Nashville. It’s what Taylor thinks of when someone says ‘home’. Her mom and best friend live here. It’s where she recorded her first song, created her debut album, and every single one thereafter. Nashville is the birthplace of her first kiss, first love, and first heartbreak. Braces happened here. Birthdays have come and gone, so too have anniversaries and Christmases and New Year’s, all precious memories firmly cemented in her mind.
What hasn’t happened here? The grime and filth. The lies, the made up stories, the stalking of her by paparazzi, the snarky Ed Drosteish opinions, none of that.
Nashville is safe.
She loves the people, the community, the manners, the food, the music. The lakes and the forests are her sanctuary. She enjoys going out for brunch to have her favorite sweet potato pancakes, running into people who aren’t overwhelmed by her fame or celebrity. She likes that she can have a sense of normalcy in Nashville.
Here, she can be Taylor. She doesn’t have to be Taylor Swift every day.
No one really bugs her here, and there aren’t usually paparazzi. She can drive, and she can go places without her bodyguards sometimes, even though they always get wishy washy about that.
When she comes home, fans aren’t standing around her gate, and no one’s taking pictures through her windows. No drones are circling overhead. Her neighbors generally ignore her. Sounds weird but, she loves being ignored like that.
It’s the perfect place to spend time when you don’t really want to be noticed.
Ok so i thought of a really detailed smut request lol. Rick finds the reader (young girl like 20) and brings her back to alexandria and shes very scared and standoffish so rick lets her stay at his house. At night she has a bad dream and crawls into bed with rick in just her tshirt and panties and tells him she had a bad dream. He feels guilty and says they shouldnt be in bed together but she seduces him and touches him and he finally gives in. Im like beyond excited ab this lol. Pls and thk u!
I could not WAIT to write this one, OMG. Hope you like it anon! 💝
Joyce kept an eye on the clock as she wiped down the main counter. It was already ten minutes past closing time. The grime and filth of a busy Friday clung to her skin uncomfortably and she wanted nothing more than to get home, curl up with David, and take a nice, long bath.
Though luck was never with her as the quiet yet persistent voice of a downpour hummed through the building. All she had to protect her from the rain was an eight year old umbrella that turned inside out when the wind got too rough. David was also working overtime at the docks, meaning she was going to have to wait by the bus stop and pray it would get there on time. She hated working overtime, but they were barely meeting ends—if they didn’t pay soon, their power was going to get cut off.
The clink of the doorbell followed by the squishing noise of wet shoes let her know she had forgotten to lock up. “We’re closed,” she said, frowning at a particularly stubborn stain on the countertop.
“Sorry.” The voice was young, with an odd nasal inflection to it. That got her to look up.
It was a teenager, probably no older than her daughter, completely soaked from the rain. A sopping mop of curly blond hair hung just over his eyebrows, dripping down his cheeks and onto a worn sweatshirt. His nose and the tips of his ears were red and blotchy, and he was holding his lower lip between his teeth, trying to keep them from chattering. But what really got Joyce’s attention was the dark, swollen bruise over his right eye and the bloody corner of his upper lip.
He was turning away, gaze directed towards his shoes. The sight broke her heart. “Stop,” she said, and the boy did, sparing her a guarded glance. Joyce didn’t know who he was or what happened, if it was a abuse or a scrap, but he was just a kid. Marks like that didn’t belong on a teenager, no matter the circumstances. She couldn’t turn him away. “Would you like some coffee?” She asked. He nodded. “Take a seat. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
He chose a barstool, and sat hunched over the counter. His focus on a lone string poking out of his sleeve. His hands shook, she noticed. But she wasn’t sure if it was because of the cold or something else.
“Cream and sugar?” Joyce called from the kitchen window, her hands busy pouring a cup. He nodded again.
It was a soft tanned color, more milk than caffeine, but what was important was that it was warm. She set the mug in front of him, watching as his trembling fingers closed around it. He took a sip and grimaced—a slight pinching of his nose, something most people wouldn’t notice—but otherwise didn’t complain.
“Here’s the menu, let me know if you want anything,” she told him.
He nodded, again. Not much of a talker. His eyes settled on an enhanced photograph of a stack of waffles. He licked his lips and pointed at it, not bothering to look at the rest of the items. “Waffles,” he croaked, then cleared his throat. “The belgian waffles.”
