grocery sack

Escape:  the residency years

Claire sat cross-legged on the bench outside of the hospital.  She was trying to decide if she should call Jamie or take the bus home after her appointment. Her OB-GYN had given her the all clear today.  

Six weeks.

Six weeks since she’d lost her daughter.  Six weeks since her body had survived a bloody nightmare.  

You can resume a normal life, her doctor had said.  

There was nothing normal about her life, except for the hospital.  Her life as a doctor was normal in that chaotic, hectic way.  

Her home life wasn’t normal.  Jamie was quiet, and distant.  Some nights she would see him at his drafting table gazing off, unfocused, his face a mix of sadness, and introspection.  Some nights she would get home from working late, and see him on the fire escape sipping from his tumbler of whisky.  He was a strong man, yet even he had his limits.  

She wasn’t normal.  She felt and looked different.  She was softer now.  Her mind, her body, her strength all so much softer than before.  Her stomach was far from the flat plane it once was.  Her mind was plagued by insecurities, what ifs and why me. 

You can resume a normal life.

It was time to reconnect.  Reconnect with her husband, with herself, and with her dreams.  

Claire unfolded herself from the bench, gathered her things, and began walking to the bus stop.  She was standing at the corner waiting for the light to change when the small shop caught her eye.  Normally she would walk past. That was for other women.  Life was no longer normal, so maybe a trip to that shop would be what she needed.  A suit of armor, so to speak.  

She crossed the street and pushed open the glass door.  

Jamie was waiting for her text.  He’d asked her to tell him what the doctor said, and she nodded absentmindedly.  He didn’t want to badger her, so he waited. He checked his phone obsessively, and fought against the impulse to call her and ask. By three o’clock he’d had enough of waiting.

“Gu ifrinn le e!” Jamie said, and started to pack up for the day.

 “Willie!” he shouted to the outer office.  

His assistant lifted his head.  “Aye, Jamie?”  

“We’re done for the day, mate.  Let’s go.  It’s Friday. We’re knocking off early.”

Jamie walked into the flat laden down with his computer bag, and two grocery sacks.  He bustled in banging into the door frame, his keys wound around a finger, and the post in his mouth.  

“Claire!” he said, and dropped the envelopes in surprise. He laboured over to the kitchen trying not to drop anything else.  “What are you doing home so early?”

“I could ask you the same thing?  And what’s all this?”  Claire got up from the sofa to check out what her husband had brought home. The floppy leaves of fresh leeks were sticking out from one of the brown bags, and in the other she could see the tiny spears from a bunch of asparagus peeking over its edge.

“Ach.  It’s been a long week.  Willie and I skived off early.  Also,” he said a little sheepishly, “I saw this dish on Instagram today and I wanted to try it.”  

“Jamie Oliver?” Claire laughed.  Ever since she started her residency Jamie had done the cooking, and once she got pregnant –

You can resume a normal life.

“Aye.”  Claire’s breath caught at his smile.  Jamie really did have the most beautiful smile.  “Risotto.”

“Oooooo!”  Claire started removing the foodstuffs.  

Jamie looked at this wife.  She was freshly showered, her curls drying around her face. She had on one of those wee dresses she found so comfortable, and that he found sexy.  He could see most of her legs, and the fabric clung to the curve of her bottom.

“Ye look beautiful, Claire.”  

She paused for a moment, and glanced up at her husband.  It was his voice that stopped her.  That mixture of wonder and awe that sometimes crept into it. She could see truth in his eyes.  After all he had witnessed, after all the ugliness, he still found her beautiful.  His compliment was a soothing balm to her mental wounds.  She walked around the counter, and placing her hands on the sides of his jaw, kissed him softly on the mouth.  

“Thank you.  Now go change.  I’m starving.”  

Dinner was amazing.  The risotto was delicious, and it did his heart good to hear Claire laugh as he tried to juggle the recipe on his phone and imitate Jamie Oliver while he cooked.  They’d had wine, and talked.  Claire told stories of people at the hospital that made him laugh until he ached.  He caught her up on the recent projects at the Distillery and showed her a couple of his newest designs.  

