage to do a fool thing like that?” Murtagh was shouting at Ned from behind Jamie as they all hastened to camp.

“My fault, all my fault it was,” Ned was wailing, disconsolate. “We were, ah, walking along the river talking and looking for cress and the like. I lost my footing and, well, careened into her, and she, ah, she fell down the bank and into the water. It was quite a deep section of the river and she went all the way under.”

“The puir lass—and it near cold enough to snow tonight,” came Geordie’s panting from furthest behind. 

It was cold tonight, the sun now fully down. And, God, she was pale as a corpse. “How long have the two of ye been walking to reach camp?” Jamie demanded over his shoulder. “How long has she been like this, man?” 

“Nigh on a quarter of an hour. Terrible, terrible, all my fault,” Ned moaned, wheezing. 

Ifrinn, a quarter of an hour on a frigid night such as this. Jamie shuddered and redoubled his pace.  

He reached the fireside at last, the remainder of the men crowding round. “Claire,” Jamie said urgently as he set her down briefly on her feet. “Claire can ye hear me?” 

She managed to remain upright, with him holding her elbow, but her head was lolling where she stood. He gave her cheek a few soft slaps to liven her. “Claire, listen to me, ye need to get the wet things off at once. Have ye a spare set of clothing?”

She nodded and started fumbling clumsily with the laces of her bodice. Christ, not HERE, he wanted to say, alarmed, but Murtagh was already walking up to the crowd with Claire’s bundle in hand. “No, leave it there, man!” he snapped at his godfather—was he the only one with a shred of decency?—as he stepped forward to pick her up again. “I’ll bring her over to her tent so she might—”

“She canna do it on her own, Jamie lad. Just look at her.”  

Sure enough, as Jamie looked down, he could see that her fingers were so stiffened with cold that she couldn’t even get proper hold of the laces. Murtagh’s assessment was confirmed by the lady herself. She couldn’t manage any words through her chattering teeth but her eyes shone clear with meaning: help.  

Jamie turned away for a moment, running his hands backward through his hair, praising Michael, Bride, the Holy Virgin, and all the rest that Rupert and Angus weren’t here; or Dougal for that matter. Jamie had seen the way his uncle looked at Mistress Beauchamp. Lord, did he look that way at her?

Hail Mary, full of grace. 

Rallying, and trying to infuse a note of chastity into his voice—though not entirely certain what that might sound like—he called out orders. “Ned and Willie, and Geordie, too: bring me the largest blankets ye can, quickly.” 

There would be only three men in camp, in the end, who wouldn’t be involved in either the screening or the undressing (for Murtagh had already stepped forward, bushy face impassive as he deftly took over the work of loosening the bodice laces), but it simply didn’t seem right to shuck the clothes off a lady in a camp full of men without taking some measures for propriety’s sake.

Behind the improvised screen of blankets, Murtagh and Jamie began the laborious task of fighting with the seemingly endless layers of wet fabric. Claire tried to assist as much as possible, but she could hardly do more than stand up straight, and even that was a struggle. Her body seemed determined to fold in on itself, to curl around the vanishing core of heat. They had to physically unbend her arms themselves in order to extricate sleeves and the shoulders of her stays.

As they reached the final layers, Jamie’s heart raced madly. Christ, dinna look…Dinna look…DINNA look. She’s your friend, not to mention a guest, and above all, a lady. It wouldna do to think about how round and soft and—look AWAY, man!

She was down to just her shift, now. Jamie kept his eyes stubbornly on the top of her head, but he could see from the corners of his vision that it, too, was sodden, clinging right around the curves of her—

DA is watching ye. Brian Robert David Fraser is looking down on ye RIGHT NOW from heaven. What would he say about the thoughts you’re having? 

Ye ken just fine what he’d say, and grown man or no, he’d put you over the fence and tan yer hide while sayin’ it!

He suddenly became aware that he had been standing still as a stone, fists and eyes clenched tight. 

Thankfully, Murtagh had already saved him the agony of having to assist with the final steps of their task. In his usual no-nonsense way (though he, too, had been taking a pointed interest in the sky to the greatest extent possible), he had removed the shift and gotten the dry one over her head before Jamie opened his eyes again.