It amused Joyce that he would order breakfast so late at night, but who was she to deny him. She gave him a smirk and took his order into the kitchen. The cooks had already left, leaving her to be the only employee in the building. Though not a chef, she was an adept cook and set out to make the kid some waffles.
When she was done, she topped them off with blueberries on top, and brought the steaming plate to the counter. She could see him practically drooling at the sight. “Whipped cream?” Joyce asked, brandishing the can.
“Yeah,” he said.
Rather than do a simple swirl on the top, as was customary, Joyce drew a smiley face. It ran the risk of the teenager frowning and saying something about how he was too old for smiley faces, like Chloe would, but to her surprise she found the boy smiling at it. It was subtle, a slight upturn of the lips that would probably crack painfully due to the lip, but it was a smile nonetheless.
The way he ate was, well, exactly how you’d expect a teenager to eat. It was messy, and loud, and Joyce suspected he hadn’t eaten anything the whole day. That brought her attention back to the black eye and swollen lip, and she wondered if he really hadn’t.
Joyce grabbed a rag from her apron and began scrubbing the areas where his shaking had spilled drops of coffee onto the counter. “What’s your name?” She asked, casually, she hoped. It was like she had hit the pause button—he froze suddenly, fork hovering in the air in front of him.
She didn’t push. It was his right whether he wanted to tell her or not, and she wasn’t going to pry into his private life if he didn’t want her to. She kept wiping down the counter, gauging his reactions from the corner of her eye.
He set his fork down slowly. His gaze went from her, to the waffles, to back at her, like he was debating whether to tell her or not. Joyce waited patiently, keeping to herself in silence. In the end, he swallowed, rose his nose up and said, “Nathan Prescott.”
Oh. She knew he was watching for a reaction and she did her best to maintain a poker face. The Prescotts had the kind of reputation that would last generations. Engraved in the name itself. Animosity that was inherited by your parents, which were inherited by their parents, and so on so forth. Joyce would also admit to sharing that prejudice.
But he was just a teenager. A black eye and a bruised lip didn’t belong on a teenager.
“You can call me Joyce,” she answered with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Nathan.”
She could see the relief flood in his eyes. It hit her, then, that he wasn’t used to a warm reception after sharing his name. Talking to him was easy after that. Just smalltalk, nothing important. She talked about her daughter, about David, she even mentioned William for a brief moment, before she caught herself choking up and changed the subject to the busy day she’d had. Nathan wouldn’t say much more than one worded responses, but it kept his mind occupied as he finished his waffles, and Joyce could tell he appreciated it.
By the end of the night, his skin had gotten a healthy blush and his eyes looked brighter. The weather outside cleared up too; the downpour had lightened to a slight drizzle. Nathan’s calm expression quickly changed to one of horror when he felt around his pockets and realized they were empty. “I don’t have my wallet,” he told her. “But I’m good for it, I swear.”
Joyce suspected as much from any teenager caught in the rain in the middle of the night. “Don’t worry about it, hun. It’s on the house.”
“I’ll pay you back,” he insisted. Joyce didn’t argue, only told him to do as he wished.
As he left the diner she silently prayed that he would find a safe way home.
Saturdays were the worst. Joyce wasn’t against hard work, but she could feel the blisters forming in her feet and couldn’t find five minutes to sit down. But, she was used to it. The tips were good, at least.
They were up to their eyeballs in orders, and, to make matters worse, one of the coffee machines gave out, which meant Joyce had to walk to the other side of the kitchen to refill. She couldn’t keep herself from glancing at her watch every five minutes, watching the hand inch ever so slowly to her lunch hour.
She was bringing a customer his order for breakfast when he said, “Whose ass have you been kissing lately, Joyce?”
“What are you talking about?” She asked, already used to the coarse language the truckers and sailors would have.
Another customer whistled in appreciation and Joyce was about to tell him off, until she realized that he wasn’t looking at her, he was looking past her, at her tip jar. It was full to the brim with—oh my goodness—twenty dollar bills? Among all the bills was a crumpled up piece of notebook paper.
The truckers whistled and cheered as she worked to unscrew the cap. “Who’s yer secret admirer?” One asked.