When he sat down on the couch with a beer and turned on one of his many recorded rugby games, she stole upstairs.

You can resume a normal life.

Jamie stretched his long legs out in front of him. He sipped from his beer, still content from dinner and the fact that Scotland was winning.  It took him a minute to register the shape at the top of the stairs.

“Jesus.  God.  Claire.”  He fumbled trying to put down the bottle without knocking it sideways.  He almost missed the table because he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

Her breasts were plump over the barest of lace cups.  He couldn’t tell from this distance but there was no way they covered her areolas.  The panties hugged her low on her hips.  Her hair was a riot of curls dancing over one shoulder, thick and full.  She smiled like the devil herself, twirling one curl around her index finger.  Well, if that wasn’t a damn metaphor for how he felt right now.      

Red.  She was wearing scarlet red lingerie.  

She set him afire.  

Mesmerized he walked slowly, one bare foot in front of the other, to the bottom of the stairs.  

“Holy Mother of God.”

Claire laughed out loud.

“What?  What did I say?  Are ye laughing at me?”  Jamie’s brain was completely addled.  

“Yes, I most certainly am!”  She couldn’t stop giggling.  

What had he said that was so funny?  

“You can call me Claire, darling,” she added, teasingly.

Jamie bit his lip.  Aye, she wasn’t exactly the image of an angel.  “Don’t make fun, Claire, or ye’ll get what ye deserve.”  

“Promise?”  The vixen turned, and walked away.  The scrap of lace from behind framed her bottom in such a way that her bare skin resembled the shape of a heart.  

He groaned and missed the first step, swearing as he stubbed a toe.  The sight of her bare arse swaying in front of him was too much.  He sprinted up the stairs two at a time.  

Their bedroom was dark, just the light from the hallway seeped through his first few steps into the room.  He moved to turn on a lamp but she stopped him.

“Please don’t.”  Claire stood by the foot of the bed, twisting her fingers.   She was nervous.  She had been offered so many opinions. Women telling her it would be different.  It would hurt.  Don’t expect too much.  

“What’s this, then?”  Jamie approached her cautiously.

She shrugged.  Her eyes begged him to acquiesce to her request.    

Jamie moved to the window and opened the curtains. The pale gray light of the streetlights coupled with the moon bathed her in a pearly glow.  She was luminescent.  Claire covered her tummy, just below her belly button.  Ah. So that’s how it is.  Jamie moved toward her slowly, linked his pinky fingers through hers and slowly drew her hands away from her body, and the flesh they covered.  One red striation snaked down the left side of her tummy.  Her belly button was droopy.  Jamie looked at his wife, and saw the insecurity in her eyes.  

“It’s ugly,” she whispered.  

You can resume a normal life.

“Aye,” Jamie whispered back.  “I ken a wee bit about scars, Sassenach.”  He let go of her hands, and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it to the side.  “I ken how they make ye look at yerself.”  He turned his back to her, and spoke over his shoulder.  “Because I once looked at myself, and felt ugly, too.”  

Claire made a small noise that made him turn around and face her once more, fingers tapping nervously on his thigh.  Claire needed his reassurance.  He would give her the same gift she gave him years before.

“I remember every minute, every second of that first time we made love.  Ye walked around me, and ran yer hands over my back.  I waited to see revulsion in yer expression, and when I looked at ye, weel, I saw lust.”  Jamie chuckled. “Ye’ve no idea how relieved I was because by then I was so turned on I couldna bear it if ye walked away.”  

Claire smiled at the memory.

He ran his index finger lightly down her stretch mark, and hooked it under the lace edge of her panty.  He heard her breath hitch.  He tugged at the fabric, just enough to knock her off balance so she had to take a step toward him.  He placed his big hands on either side of her, and slowly ran them over her hips and down her backside.  He cupped her, lifting her slightly.  Her face was close to his, her mouth a fraction away.  “Now kiss me, mo neighean donn, and let me show ye how beautiful ye are to me.”

Claire grabbed her husband’s shoulders, and hung on. He kissed her, pouring all of his love into that first meeting of their mouths.  She ran her hands over him, feeling his familiar scars.  The scars that made him Jamie, and no one else. This big man who was the gentlest of lovers when she needed him to be. 

