formica table

Leave This Town Pt 2 (Mechanic!Bucky AU)

Characters: reader, Bucky, Natasha, Wanda

Summary: Your dreams of kissing your small town life goodbye are about to come true when an unexpected detour leaves you stranded. Meeting the handsome local mechanic has you rethinking your plans. Perhaps happiness is less about where you’re headed and more about the people you meet along the way.

Song Inspiration: Sleep on the Floor by The Lumineers

Warnings: none! The mildest of swearing I guess? 

Word Count: 2.3k

Tags are at bottom (TAG LIST IS CLOSED I’M SORRY)

A/N: Holy bananas, you guys. Once I started writing this part, I got carried away  and I’m probably extending this fic by a few parts. heh. I’m so in love with this story, and that’s probably why! I really hope you are too. Any thoughts and feedback are appreciated! I love you all!! :)

***This fic is for @bionic-buckyb ‘s 5k AU Writing Challenge**

<<<Part One  Part Two   Part Three>>> 

Leave This Town Series Masterlist

Full Masterlist


Originally posted by butteryplanet


“Try the Boysenberry Pie while you’re there. Even for breakfast, it really hits the spot.”

Taking a few steps backward, you gave him a smile, “I’ll do that,” then turning to walk away.“Oh, Y/N!” you heard him call after you and you whirled in place, surprised. 

“Keys. I need your keys.”

You laughed, shaking your head, “Right. Sorry.” Digging into your purse followed by a toss of the keys, he caught them out of the air before you headed in the direction of the diner once again.


A bell above the door jangled lightly as you entered the diner, the smell of hot grease hitting your nose. Straight ahead there was a counter with barstools, a view of the kitchen behind it. To both your left and right along the wall lined with windows, there were built-in booths with splitting vinyl cushions and spotted formica-covered tables.

The waitress behind the counter spoke, drawing your attention. “Hey, sweetie. Take a seat wherever you like, I’ll be with you in a jiffy.”

“Okay,” you responded with a tight smile.

Choosing a booth, you dropped your bag and sat down. You looked around, seeing only 2 other customers currently sitting at the counter with coffee mugs in their hands. Moments later, a pretty redhead approached, wearing a sleeveless button-up flowered shirt and jeans under the apron around her waist. Bright red lipstick painted her lips as she talked to what looked like a regular customer. Probably a local.

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Lazarus Rising

Dean x Reader

3350 Words

Story Summary: This is for @jayankles and her birthday challenge. Happy early birthday!! I picked the episode 4x01 Lazarus Rising to rewrite. 

Warnings: Mentions attempted to suicide, and suicidal thoughts. Nothing too descriptive.

It’s been four months since Dean has been gone, and you still can’t sleep an entire night without the visions of him being ripped to shreds had you sitting up in your bed, sweat beading on your forehead. You couldn’t close your eyes without hearing the horrific screams as the hellhound dug into his skin, while you stood by, unable to help him as his life slowly faded away.

Sam had faded away from your life, immersing himself in hunting, leaving you floating, never really knowing what to do. Alcohol became your best friend, and you often had a bottle beside your bed, not that you slept much to begin with. Life had no meaning for you anymore, and neither did hunting. Nothing mattered except for the fact that Dean was gone, and you were all alone once again.

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Green Thumb

Originally posted by loving-criminal-minds

A Criminal Minds Fan-fiction

Featuring: Spencer Reid x Male Reader              Setting: Season 10

A/N: Trying something new. Send me feedback as gently as possible. xoxo Stu

There wasn’t much you wouldn’t do for your grandmother. So when she asked you to help clear the garden before the first frost set in, you promised you would. That was almost a month ago, now home from a long drawn out case with your team at the elite FBI branch, the BAU, you called Nana and confirmed you would be over this weekend to get the job done.

“Yes, Nana. I will bring gloves.” You smiled at her list of reminders.

“Are you going to bring that tall one with you?” Nana’s voice teasing over the blaring Price Is Right in the background.

“Nana, I’m sure Spencer has plans this weekend.” You mumbled into the phone, blushing.

“What was that, dear?”

“He’s probably busy, Nana.”

“That’s too bad. Maybe next time? I love watching you fall over yourself.”

“Nana, you stop it!” You laughed, the horror and amusement battling on your cheeks. “I love you, see you Saturday.”

“Bright and early, Y/N.”

“Yes, Nana.”

“That’s my boy. Bye now.”

You shook your head and tucked your phone back into your pocket. Your grandmother had a knack for picking up on emotions, especially those one tried to hide. Maybe that was genetic, maybe that helped you be such a great profiler. Either way you loved her and she loved to see you happy. Unfortunately, happy was fleeting, when your long time crush was also your co-worker. The renowned scholar, Dr. Spencer Reid.

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When Will goes into the cafeteria, a few people from the caravan are sitting around a big Formica table. Payton’s there too, and Ian, who sometimes leaves the compound on scouting missions. Will walks up to them casually, hands in his pockets, trying to act like he belongs.

Payton turns her head and smiles at him, scooting over a little to make room. He takes a seat on the bench, his hip just brushing hers. He tries to focus.