She fished out the note and unraveled it. There were only two words written in a messy, jagged script. “Thank you.” She smiled and the truckers cooed.
“None of your damn business,” she answered, slapping one playfully in the arm.
She managed to pay the bills that month.
A/N Merry Christmas! I know this isn’t much or Christmas-themed or anything, but I wanted to write how Nathan and Joyce met in Exposure. I know this won’t make up for the lack of recent updates but I hope you enjoy it all the same! :*
Plot: Reader has been held prisoner by Hydra and is discovered by Nat and Bucky. Post CA:CW (Bucky’s on the team, no one hates each other) Slight AU
Warnings: mentions of past torture/imprisonment
A/N: Italics used for Russian translations to English. This part is Bucky and Nat’s encounter with the reader from Bucky’s point of view.
They hadn’t been
expecting this Ural Mountains hidden base to be so heavily guarded.
Steve’s intel had indicated that it would’ve been relatively abandoned
considering its proximity to the Dyatlov Pass. Nat had told him about the
dead hikers from the 50s and he couldn’t deny that the details had caused the
hairs on the back of his neck to stand up.
However, the pair had
descended upon the heavily armed Hydra base like a biblical plague, smiting
anything in their path. The Black Widow was a force to be reckoned with
as she seemingly flew through the stone corridors leaving dead and sentries in
her wake. Bucky was glad not to be the one on the receiving end of one of
her signature thigh choke holds. Natasha Romanov was appropriately named
“Black Widow”; beautiful but deadly.
Pairing: Ivar x OFC (There is only a handful of characters that I own everything else belongs to History Channel)
Rating: Eventual Mature Rating (I like it slow burn)
Author’s Note: Alright, I’ll be honest with all of you…I’m very nervous about posting this Ivar x Oc fanfiction. But with the encouragement of a very special sister wife I’ve posted the very first chapter of this fanfic! I hope that everyone truly enjoys the story and can forgive the first chapter for being a bit slow. If anyone has any questions or comments please shoot me a message and I’ll get back at you as soon as possible. <3
Everything was different here. The air was crisp, the skies clear showcasing a soft blue and sporadic clouds with a gentle shine. The grass, though moist from the fresh rain that cascaded down only moments ago smelt of flowers and the blooming of spring. Quiet calls of birds to their mates and the soft steps of deer filled the air. Yes, things were very different here. There were no screams. No moaning of the dying and no one to watch as you slowly wither away in a cage with a twisted grin on their face. It was peaceful. Whatever this haven may be, she was glad to feel safe again. Everything was perfect, just perfect…
Hands. That was the first thing the girl felt, grazing her skin with a blazing path from shoulder to shoulder as if someone were gripping them. Then it was scent, the smell of sweat and pine filled her nostrils as the hands begun to shake her softly. Finally, her ears twitched to life, a voice. Whomever this deep voice belonged to called out a name, a name that held some type of spell on her, willing her out of the paradise that she previously found herself in.
She shifted slightly in the grass, arching her back to find some sort of comfort, only to have the soft blades of grass leave her sensitive skin. In its place, rough sturdy wood slapped against her back, making her hiss slightly from the contact. The hands shook her harder, the back of her head lightly smacking the floor giving the girl a slight headache. As she grumbled, slowly lifting her head to the side, she noticed a bright light forming behind her lidded eyes. The girl blinked once, then again. Her eyes focused on the bright light, now a hole in the ceiling which was the source of her earlier blindness. Her half lidded eyes slid to the man holding her shoulders, covered in grime and filth, the man sighed softly. His chapped lips curved into a soft smile as he rested his large hand on the back of her neck and pulled her close.
For some reason, the embrace comforted the girl, and she rested her tired head on his padded shoulder, letting out a breath of air she hadn’t noticed she was holding in. The man released the back of her neck, retracting from the female to give her some space to sit up properly, his hand now on her upper back as the girl struggled to sit up.