Jamie grabbed one of the blankets from Willie and wrapped it around her, grateful to put an additional barrier between them, for he didn’t think he could have taken any more. His balls were aching and he could feel his heart thudding against his chest. Could she hear it? Surely she could, and he blushed red at the thought of what else she might have picked up on.  

Claire’s body seemed unprepared for the sudden rush of warmth, for she staggered and fell full against him. He felt the scalding heat in his blood curdle into shame.  Here she is suffering and half-dead and you standing there thinking only about her—well, her—you ken what you’re thinking about, and you’ll have done with it at once. 

She truly was in a bad way. As he lowered her to the ground beside the fire, he could hear her murmuring things; in English, but an incoherent jumble of words. The blanket was a warm one, a fine, thick rug of wool, but she was still convulsing madly. She melted slowly down to lay lifeless on her side.

Tucking the blanket more securely around her, and swallowing the pang that arose at thought of leaving her side, Jamie made for his own tent to retrieve his spare shirt. It was the one that Dougal insisted on ripping open at every opportunity, so it was a ragged thing, but dry. 

As he hurried back to the group by the fire standing huddled—anxious— around Mistress Beauchamp, he heard Willie pipe up, a note of worry clear in his voice. “We should have her put the dry gown on, now, aye? Blanket or no, surely she canna be warm enough in only her shift?”

There was a general rumbling of assent at this, and one of the men went to retrieve the additional garments from the ground.

No!” Murtagh grunted sharply, gesturing to where she lay. “Can ye no’ see, she’s nearly got the freezing sickness? Can barely keep her eyes open, poor thing, nor speak in a straight line. She needs body heat.”

Dead silence

Fitting, for Jamie thought he would die right there on the spot.

Ned cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Erm…surely, we couldn’t dream of proposing such an impropriety to a lady. To think of…putting her in such…ah…of having her be with a man in…in the altogether.

“It wouldna be skin on skin, ye dolt,” Murtagh said, rolling his eyes. “We dinna want to be struck down from above. Shirt-to-shift, though, aye, we could dream of it, because otherwise we’ll be bringing Dougal back her frozen corpse come morning.”

Ned was still unconvinced, blustering in righteous indignation to cover his discomfort. “Surely blankets and—and—and hot food will be sufficient to bring her ‘round? I certainly don’t think—”

“Mur…s’right…” They all looked down, for it was Mistress Beauchamp who had spoken. “Got to…”  Her eyes were still heavy-lidded, but her eyes were earnest as she looked up …at Jamie.

Oh, Holy God.

Murtagh led all the men a few paces away, and murmured low. “It should be one of the young lads. This thing must be done, but I willna have her be indecently exposed to someone who’s lain wi’ hoors.” All eyes turned automatically to the two sole virgins in the party.

Our Father, who art in Heaven…

Jamie looked sharply over at Willie, who shook his head, wide-eyed and stepped back a pace. 

“Right then, lad,” Murtagh said, with a look that froze Jamie straight through (Christ, surely it was all written there all over his face). “Get to it, then.”

And forgive us our trespasses…

Slowly, Jamie walked back to the fire, chewing the insides of his cheeks in anxiety. Lead us not into temptation, aye? Ha! He was duty- and honor- bound to leap headfirst into the very pit of the stuff.

Trembling, he knelt beside her, speaking very softly, unable to meet her eye. “Will ye…will ye allow me to wa—” His throat went dry, damn it all, and he had to swallow before he could finish. “—W-warm ye, Mistress?” 

Was that a hint of a gleam that flashed across her eyes as he glanced up? No, just more shaking from the cold…surely. But she nodded her assent.

Murtagh brought a number of grain sacks from the wagon and created a kind of supportive stack for Jamie to lean against as he held her. That was good. Lying down with her would not be good. Lying down with her would be verra good.

Hail Mary…full of grace….

Jamie focused pointedly on prayer as he laid the rugs and furs down. If he was to be sitting up all night, may as well be comfortable. He shucked off his jacket, feeling very chilly in only his kilt and shirt, and sat down, and Murtagh immediately shoved a particularly stiff and scratchy blanket, folded neatly, into his face.