The group continues talking without acknowledging Will at all. “Stay out of Raleigh,” one of the men from the caravan is saying. In his seventies, with military posture and sharp cheekbones, he’s clearly the group’s leader; his companions all look toward him, and Will can sense their deference. “Some crazy jackass set up his own fucking kingdom there, some kind of cult. People don’t come back, and I don’t know if they’re joining up or getting killed, but we don’t want no part in it, either way.”

There are maps of the Eastern Seaboard spread out all over the table, with different handwriting on all of them. One is marked up all the way from Boston to Atlanta, with some complicated symbology and no key. It’s more secure that way, Will supposes, though he finds it frustrating to look at.

On his map, Ian marks a big red X over Raleigh. Payton’s was already marked.

“Where are you headed next?” Ian asks, idly tracing the area around their compound with his finger.

“The mountains,” the man says.

This shuts everyone up. “Come on,” Ian says finally. “You’ve got kids with you.”

He shrugs, running a hand through his cropped gray hair. “It’s an untapped market. It’s just business.”

“They’re killers.”

The man snorts. “You don’t know that. You’ve never been up there. Look, I know about Raleigh because I went to Raleigh. You’re all terrified of the mountains but none of you’ve got any clue what’s really there.”

The whole table gets to arguing, but Will sits in silence. Thinking. When he’s reached out toward the mountains, what has he actually felt? Fear and anger, sure, but that’s what he feels in the compound too, most of the time. Everyone’s afraid. Everyone’s angry. And it’s true that no one comes back, but there are a million possible reasons for that —

“It’s not like we can stop you,” Ian’s saying.

Payton pushes her map toward the center of the table. “This is my supply route,” she says, pointing to a highlighted line that snakes around the area. “Everything Ian’s saying is true.” She looks up at the caravan people, making eye contact with each of them in turn. “I’ve been to every town at the base of those mountains, and they all say the same thing. Nobody goes up there who comes back down.”

The man looks at Payton’s carefully annotated map, eyebrows raised in approval. “You could join us,” he offers. “It’d be safer than working on your own.”

She snorts. “Not if you’re going up there.”

“I’m just saying. We could use someone like you. Someone who knows the lay of the land down here.”

“I work better alone.” Payton smiles, baring her teeth. It could read friendly, if you’d never seen a human being smile before.

The man withdraws. “Suit yourself.”

They get back to comparing notes and maps, and when he doesn’t think anyone’s paying attention, Will runs his hand lightly over the closest map, touching his finger to a town not too far from the compound. He closes his eyes and reaches, keeping the town in his mind.

Sure enough, he starts to see. Low clouds, the threat of rain. Summer heat, sweat, dogs barking. An old Victorian house with a big fence outside and five families inside. A garden, and everything in it is dead, rotted in the ground. People starving. His eyes flicker open again, and the woman across from him looks hazy-eyed, unfocused. These were her memories, then. He’s glad it was her, not Payton. He’s never tried to read her; he never wants to.

Curious, he places his palm over the mountains. He shouldn’t get anything, none of them has ever been there, but —

Brown grass, dead trees. Smoke and something toxic in the air. Nothing living anywhere – not a person or a cat or a cockroach. And a glass tower, rising up from the ground like a scene from some bad sci-fi movie —

Will shakes his head, trying to clear it. When he opens his eyes he can’t tell who the vision came from, but it can’t be real. It’s not possible. Will is suddenly conscious of how little he knows about his own powers.

The woman from the caravan speaks up. Her voice is low and resonant; it makes Will wonder what she was Before. “It’s not just business.”

The old man looks to her and they have a silent conversation that makes Will wonder if he was wrong about who’s in charge here. She continues, “You know about the crop failures.”

For the first time, Ian and Payton both look to Will. Around the other side of the old college there’s a greenhouse, part of some horticulture program. They’ve filled it with fruits and vegetables, using soil Payton collects from abandoned hardware stores. Looters took all the knives and tools and lighter fluid in the first few weeks after, but everyone assumed that you could just get soil anywhere.

And now it’s the second summer after, after the bombs and the plagues, and still everything that comes from the ground is poison. The greenhouse is their secret, the thing that will save them. Or the thing that will get them killed.

“Yeah, we know,” Will said finally.

“The situation is different everywhere. The contamination is worse on the coast and in the valleys, so it stands to reason that it might be less at elevation. And that’s the highest elevation we’ve got access to.”

Payton frowns. “It’s a huge risk.”

Narrowing her eyes, the woman snaps, “We can’t live on canned food forever. I don’t know about you, but every raid we go on, we come back with less. If we can’t find untainted ground somewhere, we’re all dead. Including you.”

Before it gets dark, Will follows Payton out to her truck to help her unload. There’s not much today, but she digs around for a minute in the cab. Usually there’s nothing up there except her gear, so he can’t help feeling curious.

She emerges from the cab with a basketball, and she grins broadly – a real smile, this time – and spins it on her finger for a second. “Look what I found,” she says. “You said you’re good.”

Will gapes at her. Surely this isn’t for his benefit. He’s a weird nerd, and Caroline always calls him kid, but— “Yeah,” he says, “or I was, anyway.”

Payton looks at the horizon like she’s measuring the minutes until the sun sets, then tosses him the ball. He almost doesn’t catch it, he’s so flustered.

“One-on-one,” she says. “Let’s go.”