Tonight, she needed him to take the lead.  She surrendered herself to him, let him turn her around in his arms and hold her against his chest.  Let him run his hands over her body, feeling the weight of her breasts as he kissed the side of her neck.  Let him slide a hand down over her soft stomach, and find the heat between her legs, making her feel warm, and sexy while he nipped at her lobes.

Jamie led her by the hand to their bed.  He slid off her panties, murmuring in Gaelic, his eyes hooded.  He worshiped her body, kissed every inch of her skin.  He ran his tongue down her stretch mark, and kissed her misshapen belly button.  He took her slender legs and placed them over his shoulders, making her writhe and buck, and finally shatter.  

Then, he stood and shucked his jeans.  Climbing onto the bed, he nestled himself between Claire’s thighs before she could catch her breath.  He balanced on his elbows, and kissed her again.  

He felt her tense beneath him.

Jamie pulled back and looked at her.  “What’s wrong, mo graidh?”  

“I’m scared,” she breathed.  “I’m scared it will be different for you.”

You can resume a normal life.

“Och, aye.  After 2 months without my wife, it’ll feel different right enough.  It’ll feel like Heaven.”  He bumped his nose against hers, waggling his eyebrows.  

Claire did not smile.  “They say,” she swallowed, rubbing the back of his neck. “They say after you give birth that it’s….it feels….looser, down there.  To a man.”

A Dhia, she was struggling. Jamie had no idea that Claire had all of these thoughts battling inside her head.  While he appreciated her honesty, she picked a fine time to reveal her anxieties, when he was fit to bursting.  He took a deep breath, and brushed her hair away from her face.  Laughing through dinner relaxed her.  Their banter on the stairs relaxed her.  He’d carry on with the humour.  

“Is this yer way of saying size matters, Sassenach?”  He teased her with the tip of himself.  “Are ye afraid ye’ll find me lacking?”

Claire grinned, and slapped his bottom.  “That is not what I meant, and you know it!”

Jamie took that moment, when her legs relaxed, to enter her.  She arched her back, and gasped.

“Can ye feel that?” he asked, breath hot against her neck.  “For I surely can.” He kissed her, licking her bottom lip.  “And it feels like I’m home.”

You can resume a normal life.

It did feel like home.  Jamie was right.  He was in her arms, and in her body, and it felt like it had a hundred times before.  It didn’t matter what she looked like, how many stretch marks she had.  Even the damn lingerie didn’t matter. This was right.  This was perfect.

In response Claire locked her legs around his back.  She shifted and settled him deeper between her thighs. Reaching up, she brought his head down for a scorching kiss that had him rocking instinctively.  She gave him all of herself and took nothing in return.  When Jamie shouted and stiffened above her she felt the joy of loving him fill her heart.

Jamie’s head was pressed against her neck as he tried to catch his breath.

“So, where did ye find this?”  He pulled at the strap of her bra.  

“At that lingerie shop near the hospital bus stop.  The doctor said I could ‘resume a normal life’ and I wasn’t sure I could without a bit of help.  A suit of armor, so to speak.” She ran a hand over his bicep.

“Christ, Sassenach.  Dinna show up to battle like that again.”  He dropped a kiss on her shoulder, and mumbled sleepily.  “My heart canna take it.”  

Claire woke up some time later to the sound of cheering. Slipping out of bed she stole downstairs to find the television still on, and Jamie’s beer warm on the table. She hit the button on the remote, and silence fell. She took his bottle to the sink, and turned off the lights.  

Darkness in the flat allowed her to look out the window at the lights of Edinburgh.  She could see the fire escape that mirrored their stairs inside. She had taken those outside steps, cautiously, years ago, not knowing where it would lead her.  Now, she was on the inside, having taken those steps towards love, marriage, medical school, and a family.     

As she climbed up on her way back to bed she laughed softly thinking of how Jamie had bolted up these stairs tonight at the sight of her.  Honestly, why had she worried so much?  Scars be damned. They didn’t change how she looked at him, how could she have been so shallow as to think hers would have mattered to him?  Resuming a normal life had made her think that how they had been living for the past six weeks was somehow abnormal.  Wrong. Flawed.