He tried to push it aside. “I dinna think we need another. We’ve got three blankets as it is to go overtop, and—”

“This one isna to keep ye warm, lad,” Murtagh muttered sardonically as he dropped it—still folded—squarely onto Jamie’s lap. A few moments later, he was lowering Claire onto the self-same lap, making the prudence of the extra blanket abundantly clear. 

Her back was laid flush against his chest, and he brought his arms around her middle to keep her from falling off. Even through her shift he could feel just how cold her body was, shaking violently. Murtagh carefully arranged the blankets atop them both, then shooed the others away to their tents. For better or worse, they had privacy, just the two of them.

Jamie breathed deeply and forced all thoughts from his mind except those of Claire, the important ones: what she needed; how he could hold himself to best pass his warmth into her. He could feel the tension in her body as surely as he could feel the shape of it. The rigors of cold, certainly, but perhaps also a tremor or two of fear? Little surprise, if so. He was afraid, too, terrified of this wonder he held in his arms; terrified to imagine what she was thinking right now; terrified of the fragility of it all—that her life was in his hands. 

Lord, he prayed earnestly, that my body may be enough; that I might keep her safe and well, this night.

He adjusted his hold so that his arms lay atop hers, and began chanting low to her in Gaelic; one of the old, long songs, a ballad of protection and certainty. 

A long time passed, a very long time, and more than once he felt his heart squeeze tight in agonizing fear that she was slipping away. 

But as the pocket of warmth around them began to take hold, she slowly began to relax; the shoulders uncurling from their hunch, the arms beginning to un-clutch from her chest. Her breathing began to resume a normal pace, and her neck relaxed, her head coming to rest finally and fully against his shoulder

“Thank you, Jamie,” she breathed. 

He exhaled himself, both from the sheer relief of hearing her normal cadence once more—still weak, but controlled—and at the novel sensation of her words literally resonating against his skin as she leaned against him. It sent a thrill through him that made him dizzy as he replied, “Think nothing of it, lass—that is—Mistress Beauchamp.”

“You can call me lass. You’ve done it before, hundreds of times.” She gave a tired little laugh. “And you did undress me today, after all.”

That is precisely why I shall be observing all the formalities I can call to mind, woman, he though. Unclenching his teeth, he cleared his throat. “Are ye warming up, then?”

“Slowly,” she said, voice still faint. “My hands are the worst part, still. I can b-barely feel them.” She paused for a moment. “Erm…may I?”

He didn’t know what she meant, but it didn’t matter. “As ye please, Mistress.” He was hers to do with as she wished. 

She shifted so that she was sitting sideways on his lap. She slipped her arms around him, one around the front and the other around his back, hugging him like a tree trunk and pressing both hands flat against him. “Ohhhh… much better…you’re so warm.”

“Aye…aye, I’m g-glad of it.” He was. But her new position made it so that he could now feel each round breast pressing against him as well, as heavy and full as–

Hail Murtagh—MARY—Hail Mary—full of grace…

At last, she fell asleep. He must have drifted off himself, for when he awoke some time later, all was still. Only the watchman was alert, and he deep into the whisky, his back just visible across the clearing in the moonlight.

He craned his neck to look down at her. God, she just felt so right, there, in his arms, her own holding him just as tight, her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder. She smelled of grass; sweet grass, like in the meadow at Lallybroch. She was molded to him in sleep, just like when she’d allowed him to comfort her at Leoch. Practically strangers they’d been, and yet, she’d curled against him and bared her grief to him, let him hold her and share her pain. The trust and intimacy there had been between them even then had staggered him…and now

“Ye do break my heart, mo nighean donn,” he whispered hoarsely, reaching out to trace the air above her brow. 

Suddenly, though he was certain he hadn’t touched her, Claire’s body tensed and she gave a—a moan? He sat—stunned—and gasped as she brought her hand up and touched his face, running her fingers back into his hair, cupping the base of his skull. She gave another—yes, Christ, it was a moan, and pulled herself tight against him, making him emit a sound of his own. Murtagh should have brought two extra blankets.