@outside-the-government - Welcome to the fandom! I absolutely ADORE your fic about Leonard rescuing the reader from a crippled starbase. Your writing is incredible! I’m so excited to get to see more from you. I hope I’m one of the lucky ones in your contest, too! I’d love to see a fic featuring Bones and the reader inspired by the quote “only the wounded healer can heal.” :)
Word Count: 3361 (WTF?!) Author’s Note: This totally got away from me. I hope you can see the connection to your requested quote - it feels a little tenuous, but it really is there…
You drew in a deep breath before stepping into Medbay. You’d just transferred over from Yorktown, and you were nervous. Doctor McCoy, the CMO, was the most frightening son of a bitch you’d ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on. Everything about him terrified you, from his intense stare to the way he quirked his eyebrow, like everyone in the room was an idiot. You’d only encountered him the one time before, but you weren’t likely to forget it. At least you’d won that battle…
One year prior…
“What the hell kind of sad excuse of a Med Clinic is this?” You heard him muttering under his breath as he looked around, holding a makeshift dressing against his friend’s head. The tall man was easily identifiable as a doctor, even without the telltale Science Blue top. His attitude alone was enough to make you want to choke. The truth of the matter was, it was an exceptional Med Clinic. The best on Yorktown, and second in stats only to the MedBay on the Enterprise. So the condemnation made your hackles rise.
“What seems to be the issue, gentlemen?” You asked as you approached the pair. The doctor was scowling. His friend, a definite hotty in Command Gold, was squinting through a sizeable lump forming around his eye. He had blood seeping from under the compress, and his nose was bleeding. As a quick assessment, you’d guess bar fight.
“The man’s bleeding!” The doctor barked. “Can’t you see that?”
He’s been called
many things in his short years of life- Kuroo is very tempted to start a list
of the aliases and accusations that have been leveled at him for the past few
years because they’ve definitely piled up along with an extensive
bullet-pointed page of all his issues.
him laugh, ‘thug’ made him shrug, and ‘troublemaker’ made him grin. Tonight’s
one of the thug nights, the streets seem to be teeming more and more with
misguided youths and corrupt gangs, clashing in the atmospheric district of the
water sewage system.
It’s their regular
feeding grounds, but the term ‘turf’ caught on faster than intended. They have
several in their keeping, thanks to the meticulous efforts of Kenma’s
infallible surveillance, and it’s Kuroo’s job to pick them out by hand,
plucking them from a spreadsheet like eggs. The area, and the feed. The water
sewage is one of the roughest ones- a humid, harsh contrast between antiseptic
and an honest stink of fermenting shit, it functions as a satisfactory lair for
kids who can take the most from life- an interesting form of the crème de la
crème. They’re found without much difficulty, hovering around in their small boy
scout-sized campfire meetings, waiting for unsuspecting prey to come by. It
frustrates Kuroo significantly to see such faulty planning, but he’s thankful for
at least being better at something than the average population- and well, if
they were all his caliber, they wouldn’t need him anymore.
lies in wait, and pounces at the opportune moment.
“Kids,” he calls
out to them in his usual slick, unassuming voice, and it doesn’t surprise him
in the least when at least three of them jump to their feet at the insult, “is
this really the place to be on a Wednesday night? What would your mothers say?”
You and Mark spent another day just in the rover, you had some rations in there already to tide you over until you were able to move properly on your own. When you could you put your space suit back on, half of it was covered in duct tape so it was a little difficult to see but it was enough, you were still weak so you couldn’t help out much but you helped hold the tarp in place over the breach whilst Mark taped it all down.
From now on you had to use airlock 2, when you go inside you went over to the farm and crouched down. They had all been frozen, when you touched them they cracked and crumbled in your fingers. “So much for a good harvest,” you sighed and stood back up.
Thankfully, the potatoes in what was left of rover 1 had been protected from the breach. With the food you had you would only have enough to last another 300 sols, not enough to make it till the next mission. You were now down to half rations every few day, so you were constantly hungry.
You were wrapped up in blankets on your bed. Mark was doing some inventory and you were meant to be sleeping but you couldn’t focus. Now that there had been a breach you were paranoid that it would happen again, the gap had only been sealed with tarp after all. The wind was strong that night and the tarp was flapping in the wind, you couldn’t stand the noise. You grabbed a pillow and pressed it to your ears hoping to muffle the sound though you could still hear it, it grated on your skin and churned your stomach. You groaned and squeezed your eyes shut to stop the tears.
Just breathe, you thought, it’s just the wind.