In the parking lot Will takes aim and shoots, listening to the rusty hoop clang as the ball hits the backboard. Payton’s quick and light on her feet, and he’s so busy concentrating on beating her that just for a minute, he forgets about the waning daylight, the darkness in their future,the fires still burning in the mountains.

aspidocheloner2  asked:

How is the Sims 2 Yuri On Ice Disaster™? Is Victor still fucking whore island? Does Debu Yuuri still love spaghetti? Please help I must know. I also hope you feel better soon! Flus are the absolute worst.

thank you for your interest in my DISASTER YURI ON ICE NEIGHBORHOOD in the sims 2!! i go through playing the sims in obsessive phases, and haven’t played in awhile.  i opened it up today to answer these IMPORTANT INQUIRIES!! 

so, something that i did not realize is that in the sims, it gives your characters little identities when you click on the house? here is how the sims 2 describes the slutty yuuri frat house:

  • EROS YUURI: “love machine”
  • DEBU YUURI: “hopeless romantic”
  • DRUNK YUURI: “lusty lover”
  • PLISETSKY: “mini miser” 
  • PHICHIT: “real somebody”

which i feel like is an accurate representation of how all of these characters were intended to be, and the many facets of yuuri katsuki’s personality (not pictured: ANXIOUS MESS, LOVE URSELF BBY).  

anyway.  the first house i went to was OG Yuuri and OG Victor– the two that are married.  like i said, the last time i played, they recovered from the fact that victor was caught making out with Debu Yuuri on the front lawn when OG Yuuri got home from work, and OG Victor had easily forgiven OG Yuuri for running away with the newer, more romantic Victor that moved in across the street.  @wortwood watched me play and commented on the fact that it was very romantic to watch them dance in the living room while half of the trees on their property caught fire and no one really cared.  however, all of OG Yuuri’s goals, i realized, were not to DANCE and FLIRT and TELL DIRTY JOKE to his Victor, but Victor Across The Street, so i went to Victor Across The Street’s house.

Victor Across The Street lives in a much smaller home, and he had just made a plate of sandwiches to cry into and eat by himself at his small formica dining room table, because apparently he and OG Victor had been in a fight.  all of his goals were to be best friends with OG Victor.  like, what a fucking victor nikiforov™ move, like “all of my goals are to be best friends with myself.” what a dumb labrador.  so anyways, i had him invite OG Victor over and he challenged him to a pillow fight, and they instantly forgave each other??? do you know how many hours i had to put into OG Yuuri and OG Victor repairing their relationship??? victor is so fucking chill in comparison.  and then OG Yuuri came over on his own, and Victor Across The Street greeted him by practically tongue fucking him against the mail box, and OG Victor was like, whatever, i’m going to help myself to some of these Sadness Sandwiches, thanks alternate version of me! 

then i went to the yuuri frathouse.  everyone is mad at Debu Yuuri, because he is secretly the sluttiest out of all of them but the worst at hiding it.  OG victor keeps bringing him roses, and then he has been caught woohooing by phichit, who won’t stop leaving lonely single heartbroken roses around the house.  also Debu Yuuri ate all of the spaghetti in the house and Plisetsky, after a hard day at private school and editing the school newspaper, had to go grocery shopping.  he is the only responsible one in the house.  the only other sim with a job is Eros Yuuri, who is on a criminal career path.  i’m just excited for my sweet bby Yurio to finally graduate and go to college where i can introduce him to an Otabek sim, and maybe some other skater sims, and they can escape the frantic hellscape of several Yuuris and Victors (and one Phichit) all tryna fuck 25/7. 

Sixteenth Christmas

the series is as follows so far:

FirstSecond ThirdFourthFifthFifth Christmas, Part 2SixthSeventhEighthNinthTenthEleventhTwelfthThirteenthFourteenthFifteenthSixteenthSeventeenthEighteenthNineteenthTwentiethTwenty-firstTwenty-secondTwenty-third


“Mulder, it’ll be fine.”

“Can’t we just drive? I mean, we’ll leave early and take in some sights and get there and have Christmas and then drive home. It’ll be like old times.”

Scully looked at him over her spoon, oatmeal piled high, “you want us to drive through both the Smokey and the Rocky Mountains in December? Really?”

“We did a Christmas in northern Minnesota. I think we can handle a nice drive through the mountains.”

Watching him stir his tea, butter his bagel, dart his eyes from her spoon to her face to his plate in repetition, she saw the man she used to sit across from at a Formica diner table at 2am, in the middle of Nashton, Delaware or Tarkington, Colorado, eating greasy hashbrowns slowly while he tried to convince her that the footprint wasn’t human, the lights weren’t a wayward swarm of fireflies, the evidence he has was just slightly more extraterrestrial than he had imagined when they first arrived. He wore a smile that only she would recognize as such, the small muscle on the left side of his upper lip nudging just slightly upwards, fractions of millimeters, twitching more than moving, spasming so minutely that anyone else in the world would think he was sitting stone still.

She felt her muscles give way, her face soften without regret as she simply shook her head, once again, as so many countless times in the past, she gave in to him, knowing they may not get to their destination in a straight line or with relevant speed but eventually, with stories to tell and laughter to share.


And, as things progressed in the fashion normal from the first day they’d met to this very moment, he grinned in her direction, taking a bite of his bagel and talking around it as he chewed, “when do we leave?”