She wasn’t truly awake, for Jamie could see that her eyes weren’t even open; but God, how she moved, even out of consciousness. No longer deadened with cold: she was an ember, radiating energy and heat, ready to burn. She brushed her lips against his neck and exhaled, the hot breath raising gooseflesh down the length of his body. He could feel her close, so close, the thin layers of fabric between them seeming to melt away. He clutched her tight, wanting so badly to move his hands up, or down, both possibilities driving him mad with wanting: to twine his fingers in her hair and take her mouth to his; to have her straddle him so he could feel her, touch her, all of her. But he forced himself to remain still as she shuddered against him, to keep his hands squarely where they were on her back and shoulder. With her wedged so tight against him, undulating with apparent desire (Christ, would she be wet to his touch? he wondered, with a screaming, demanding ache in his balls), that grip was the only thing preventing him from losing all sense entirely.

All at once, she snapped her head up and locked eyes with him, her hands still on his face and neck, as if pulling herself up to him. They stared at one another, unblinking in the moonlight. He thought for a moment he saw something in her eyes…a smile? Then, before he could wonder further (or contemplate the notion of throwing her beneath him right there and then—and inviting the voice of Brian Fraser to go hang), she went limp as a rag doll and fell back against his shoulder, sound asleep once more. 

The whole occurrence couldn’t have lasted more than twenty seconds, but he was heaving as though he’d run twenty miles.

“Jesus Christ, Sassenach,” he wheezed, shifting his seat to ease his discomfort and looking down at her in a kind of feeble wonderment. “You’ll kill me for certain and damn me to hell all in one, before the night is out.”

Part Two 

anonymous asked:

Your latest Mpreg Oturi fic was amazing! It really captured me and I would love to read more. Also, the thought of Otabek leaving Yuri, unknowing of his pregnancy, really exites me. I would love a fic where Yuri has to hide the pregnancy from Otabek, his friends, the world, and being absolutely miserable and terrified somebody would find out. Lots and lots of angst, but still a happy ending would be perfect <3

Wow this is super angst. Let me see what I can do for you. ;) Here’s a link to the previous one: x

Yuri is 21 and Otabek is 24!

Yuri stuffed his curled up fists into the pocket of the Russia jacket that he knew wouldn’t fit in the next couple of months. He couldn’t meet Yakov’s eyes, not that he wanted to. The older man in front of him was absolutely fuming, eyes popping out of his skull, face redder than the red on his jacket.

“You want to take a break? Now?! With the Grand Prix only a couple months away?!” Yakov shouted loud enough for the entire rink to hear. Mila looked on sadly, wondering what had come over Yuri.

 “Yes.” Yuri said through grit teeth. Nausea was stirring in his stomach. He couldn’t give his actual reason for wanting to take some time off but he didn’t even have an excuse lined up.

“Are you insane?” Yakov was seething. Yuri didn’t know what to say to him.

“You can’t stop me.” Yuri said at last and then he turned his back, gathering his things. God, he was really going to puke.

“You can’t just take a break. Rostelcom is in a few weeks Yurochka.” Yakov shouted behind him.

“I don’t give a fuck!” Yuri shouted for everybody to hear. Everything stopped at once, “Find some other fucking skater to take to Rostelcom and the Grand Prix, I don’t give a fuck.”

“ Yurochka!” Yakov shouted but Yuri was already gone, leaving the rink and going outside to catch some air. He grit his teeth, catching his cheek between them. This couldn’t be happening. 

He went all the way home, not to Lilia’s but to his grandfather’s. His grandfather wouldn’t say a word to the world. And he would help him. So after a nice good vomit he sat down with his grandfather and told him that he was… pregnant. God he could barely say it out loud. Nikolai just stared at him and pat his hand. It was his way of saying that he would do everything he could to keep this a secret.

For the next nine months, really seven because when Yuri found out he was already about nine weeks along, Yuri lived in a state just below terror. He was terrified that the world was going to find out his secret. He never went to a doctor because he couldn’t be caught by the paparazzi.

Yuri felt utterly alone. His friends at the rink tried to talk to him but he never answered. Once news spread that Yuri Plisetsky had suddenly dropped out all his friends in the skating tried contacting him. Pork Cutlet Bowl and Viktor both tried skyping in but he ignored them. It wasn’t much different from other times but still.