NASA had finally set up communication between you and the crew on the Hermes. You and Mark were in the rover and this was the happiest you had felt in months, you eagerly waited for the message to come through.
Dear Mark and Y/N, apparently NASA is letting us talk to you now and I drew the short straw. Sorry we left you behind on Mars, but we just don’t like you. Also, it’s a lot roomier on the Hermes without the two of you. We have to take turns doing your tasks, I mean it’s only botany and geology, they’re not real sciences.
You couldn’t stop yourself from crying and laughing as the message came through, happy tears fell down your face as you watched Mark type out a reply.
Dear Martinez, Mars is fine. I accidently blew up the HAB and almost killed Y/N (who did survive fyi), but unfortunately so did all of Commander Lewis’ disco music. Every day we go out and look at the vast horizons and watch the sunset, just because we can. Tell the others we said hello.
Will do buddy.
The crew was scattered about the common area as Martinez read out the messages between him and you and Mark. Beck smiled as he listened, when Martinez read out that you had almost been killed he shot up. “What?” he exclaimed and the rest shushed him.
He bit his lip as he listened to the rest, he smiled when he heard that you and Mark would go out and watch the sunsets just because you could but he was still worried about you almost dying. He walked over to the screen, “Let me speak to Y/N,” he half asked, half demanded.
Martinez looked at Lewis for permission who shrugged a little showing her consent, everyone aboard the ship was aware of how important you were to Beck and she wasn’t going to stop him speaking to you.
Martinez out, Beck wants to talk to Y/N
Martinez out, Beck wants to talk to Y/N
You leaned forward in front of Mark to get to the controls, “Gimme,” you said as you wiggled into the small space in front of Mark.
“Or you could ask,” Mark said sarcastically with a small smile.
You shushed him and began typing.
Hey Beckster, hope you’re not being too bossy up there.
I told you not to call me that. What do you mean you almost died?
The airlock blew and I passed out and got severe hypothermia but I’m basically all better now.
Are you sure?
Did you get injured anywhere else?
When we first got here I got impaled in the leg but that’s healed up nicely, I think.
How bad was it?
It was fine, are you just gonna doctor me?
It’s fine, how are you doing? How’s everyone?
You wish, I can get work done without you bothering me to go get dinner.
Shut your face you love me.
Rude, aren’t doctors meant to be nice?
Not to whiny patients.
All I hear is you being bossy.
You grinned as you messaged back and forth just like it used to be when you were all together.
Beth watched as Beck messaged you, the crew didn’t expect him to read it aloud but she watched to the side. She hadn’t seen him smile so wide in months, since before they left you. Things were looking up.
A week later Vogel got a file he couldn’t open, when Beth tried to open it she saw it wasn’t a JPEG, “Does this make sense to you?”
“It’s a flight plan for the Hermes,” Vogel said confused.
They went to Lewis and they did the calculations, they realised it was a course change for the Hermes to go back to Mars to save you and Mark. Lewis called an instant meeting and everyone gathered around the table to listen to what she had to say.
“So what’s with all the cloak and dagger?” Beck asked.
“My guess is this goes directly against NASA orders. It would be mutiny, they can only do the course we’re on or do this one, we have a chance to force their hand. If we follow through with this it would be another 533 days worth of unplanned space travel. 533 days before you see your families again, 533 days and if anything goes wrong we die. That’s over 900 days of space travel.”
“Sign me up,” Martinez said instantly.
“Hold on cowboy, we’re military. We get back they’ll court martial us and I guarantee the rest of you will never fly in space again.”
“Good,” Beck said without missing a beat and leant forward. If there was a chance to save you then he was all in. “So are we doing this?”
Everyone looked to Lewis, “Don’t look at me, this goes against direct orders. If it were up to me we’d already be going but the vote has to be unanimous.”
So, obviously, everyone was all in. “Let’s go get our guys.” Everyone cheered, they could finally do something to help you. Do something to make up for leaving you stranded. They could save you.
You had been here for about over a year now and you could see changes in yourself when you looked in the mirror. Your skin was pale, yellowed and dirty, you had lost a lot of weight due to only eating half portions and you were sure you smelled. Mark was in the same state as you which was probably why neither of you had noticed just how bad your health was. Before, you and Mark had brushed your teeth once a week to conserve toothpaste but even that had run out a while back, now you had to wipe your teeth as clean as possible. You couldn’t take looking at yourself in the mirror. You wanted to conserve water but you decided you deserved a much needed shower, whilst in there you rubbed your skin red raw to get the grime and filth off you and rinsed your mouth as much as you could with the water.