Maggie, being Maggie and loving her daughter and what she now referred to as her ‘one of these days, eventual son-in-law’, graciously patted Scully’s hand when she told her they’d be driving to San Francisco instead of flying, “he gave you that look, didn’t he?”

Her mother knew them too damn well sometimes and with an eyeroll of someone happily resigned to caving to her Mulder, she then nodded, smiling, “it’ll be a nice trip through the mountains.”


Jeep packed, house locked, food and blankets stowed, flashlights, shovels, emergency flares, tire chains, assorted rescue equipment stashed in a box in the back, they headed off into the early morning light, sky rosy, temperatures below freezing, Mulder smirking, poking Scully in the ribs as she attempted to continue her night’s rest in the passenger seat, pillow jammed up against the window, “I will cut off the tip of your finger if you keep doing that.”

“My God, you are still cranky after all this time knowing I’m going to be poking you. Why aren’t you used to it yet?”

“Why the hell haven’t I cut off your finger yet?”

Feeling his inner sass kick in, “you like what I do with my fingers, Scully. You’d be very sad if one of them disappeared.”

Her chuckle was involuntary and for it, she received another seven pokes, the last one culminating where she liked his fingers best and pushing his hand away in amusement, “would you just drive already? Christmas is in five days and knowing you and your tourist-trap stops, we’ll get there by New Year’s if we’re lucky.”

Removing fingers, he returned to the steering wheel, “you’re bossy in the morning.”

Scully settled into her pillow further, “you’ve never complained before.”

“Usually you’re naked at the time though.”

Her hand shot out, pointing through the windshield, “Go!”

“Yes, ma’am.”


First day, nothing.

Second day, she began noticing things but argued with herself that she was wrong.

Third day, in the middle of the Rocky Mountains outside Denver, she politely brought up the subject, “Mulder?”

He was sitting in the corner of the room, tugging off his shoes and absently pulling the curtain tighter over the window every few seconds, “yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

Genuine confusion met her gaze, “I think so. Why?”

Biting her lip, she wondering if prodding would bring about an argument she didn’t want to have, “you … you keep checking the curtains. Do you see something outside?”

The barest hint of anger chased its way across his face before settling back into Mulder, “I just want to make sure no one can see in. Not a fan of getting naked with an audience, especially on the first floor.”

Not wanting to ruin their trip, she let go of the fact that he checked several more times, then covered the peep hole in the door with a bandaid, moved the phones to charge in the bathroom covered with a towel, Scully assumed to block the cameras and their conversations from anyone possibly listening. He unplugged the room phone, pushed a doorstop from home under the room door, then came to bed, settling in to read his book while she did her nightly routine.

How had she not noticed his habits? Had she really been spending that much time at the hospital that she neglected signs so obvious to her that she felt utter stupid in having missed them?

When had he taken his paranoia to this next level?

Fourth day, she woke to find him spooned behind her, hand under her shirt, a little something pressing insistently against her pajama bottoms. Seeing the curtains opened to the third story morning glory that was the Rocky Mountains, she decided to let things go until they got home, choosing to keep an observant eye on him for now. Instead, she relished in his fingers, playfully grumbled something about sleeping in before she pressed back into him, his hands moving to slide her flannel down before pushing himself up inside her.


Only getting lost once, which was impressive for the pair to say the least, they pulled up to the house Christmas Eve morning. Once to the front door and inside, they found the holidays were in full swing at Bill’s house, Matt and Graham running to them, hugging, making general 12 and 8 year old boy noise. Maggie squeezed them both tight once the boys cleared out and then Tara made her way over, completing the greeting, Bill still at work until the late afternoon.

Festivities happened, dinner occurred, games commenced, sweets consumed, goodnights given, the pair ended up, at midnight, lying cozily on an air mattress in the back room, curtains open to the full moon pouring in the room. “Merry Christmas, Scully.”

Snuggling even further in, she nuzzled under his chin, “Merry Christmas, Mulder.”

“This is our 15th Christmas together, did you know that?”

“I remember.”

Voice soft in her ear, “what if I hadn’t come over that night? You would have put your tree away and never blown on my hot chocolate to cool it down and I never would had fell in love with you that very second and we wouldn’t be lying on an air mattress in your brother’s house on Christmas Eve thinking that we should sneak out of here and go check out the Golden Gate all lit up for the holidays.”

“I don’t like to think about the first part of that and the second part is more comfortable than I thought it would be for an air mattress and the third is a really good idea except for the fact that I’m already falling asleep right here.”

His hands roamed lightly over her back, “thank you for driving out here instead of flying.”

Nearly unconscious as this point, her words were slurred and soft, “if I were afraid of flying, you’d have driven out here without hesitation.”

Mulder’s voice grew hard, “I’m not afraid of flying. I just thought it would be nice to take a little vacation with you. You spend so much time at the damn hospital that I never see you.”

Pulling back immediately, brain slow to react to his sudden harshness, but realizing they were doing this now, “you’ve been covering up the windows and the cell phone cameras and avoiding using anything with your name on it. I’ve been signing everything and you cover the camera at the gas station with your hand even though you think you look casual and leaning when you do it but I notice. It’s okay.” She moved her hand up his chest, stroking his chin, watching his eyes still full of fire, “you would have had to give the airlines your name and then whoever you think is out there would have been able to track where you were going and when you’d be leaving and you were worried about what could happen with us in the air and what could happen to you trapped in a plane full of people you didn’t trust.” All this poured out, Scully herself discovering most of the information as it came to vocal fruition, without more than one breath and with complete calm. Stopping with her last revelation, she felt her heart twist when she realized, in his expression, that it was all true.