And then there was Otabek. Otabek Altin, the one who got him into this mess in the first place. Otabek had been amongst those who had tried to contact him but it all fell onto nothing.

Yuri watched sadly as his grandfather set up the bassinet when he was around six months pregnant. They had gotten a bunch of the baby stuff because Yuri couldn’t bare to give the child up for adoption. He didn’t know what he was hoping for. A happy ending maybe. 

When the Grand Prix came around, Yuri was about seven months pregnant. He watched a livestream on his laptop, balanced lightly on his stomach. He watched Otabek grab gold, even with a solemn face and stiff shoulders. Something wasn’t right. He wasn’t in the right mindset. Yuri had half the mind to know that most of that was his fault.

He finally picked up the phone and sent a congratulatory text as he watched Otabek stand on the podium with Phichit, the Thai skater, and the Chinese skater that Yuri didn’t know the name of. It would most likely be Phichit’s last skating year, and Yuri was feeling sentimental, so he felt proud of the Thai skater for getting there.

>> Are you okay? I haven’t heard from you in a while.

Was Otabek’s immediate response. Yuri felt his bottom lip wobble despite himself, placing a hand on his stomach. His child was kicking.It felt almost wrong now. 

<< yes

That’s all Yuri said before cutting out all other contact. Wow, Yuri could really cry right now. Despite himself, the tears fell down his cheeks. He didn’t want to have to go through this alone. But he wasn’t going to ruin what Otabek had. He wasn’t going to ruin that success.

And then one day, about a month later, Yuri couldn’t hide it anymore. 

Because Otabek himself was standing in the middle of his kitchen, his grandfather having let him in. Yuri didn’t even know, he had gone in there to get a snack, in all his pregnant glory. He didn’t expect Otabek to be there at all. Both of their mouths fell open in shock and Yuri’s heart rate sped up in panic. He wanted to run but Otabek had seen it all.

“Yura.” Otabek whispered, coming closer to him. 

Yuri’s eyes teared up. No, he wasn’t going to say a word. He wasn’t going to say anything, he wasn’t going to let Otabek near hi-

And then the contractions hit.

The shock of Otabek standing in the kitchen and his immediate panic sent him into early labor, his water breaking on the spot. Yuri gasped out, a hand flying to his stomach. It was pretty intense from the get-go. 

“Yura, are you okay? You’re-”

“Shut it.” Yuri demanded, closing his eyes. He hated saying the word out loud. 

“Sorry.” Otabek said softly.

Yuri closed his eyes, “I need to go to the hospital. But… nobody can see me… please.”

Otabek nodded and called for Yuri’s grandfather. They all piled into Nikolai’s car, Otabek and Yuri stuffed into the backseat with a blanket draped over Yuri’s stomach, trying to be discrete. The only sound in the car was Yuri’s heavy breathing and pained grunts when a contraction hit him.

They tried to remain unseen at the hospital, but of course that was a bust. Neither were wearing disguises and they were both pretty distinguishable. Yuri was rushed into a room immediately but Otabek wasn’t so lucky. He had to wait outside while Yuri got his c-section, pacing. Deep down inside he knew this child was his. Yuri had told him that Otabek was the first and only person he had been with. It was obvious.

Word spread around Russia and the world fast. Somebody had gotten a picture of Yuri and Otabek coming into the hospital and his stomach was clearly swollen with pregnancy. He was kind of upset that this photo was circling around but he can’t stop the fans no matter how hard he tried.

It was some time later that Otabek was finally allowed in. Yuri was conscious but dazed and he was staring down at the little baby in his arms with wonder. The hand that wasn’t supporting the baby was holding a bottle but he wasn’t moving it to the baby’s mouth.

“I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to put the bottle into the baby’s mouth.” Otabek said softly, moving Yuri’s hand so that the baby could latch onto the bottle’s nipple. Yuri turned red when Otabek didn’t move his hand.

Yuri watched his newborn child eat for the first time in childish wonder. This baby was a wonder to him. It had come out of him. He held it in his stomach for nine months. He was amazed.

“You should hate me.” Yuri mumbled.

“I don’t.” Otabek responded in understanding. He understood why Yuri had hid it from him, and everybody.

Yuri bit his bottom lip and looked down at his little person. It was a girl. She was beautiful and every other word to say it. 