It wasn’t.  

They would carry their scars together.  The ones on their bodies, and the scar of losing Faith on their hearts.  Together.  Forward in life.  

She crawled into bed next to her husband,and stroked the russet coloured curls back from his forehead.  He smiled briefly, and her heart melted. Jamie was still Jamie.  They still found pleasure in each other’s bodies.  They still had the same dreams.

Everything was normal.  

The First Birthday

Originally posted by out-in-the-open

Written for @scarygoodfanfics Sam Winchester Birthday Challenge, prompt was “Do you know how much I love you?”

Summary: Finding a bit of time in between the BMOL and things with Cas, Mary and Dean surprise Sam on his birthday. It’s nothing big, but the gesture turns into a conversation none of them wanted to have, let alone on Sam’s birthday.

Characters/Relationships: Sam, Dean, Mary

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: none

A/N: I’M SORRY. There’s a few gut-punching lines in here. It’s angsty. But it ends sort of ok? I CAN’T HELP IT, OK? Also, thank you to @impala-dreamer for being an awesome beta, as always!

It was a nice gesture, really. At least it was meant to be. A birthday cake, a few candles, a small present from Mom and Dean. But somewhere along the way, something went wrong. Maybe the idea was flawed all along, the road of planning paved with good intentions. Or maybe it was the cracks in the family relationships that destined the plan to fall apart. Either way, the birthday celebration turned into a painful heart-to-heart that wasn’t planned, nor necessarily desired at that Moment. There was too much going on. There was always too much going on.

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Grocery Store Valentine

Pairing: Dean/Castiel

Valentine’s Fluff for the DeanCas Sweetheart Challenge: 

SFW: No Smut

Castiel had ridden along with Dean to pick up groceries. Sam usually did the shopping but Dean simply could not choke down  anymore Kale, salads, or smoothies. He needed real food.

“You mean junk food…” Cas murmured at his back at Dean’s lament on Sam’s shopping practices as he shadowed him around the store.

Dean gave Cas a face of mock offense. “Bite your tongue, and since when do you side with Sam about food? Burgers and pork rinds are considered junk and they’re your favorites…”

“<i>I</i> can’t get heart disease either…” Castiel murmured with a hint of a smile on his lips.

As they shopped in companionable silence, Cas noticed the Valentine’s decorations and candy on the end of every aisle. “I’ve never understood Valentine’s Day being associated with Cupid. Cherubs are not interested in dating and relationships. They force people to fall in love. Very against Team Fee Will’s mission statement.”

Dean nodded his head in agreement, his mouth shaping into a frown. “Good point. Screw Valentine’s Day…You know I used to call it Unattached Drifter Christmas…I would swoop into bars and find lonely women and show ‘em a good time. Figured I was doing my part to cheer them up. Think I was just trying to cheer myself up really.” Dean stiffened then, realizing he was being a bit more revealing of his feelings than normal. He did that with Cas…It was annoying. As they went down every aisle, throwing in essentials like bread, sandwich meat, cheese, and milk, occasional anomalies would appear like Oreos and Slim Jims. Neither commented when they both threw in a bag of pork rinds, grinning to each other.

“Sam’s going to eyeroll for days, but damn it, I like Oreos! I didn’t get a childhood. I deserve cookies at least, I mean damn,” Dean laughed as they turned left onto the next aisle. He hadn’t been paying attention. It was that stupid Seasonal aisle and it was piled high with stuffed bears, hearts full of chocolates, and boxes of paper Valentine’s. Dean tried to make good time down the aisle but it was full of last minute husbands scrambling for gifts. Dean realized it was February 13th…the poor bastards. Dean shared a few looks with the men searching through the candies and he smiled sympathetically as he turned off the aisle. “Man, that makes me glad I don’t have to worry about that stuff, right Cas? Cas?” Dean looked back down the aisle and he saw Castiel talking to a man at the other end of the aisle. Dean’s eyes narrowed and he turned his cart around to make his way back down the red and pink splattered aisle. As he came up on the two talking, Dean knew right away the man was flirting with Cas, who was completely oblivious.