Then she watched him morph into Deniability Mulder, the man who could talk himself out of anything involving a head-on collision with his darkest fears and feelings.

She simply closed her eyes, feeling him roll off the mattress and begin pacing, pulling on sweatpants and shoes while she lay there, dreading the prospect of the impending fight, the inevitable closed-off interaction, the silent, polite, pretending Mulder she couldn’t stand. Opening them back up, she found him kneeling on the floor, sliding his arms into his thermal shirt and about to apologize, he held up his hand, then leaned over to kiss her forehead, “I need to get away from you for a little while. I don’t want to fight and I can’t … just …” shaking his head, he stood, “I love you.”

And he was gone, slipping into the dark hallway, moving quietly enough that only Scully could track his movements, given years of midnight bathroom breaks and 2am snack attacks.

She tried not to cry but the moment she heard the front door click shut, she fell apart.


Not sleeping well, she spent 20 minutes in the bathroom with a cool washcloth trying to reduce the size of her puffy eyes to levels that wouldn’t warrant drilling questions about why she looked like she’d been sobbing most of the night. Once she achieved what she thought was a look of polite exhaustion from an uncomfortable mattress in a strange place, she snuck to the makeshift bedroom once again, finding Mulder dressed and lying on the mattress.

Before she could ask where he’d been, he took in her face, knowing it better than his own, and stood, enveloping her in his long arms, “I hate making you cry.”

“I wasn’t crying.”

“I hate … making … you … cry.” Each word punctuated with a kiss to the part in her hair, “I didn’t want to fly because I wanted to be alone with you, trapped in a car like the old days, where the only thing we had was each other and we loved it. Everything else … I’m not thinking about right now … but I’m sorry I made you cry. You have no idea how much it kills me.”

Enjoying his warmth, she stayed there until she heard footsteps upstairs then pulled back, “will you go to mass with us?”

“Will your mother believe in my eternal damnation if I don’t?”


“Then we’d better get out there.”


Church didn’t burst Mulder into flames. The priest didn’t call out the atheist amongst them. The demons weren’t writhing in Mulder’s soul. He knelt, sat, stood, moved politely aside when the rest of the pew moved to take communion. During the Sign of the Peace, he shook Bill’s hand, kissed Maggie’s and Tara’s cheeks, quietly patted the boys on the shoulder, whispered his apologies once again against Scully’s hair while he hugged her.

She held his hand tightly the entire time.

Then Maggie slipped on an icy patch, swore in front of the priest who was outside shaking hands and any tension between the intrepid duo evaporated, nothing like a good swear on Christmas morning to push them back to normal.

Scully broke first, then Mulder, then the priest, followed by Maggie and the rest of the family, the boys laughing so hard they nearly fell over themselves. After that, Christmas spirit returned and they all moved back home, breakfast and Santa awaiting.

In the midst of present opening, Maggie handed Scully an oblong box, tag stating, “for Small from Tall.” Smiling down at her daughter sitting on the floor, Mulder molded behind her, “I can only assume you are ‘Small’?”

Mulder took the box, “yes, she is.”

The room had quieted given it was Scully’s turn and looking at Mulder over her shoulder, “I’m ‘Small’?”

Grinning, “you are very small, indeed.”

Nudging him with her elbow, she opened the box to find her latest Christmas ornament, a glassy, metallic, painted mug of hot chocolate, complete with sprinkles, whipped cream and Mulder’s boxy alphabet announcing across the front, ’15 Years’. Scooting around to face him, she held up her gift, “did you really fall in love with me when I blew on your hot chocolate to cool it down?”

By now, their audience was listening intently, even the boys, “of course. You took my drink right out of my hand and blew germs all over it? How could I not fall in love with you?”

“You’d think that would have been a turn-off in some respect.”

“You kidding? Hottest chick in the room giving two craps about me burning my tongue? I really should have kissed you right then.”

“I was the only chick in the room, Mulder.”

“Still are.” Giving her a grin, he leaned forward, kissing her full and long, not caring about anyone or anything watching them.

Scully, however, remembered they weren’t alone after about 10 seconds and pulled back, pink with embarrassment at her sudden and unusual public display of affection. Gliding her thumb over his chin briefly, she twisted to settle against his chest once again, holding her hot chocolate mug and grinning happily.

Maggie handed Mulder, a few minutes later, his own box, “to You from Me.” Shaking her head down at the pair, “we have to talk about your labeling system, daughter of mine.”

“Thank you, Maggie.” She ruffled his hair as she sat back down and watched as Mulder opened Scully’s gift, a collection of eight glass-blown tropical fish, brightly colored and finely detailed, hanging from thin wire and ready for hooks, prepped for tree trimming the moment they found their back home. Admiring each one in turn, “why eight?”

“There were eight different ones and I couldn’t decide so you got eight.”

“Makes perfect sense to me.”