When you got out you used the electric shaver to trim at your hair which had grown several inches since you had been here, cutting off all the split ends and back up to a more manageable length. You stared at your face in the mirror, you could hardly recognise yourself, your face was thin. Your cheeks sucked in and your eyes were almost sunken with a permanent shadow around them, your skin was dry and your lips were cracked.
Your near death incident had really taken a hit on your health, while you had told the crew you were fine you knew you weren’t. Your hands were always shaking, sometimes you struggled to breathe and you had a horrendous cough that you tried to hide from Mark. He still blamed himself for what happened so you didn’t want to give him another reason to worry or feel guilty. So you took a vicodin every day and hoped for the best, it helped with the pain but not much else. Rations were being cut smaller under NASA’s instructions and were only every few days, the small amount of nutrients made your bones weak and the old injury on your leg still ached. You knew it hadn’t healed properly but now you could really feel it.
All you could do was lay on your bed and wait for time to pass until you and Mark would begin a journey to the Ares IIII landing site. You had been back in contact with the Hermes for seven months, and while that had improved morale for you and the crew dramatically it wasn’t enough to stop you from slowly wasting away.
A/N- Coming up to the end now, thanks to everyone who has been following so far. Requests are open <3
Notes: I just realized that this is my first Kili smut, so yay Skaia! ;) I really do hope you enjoy this someanglinbitch. I can’t help but imagine innocent cute puppy dog things whenever I think so Kili so I’m sorry if that came through during this, haha. I had a lot of fun writing it, so I hope you have just as much, if not more, fun reading it. <3
Onto my next request, seeing as I just drank a full cup of coffee. ^-^
Lazy days, when there’s no hunt. The colour of the sun streaming through the window as you cuddle on the couch. The colour of the throw pillows on the couch, which you sit on all day. The colour of the flowers he buys you, when he goes food shopping. The colour of your ‘cosy day’ sweater. The colour of your banana scented shampoo, that fills the bunker as you stroll around. The colour of your favorite mugs, which are refilled with coffee throughout the day.
Hunting together, both tired and afraid. The colour of your worn leather jacket, and your pistols. The colour of the rusty warehouse you venture inside of. The colour of the whisky bottle Sam drinks from while you stitch up his arm. The colour of the water after washing off the filth and grime in your bath. The colour of the fluffy blanket you cuddle up together in, safe in each others arms.
Significant cute couple moments. The colour of the teddy bear Sam buys for you on Valentines. The colour of the sundress you wore when he proposed. The colour of the hair ties you share. The colour of the fairy floss you bought at the carnival together. The colour of your geeky hello kitty pajamas, worn only around him. The colour of the sunsets as you drive together all around town. The colour of the baby blanket you are gifted when you announce your pregnancy.
Her eyes grew wide at an instant, the chill of the familiar voice running down the length of her spine and across every nerve. The sorceress turned her head slowly - as one might move carefully to avoid waking a sleeping bear - looking over her shoulder with apprehension.
His skin was blackened and rotted away, but the ivory beard that reached down to his waist, now marred with grime and filth, was unmistakable to her mind. Where he once possessed eyes, two crimson orbs now occupied his twisted face, and burned with fierce hatred.
At his rear, the others shuffled and shambled into view, their bodies equally as horrendous as his. Each of them garbed in elven robes much resembling Aleiah’s own, only torn and caked with blood and soil, the half-elf’s former sisters now looked upon her with forlorn misery.
“You could have saved them… all of us. Instead you let us rot.”
The dead Magister extended a lithe fist, grabbing Aleiah around the neck with unnatural strength.
“It should have been you!”
Terror gripped her by the ankles and kept her fettered to the ground where she stood, unable to will herself to move or even express the screams of horror stuck in the back of her throat.
Aleiah awoke with a sudden gasp, her heart beating uptempo. She sat up in bed, her eyes drifting around the empty room as she gathered her senses. The sorceress pressed a palm against her forehead and expelled a sigh of relief.