“Are you keep-”

“Yes.” Yuri said immediately. There was no way he was giving her up now.

“Hm.” Otabek hummed.

“She’s yours.” Yuri clarified. As if it weren’t obvious with the dark hair already sprouting on top of her head.

“I know.” Otabek said simply. “Do you have a name.”

“… Ekaterina… Altin…” He said Otabek’s last name softer than the name he had picked out. For a girl it’s Ekaterina, if it had been a boy, Sergei. 

Otabek smiled to himself and stroked a finger over his daughter’s cheek. When he came to Russia he didn’t think he would have gained a child. But with Yuri by his side, and he planned to stick by Yuri’s side, they would make it through. There was no way Otabek was going to let Yuri slip away again.

“ Красавица *.” Otabek whispered before laying a kiss on top of Yuri’s head.

Looks like Yuri got his happy ending after all.

*beautiful (I typed it into a Russian dictionary, if it’s not right, tell me and I’ll change it!)

Red Swing
Tarlabasi, Istanbul
The girls with the purple umbrella at the left midpoint of the frame were angry with me. Many kids in this neighborhood want a photo taken, and are deeply engaged by the process of posing, afterward looking into my camera with its buttons and dials. These two were different. This spot was quiet, and, on the surface, accepting of a stranger with a camera, an apparent tourist. Underneath what appeared to be acceptance, however, was in truth only a brief acquiescence acting as a threadbare coverlet over a depth of malice. Previously I had photographed in the Kurdish quarter of Tarlabasi, and many Kurds favor the United States and its current president. This part wasn’t Kurdish and it wasn’t friendly. There are deep differences between this section of the world and the one I came from, and it’s felt very clearly when you detect the weight of a heavy stare. Those stares became abundantly obvious to me during my time in Istanbul and no amount of hedging or skirting the truth can disguise the reality of people’s perceptions of religion, social practices, and basic philosophical beliefs about life and liberty. The rift is cavernous at times, and, although not with all people, it’s one that is nearly impossible to overcome in a general, everyday sense. It’s there, and it’s a distinct and inescapable reality on the street if you are out and about in neighborhoods other than tourist areas….and truthfully, in tourist spots as well but it’s more effectively camouflaged. I met people that were welcoming and sage, a pleasure to interact with and deeply interesting to speak with. Unfortunately, my experiences with negative interactions far outweighed the positive, and acted as a slap to awareness of the reality of life in places that remains unimaginable and brutal in its injustice.

anonymous asked:

Hi guys, I'm really excited to see what comes of this project! I have two questions: 1: Are the rights to posted artworks exclusively kept by the artist? More and more I'm hearing that various sites have hidden sections deep in their T&C's that actually allow them to use and even sell pictures and art posted on their site without having to notify or compensate the artist. 2. Do you have a date set for the beta launch? (Sorry if this has been asked before.)

1. I’m really glad that you asked this, because it gives me a chance to put my law education to work, haha!

From our ToS:

16. Copyright in Your Content
WritScrib does not claim ownership rights in Your Content. For the sole purpose of enabling us to make your Content available through the Service, you grant to WritScrib a non-exclusive, royalty-free license to reproduce, distribute, re-format, store, prepare derivative works based on, and publicly display and perform Your Content. Please note that when you upload Content, you otherwise retain full copyright to Your Content and may remove it at your discretion.

The license described here is for us to allow you to upload it on our site and for us to be able to display it! This means being able to re-size the preview to fit our posts (re-format), being able to share it on the site for others to view (public display and performance, reproduce, and distribute), being able to keep it on our server in order to display it (store), and being able to potentially display it partially for Paywall purposes or to hide it behind an adult content warning (prepare derivative works).

Without that license, we could potentially be sued by anyone who uploads their work to our site! Beyond that, we hold no other license and make no claim to your copyright.

2. If we are funded, the beta will start in August. We don’t have a specific date nailed down, as there’s still a few minor kinks to sort out around tax law. If we are not funded, an additional 0-2 months will be added to that timeframe to give us ample time to seek out the remaining funds needed.