Much later in the day, after an obscene amount of food was inhaled, they were back on the air mattress, Scully on her side, Mulder on his belly, arms over the edge, examining his fish more carefully. Watching him with half-lidded eyes, she reached out, running her finger along the outer shell of his ear, staring peacefully as his lip curled upwards involuntarily, “enjoying your gift?”

“Of course.” Holding up a beautiful sunset colored one with fiery red fins and glittery blue eyes, “this one’s Scully,” then picking up a sword fish type with a long snout and long blue fins, “and this one’s Mulder.”

Scooting closer against him, “are you going to name them all or just those?”

“Just these for now. Maybe later, I’ll do the rest but these are the ones that matter.” Setting them down gently, he turned his head in her direction, resting his mouth on her forehead, whispering into her skin, “I don’t think fish mate for life but I like to think that ours will.”

“You get sappy when you’re sleepy.”

Moving in more, he found her lips, “but I think I can stay awake a few minutes longer.”

In one of those tag games, @helianthus21 asked if I think that Dean has special mood music. And shortly before that @dixseptdixhuit told me about her new fic (which y'all should really check out) and I thought yes, he has.

Dean/Cas, 1.6k, teen up, coda


in the sycamore trees.

Dad’s box with tapes is stuffed under the passenger seat. Dean rides shotgun like most of the time, and it is his duty to find the right tape when the current one has ended.

“Zep I”, John grumbles and Dean bends forward to retrieve the box.

He punches the button to eject the old tape, puts it into its case with the cardboard inlay covered in John’s neat handwriting and plucks the one his father ordered out of the meticulously organized collection to stick it into the old cassette deck. You have to do it with just the right pressure and swiftly; otherwise the player catches the tape and tangles it up. It has happened before and one of the tapes still bears the scars. John had hit him on the head and barked at him to treat his belongings with respect – how can I ever trust you to use a weapon if you can’t even manage the damn tape deck  – and tears had welled in the corners of Dean’s eyes but he had held them back and got the tape out of the player to carefully turn the spools with his finger until the shiny brown plastic was smooth again.

So he makes sure now to push the tape into the slot just right and only releases his breath when guitar and drums align to open Good Times Bad Times and Robert Plant states that In the days of my youth, I was told what it means to be a man. John’s fingers twitch on the steering wheel. Dean leans back against the leather seat and turns his head to watch the land fly by.


John gave Dean his car, his leather jacket, his gun and his taste in music.

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And Then You

Nicholas Rush/Lacey French, Explicit

Summary: On a forced sabbatical from teaching, Nicholas Rush heads for the tiny town of Storybrooke, Maine, hoping for peace and quiet and the chance to work on his research. What he finds instead is Lacey French. Lacey’s in a dead end job as a waitress with a abusive husband when Rush walks into her life. Over the course of his summer sabbatical the two become friends, and eventually lovers. There’s more to their relationship than either of them want to admit, but Rush still has the specter of his late wife, Gloria, holding him back, and Lacey’s way too good at lying to herself.

Notes:  This is for the lovely @anonymousnerdgirl, who prompted a Rushacey Waitress (the movie) AU. I didn’t get to put in all the things I wanted, but I hope this still suffices. I am the worst Santa ever, in case you didn’t know. I put in some timeline references since most of this story is flashback, but jumps to the present as well. This is only my second time writing Rush, so forgive my horrible characterization. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  Posted in three chapters on AO3, but one big pile here. (11,752 words)


Late August

The duffel bag bounces unceremoniously onto the backseat of the rental car, the door shutting after it with a thud. It seems too loud and sharp for so early on a Sunday morning, and the lack of any passersby or any other sounds save for a few chirping birds and the wind has a strange finality to it.

He glances up at the pink Victorian house, with a small smile. Mal’s family home is definitely not his style, but he’d gotten rather comfortable there in such a short time. Crossing to the mailbox, he opens it and drops the keys inside, then turns back to the car and bends to climb into the driver’s seat.

There is no one to see Nicholas Rush off.

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Care For A Waffle, Agent?

Originally posted by bottomsquall

Characters - Sam x Reader

Summary - You just wants to eat your waffles, damn it.

Word Count - 1,203

Warnings - Fluff. A Jerk. Language. A buttload of waffles.

A/N - This was originally going to be a drabble to unstick me from my rut, but ended up being long enough to just call it a fic. Also, thanks to everyone for helping me hit 800 followers, then going on to 900! I am absolutely blown away!!! Love all of y’all to bits! <3

You sat in the diner, yawning away at the early hour. You couldn’t believe how you managed to end up on another case right after hunting that wendigo in Minnesota, barely a break in between.

The old red vinyl seat creaked as you settled in the booth, looking through the small menu. Your eye was drawn to the ‘pig ‘n a poke’ special, but you were on a mission. Waffles. You were going to have a cheat day and you wanted the biggest stack of waffles you could eat. You deserved it after that wendigo clawed the hell out of your leg.

The waitress came up to you, plonking down a mug before filling it with coffee, your order as you walked in.

The bell over the door rang, a tall drink of water waltzing in and taking a seat at the counter. He was at least 6 feet tall, dressed nicely in a clean-cut suit. What caught your attention though, was the length of his hair. It was long enough that it started to curl at the ends, a cute flick that touched the edges of his collar.

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This is for an anon request for a Requiem AU:  Starts at Requiem- Scully is taken and pregnant and it’s Mulder looking for her again.

Read part One  part Two  part Three part Four



He can see her, can feel her shape against him, can smell her body, taste her sweetness. But she is not there. It has been several months now but he is not used to the lack of her. He starts to call her name, looks over his shoulder for her, waits for her admonishment, her support, her soft laugh, her warm kiss. He is waiting, waiting all the time.

              Skinner sits in the seat and slides a coffee towards him. His meaty fingers grip his own mug. The fluoro above is unkind, shining off his head. Mulder stares at the liquid in front of him. He is suddenly so tired that he could sleep for days, head on the formica table top, sugar granules digging into his face.

              “Agent Mulder, you were due to report to Violent Crimes this morning. Your supervisor was expecting you at 8am.”

              The words are delivered with precision, cut out from a phone call Skinner had no doubt received earlier from Bullen in VC. Where the fuck is Mulder? You gave me your word he’d be no trouble. I’ve got plenty of other talented guys waiting for their chance. Your spooky prima donna fuck-up isn’t going to swan around and waste my time.


              “I can’t do it, sir. I can’t give up like that.”

              Skinner sighs. “Nobody’s asking you to give up, Mulder, but the case has gone cold. You know there’s nothing more I can do. My hands are tied. Agent Scully will remain listed as missing and if any new leads come up then a taskforce may be assembled to investigate. But you can no longer just head off on a whim whenever a UFO is reported over the skies of Illinois or Florida or Wyoming. It’s just not going to be sanctioned any more.”

              The vinyl seat squeaks under him. His elbows press into the table top and he leans his forehead on his open palms. His skin is greasy. “I need more time. Scully needs more time.” A crash of crockery from the kitchen startles him. He lifts his head. “We all owe her that.”

              “I know you and Agent Scully shared a special bond, Mulder. And you know how much I respected…respect her. She was one of the best agents I’ve worked with. But the bureau will not give you special dispensation because you fell in love with your partner.”

              He lets out a bitter laugh. “Fuck you.”

His apartment is all shadows and ghosts. If he listens hard he can recall the sound of her, the way her clothes swished or her hairbrush sounded as she went through her morning routine, or the rhythm of her toothbrush, the soft pop as her lips opened to seek his, the sigh of her REM sleep.

              “Where are you, Scully?”

              I’m here, Mulder. You just have to know where to look.

              He blinks. Lifts the beer bottle to his lips. “I’ve looked everywhere. There’s no trace of the ship.”

              Look inside.

              The beer is warm and tastes fruity. He leans back against the couch, stares at the ceiling. The green light from the fish tank traces artful patterns. He makes a fist and smashes it against the arm, then places it against his chest.


              His heart beats quicker. He leans forward.


              “Here, Scully? Yes, here.” His fingers drum with his own pulse. He spreads them across his chest. Waits a few beats. Thinks of her face, the simple beauty of her. He drops his hand and slips in under his tee shirt, feeling up the line of hair to his belly button, higher across his chest. The skin is warmer there. Hot. “Right here, Scully. You’re right here. And I’m coming to get you.”

Amongst the Angels (Takeda Shingen x MC) Prologue.

Genre: Angst, Romance, AU

Summary: 500 years couldn’t kill his love for her. He broke his promise centuries ago and he now searches the faces in the crowds for her. She has no reason to be there but he still has hope no matter how much it fades day by day. She’s haunted by dreams of a red haired samurai and his faceless lover, she doesn’t know why they’ve been in her head for years. Maybe she knows but she doesn’t remember.

Comments: I’ve been dying to write this, based on Shingen’s epilogue (this is no way close to his epilogue story btw). Special thank you to my sis @noomsu because you were there when this fic frustrated me and made me want to give up. Because of you I never would have finished this. Italics represents thoughts.

“I saw my life with him.
I saw my future with him.
I saw our unborn child’s future with him.“

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anonymous asked:

Hi, so I was wondering if you have any super angtsy drarry fic recs where either Harry or Draco have problems dealing with the aftermath of the war??

I do, anon, and some that I don’t get to rec very often or have never recced before, so lots to enjoy here. These fics focus on the psychological aftermath of the war, as opposed to circumstances thereafter (trials, poverty, imprisonment, etc.), which could be another rec list. Given the subject matter, please heed the warning. As always, please show these authors some love and appreciation - it’s not easy to create these feels!

Drarry Recs: Post-War Trauma

All his Saints by Setissma - NC-17, 13.5k - It was eleven o’clock when Harry heard the knock on the door. He very nearly didn’t answer.

And So Death Took by ICMezzo - NC-17, 25k - Fairy tales may soothe small children into slumber, but some stories themselves refuse to sleep. The Tale of Three Brothers, retold.

And We Are At Our Apogee by angelgazing - PG-13, 6k - Harry doesn’t remember. Draco wanted revenge, but it didn’t work out that way.

Black Hole Circuit by mijeli - NC-17, 25.5k - May 11th passes. But in the following night, the dream reoccurs, and continues in the ones after that. When Draco awakes, it’s never quite dawn, and impossible to fall asleep again. He’d get up as if wrapped in cotton wool, make tea, and during his morning routine, the pictures would fade beyond recognition. Potter’s voice is the most distinct part, but he never again remembers what it said.