Chance Meetings in English Class


Castiel plopped down in his seat for English, only to look at the board and realize they were changing seating assignments. He looked at his new group members and internally groaned. Sure, the two girls in his group seemed like they’d work, but the other boy was Dean Winchester. Dean was on the football team and always showed up late to class. He was unlikely to do his share of the work, plus the girls would probably just try to flirt with him the whole time.

Castiel sat down in the back row of the pod with a sigh, now slightly dreading what used to be one of his favourite classes. Castiel mentally cursed as the two girls sat in the front two seats, leaving the last seat for Dean next to him.

Class was fine for the first five minutes. Then Dean walked into the room, looked at the new seating arrangements and found the only empty seat next to Castiel. Dean came in late every day, so their teacher didn’t even register him at this point. Castiel wondered how he managed to be late every day. English wasn’t even first period, it was second.

For the rest of the class, Castiel found himself being distracted by how surprisingly un-distracting Dean was. He didn’t constantly fidget or play on his phone as Castiel imagined. He just sat there, quietly listening. Every time Castiel tried to turn his attention back to the teacher, Dean’s hulking figure came back into mind.

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Exquisite ‘61 Corvair 95 Rampside pickup (for sale on eBay)   Note the deep center bed section with the side ramp.  Now imagine it without the ramp, and you have the Corvair 95 Loadside pickup.  Imagine dropping a wrench in there.  Now imagine retrieving it without the access the ramp provides.  That’s why they sold exactly 2,844 Loadsides in the two years they offered them.  After just 369 were sold in 1962, Chevy tossed in the towel and said  “The hell with it.   What were we thinking?   They’re now often referred to as "the rare but useless Loadside”.  I’ve never actually seen a genuine Loadside pickup in person.  

All that said, this looks like one of the finest Rampside examples out there.  Lovely period correct color combo.

You Finally Got A Date


Title : You Finally Got A Date
Pairing : Young!Peter Hale x Reader
Word Count : 1,494

A/N : I’ve never written young Peter Hale before and I got carried away writing this one. oh, shit.

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Pokémon in our Biomes pt. 2

I’ve recently decided to make a series of posts with hypothetical thinking and analyzing of what Pokémon species could potentially be found in the world’s biomes. Not at all relative to the games, I will be focusing primarily of the elements, design, and relativity to real life flora and fauna of Pokémon to depict where different species would roam on our big blue marble.

This will be my second Pokémon in our biomes post, and this time I will be focusing on the abyssal zone, which are the deep-sea sections of the oceans. Little to no sunlight, sparse oxygen, extreme pressure, there are, believe it or not, some life forms that flourish at these depths, however terrifying they may be.

Let’s dive in! (sorry)

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Unique Prompt Request!

FINALLY getting around to this now that I have some time on my hands!

I’ve decided to open my ask box again looking for prompts, but there are of a specific variety: smutty. Let me explain: I’m taking photo prompts, as in, you submit a picture and I’ll write a drabble about it.

Don’t know where to find images? Don’t want to get too deep in the naughty sections of Tumblr? I’ve got a few blogs you can go to that aren’t too unsafe for work:

be-sex, fuckingcuddle

A little more kinky: sexinees

Dirty and sexy as fuck (and definitely not something you should be looking at during work hours): dirtysexythirty passion–xxx, free-the-nipple, porn4ladies, lustsexandhonesty2, fuckingadoration, sexualchemistry, the-perks-of-eating-pussy, fuckhardandcum, yummyporn, 2424hoursex, sensualtouching, another-outlet, fuckk-able, orgazsm, couplesinbed, naughtynicegirl69, sans-clothing, loverightfucktight, mysubmissivemind, mysexywetworld, touchmeslowly, romanticphotography

To recap:

  1. Pick a photo from one of the blogs I mentioned above.
  2. Either use the Submit button and send me the actual photo or send me an Ask with the link (remember to add spaces because Tumblr won’t let you send it otherwise). 
  3. Let me know which ship to write for (My ships: Olicity, Smoaking Canarrow, Smoaking Flarrow, Smoaking Billionaires)
  4. If you have a specific request for the image, don’t be afraid to tell me what it is!
  5. Send away!

It’s that easy!

Oh, and I have anon open as well. Go for it, guys! I’m waiting for prompts!