Breathe Me by Kedavranox - NC-17, 70k - Since the singular incident of being a Horcrux for many years has left Harry with a sensitivity to Dark magic, Harry begins training with Jacob, a Wizard who lives in New York, using this sensitivity to his advantage to cleanse magical spaces of Dark magic. After a year of training, Draco Malfoy shows up, wanting to learn from Jacob as well, and unexpectedly the two men grow a bond, both magical and physical. But Jacob’s sudden death leaves Harry floundering and growing increasingly dependent on drugs and sex to avoid his problems. After his brief and tumultuous affair with Draco ends, Harry begins a life of travel, avoiding returning home permanently and continuing his drug habit. He flits from job to job, from place to place, never settling down for a moment, until, years later, Harry is called back to England by his friends to help Draco find his way out of a cursed Manor.

He Who Must Not Be Normal by lettered - NC-17, 41k - Potter has fame and fortune and posh clothes and all he wants is a simple life.  Draco has a flat and a cat and a steady job and all he wants is a complicated life.  Which makes you think this story has something exciting like body-swapping, but it doesn’t.  Instead it has Indian takeaway and a blue jumper and people wanting a whole lot of what they can’t have, discovering themselves as they discover each other.

Let’s Pretend the War Is Over by pir8fancier - M, 8k - The war is over and Draco is alone, fighting demons of a different nature. 

Nocturne for Quill and Ink by pushdragon - NC-17, 9.5k - “I promise to think before I act.” (and sequel Étude: A lesson in voice)

Nightingale by michi_thekiller - NC-17, 62k - God loved the birds and invented trees. Man loved the birds and invented cages. -Jacques Deval

Painted Colder by Lucilla Darkate - NC-17, 2k - He is, sitting there across the round, chipped formica table, every cliche word for winter.

A Piercing Comfort by talithan - PG-13, 25.5k - When Harry Potter hits the lowest point of his life so far, it is not his friends who keep him honest. With Draco Malfoy’s patience and guidance, Harry learns to stand on his own. The thing is, after the fact—he’s no longer sure he wants to.

REVOLVEVLOVER by firethesound and zeitgeistic - NC-17, 46.5k - The work Harry does is justifiable. It’s justice. He works for his country, and his country is a republic—the magical side, anyway. It’s not laudable work, it’s not work he’s proud of, but it’s necessary work. Harry has always taken the necessary jobs that no one else has the stomach for.It’s just that he’s never deciphered a kill sheet and seen Draco Malfoy’s name on it.

Salvation and Sacrament by AbbyCadabra - R, 16.5k - “It seems as if everywhere I go, I find the nowhere in somewhere, or make it of anywhere.”

The Voldemort Manor by Kedavranox - NC-17, 40.5k - The Malfoy Manor is a state run museum, renamed The Voldemort Manor by the Ministry for Magic. As part of his probation, Draco is assigned as sole caretaker. When the Manor hosts a series of high class events celebrating the Wizarding World’s fourth Yuletide season Post War, it brings with it a swathe of people Draco hasn’t seen in years; including one, Harry Potter.

mimi-pctter  asked:

Jily au: "i made my special request for the pizza to send their cutest delivery person and you showed up and apologized that you were the only one delivering tonight and i blurted out that they still got my request right" or "My friend dragged me to this party and I just saw my ex. Quick make out with me, I’ll pay you." Idk, I thought those two were kinda cute haha they sounded a bit better in my head. You choose which one you like more :)

send me prompts!

James has been in a lot of peculiar situations in his life. One time he performed a particularly riveting soliloquy atop an old Formica table in an ice cream parlour about the dangers of E coli. Another time he got shit faced drunk with Sirius and they, only to wake up with roughly seven breathing balls of fur- later to be recognised as cats once he slipped on his glasses- kneading his stomach.

So yeah, he’s done some weird shit.

And technically speaking, making out with a stranger at a party isn’t even that odd. People do it all the time. Of course, it doesn’t usually start off with a business deal, but to each their own.

So when the stunning redhead he’d been eyeing across the room a few hours prior threw herself into his arms with a hissed, “Quick make out me! I’ll pay you!” he was just the right shade of drunk to sloppily seal his mouth over hers without any questions.

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Aggregate (Part 1)

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x Daphne Greengrass

Word Count: ~1700

Written for: everyone tbh but provocative-envy and elicitillicit and cocoartistwrites and reghoulus and takeupserpents and acrimsonleather and everyone else who is rare pair trash

“Bloody buggering – ouch!” Charlie hissed, forcing his body to remain still as Dorin prodded a thickly gloved finger at his ribs.

“I tol’ ya not to get too close, mate,” his colleague’s unwelcome taunt pulled at his focus for a moment before it snapped sharply back to the throbbing red welt that ran up his side.

Charlie Weasley was a gruff sort of man, rough around the edges and scruffy around the chin and no wimp when it came to burns, but fucking hell could that Welsh Green sear you down to your very bones like you were just a bundle of tangled ticker tape.

“Can you just -” he inhaled sharply through his teeth as the other dragon tamer used a Severing Charm to cut his shirt away from his body. The gentle flicker of movement over his skin caused by the tattoo on his chest shifting to his other side was almost lost in the panic his nerves were experiencing.

“I’m trying, you arsehole, shut up for a minute,” Dorin overrode him.

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