“Cas, man, come on. We’ve got to get the rest of the groceries and get home…” Dean growled out more aggressively than he intended, putting his hand on Castiel’s elbow.

“Sorry, Dean. This man, Daniel, was asking me about good places he could take a date for Valentine’s. I informed him I thought he might be unable to get reservations at this late of a date.” Castiel looked at Dean without a hint of understanding as to what Daniel’s true intentions were.

Dean narrowed his eyes at Daniel and his stupid perfect teeth and short red hair. He knew this game. Hell, he’d played this game, finding singles hovering near the Valentine’s aisle, unattached…attractive…singles. Suddenly, Dean’s grip on Castiel’s arm became more of an open handed, possessive grip than a way to get his attention. Who did this Daniel think he was, flirting with his…Cas…Oh shit. Dean realized he was being jealous when he had no claim or right to be. It wasn’t like he was attracted to…Oh Hell, who was he kidding other than himself? He loved Castiel. He just didn’t have the guts to find out how Cas felt, though he suspected at times….Daniel was staring at where Dean’s hand was still touching Castiel’s elbow. Yeah, asshole, read the signs. He’s mine…Dean thought to himself then he grimaced internally.

“I’m sure Daniel can manage just fine Cas. That’s what Yelp is for…Come on <i>sweetheart</i>, let’s go…” The sentiment had just come out. Dean told himself it was a means to get Daniel to back off…Yeah that was it, because the way he’d been gently holding his elbow hadn’t told Daniel enough. Shit. Castiel followed numbly along behind Dean as they once again made their way down the Valentine’s aisle. Dean pushed the cart with one hand and kept a grip on Cas’ elbow with the other, worried another Daniel might swoop in and try to steal his Angel away again. He only loosened his grip as they got off the aisle. Castiel’s forehead was scrunched up in thought. “Daniel was flirting with you. Couldn’t you tell? I…said that to make him leave you alone…Unless you wanted to…” Dean stuttered out, his face turning red from his nose to his ears.

“Why would I want to flirt with Daniel? I have no romantic attractions to him,” Castiel said as if it was an obvious fact.

“Right…Angels don’t date do they?” Dean murmured out as he gripped the cart with both hands and strode with purpose down the next aisle. Castiel actually had to speed walk to keep up with him.

“That’s…that’s not exactly true…Dean, would you slow down? I can easily keep up but you’re missing things we need,” Castiel said, annoyance now clouding his tone.

“What’s not exactly true? And what did I miss? Oh, coffee…right.” Dean darted down the aisle, grabbing several canisters of coffee and filters. He grabbed creamer and sugar for Cas, who seemed to like his coffee very sweet. As he tossed the items in the cart, Castiel stopped it from moving with his foot on the bottom rack of it. He locked eyes with Dean, his own tight.

“That Angels don’t date. They don’t…I would, but I’m not an Angel’s Angel, remember? Besides, it would have to be the right person…” Cas said neutrally, his eyes dark as he glanced nervously at Dean before he wandered down the aisle as well.

Dean was so confused. This was the last time he brought Castiel along with him when he shopped. Flirtatious men and weird conversations didn’t happen to him when he was alone. He pushed the cart along, looking for Cas. He found him finally, grabbing a pie at the deli and he grinned to himself as he pushed the cart up. “Thanks…” Dean said quietly behind him.

“You’re welcome. Anything else we need?” Cas said as he placed an apple pie in the cart.

“No, let’s check out. Come on.”

After all the bags had been loaded up into the backseat of the Impala, Dean hesitated, his hand on the doorknob of the driver’s side. He looked at Cas, who was contemplatively looking out his window. They were both getting older. Even Cas, who Dean thought would never age. He’d never asked him about that…Dean gripped the doorknob and swung the door open to stick his head in.

“I forgot something. I’ll be right back,” Dean said casually before closing the door and jogging back inside. Castiel nodded once then continued staring out into the night sky.

It was about ten minutes later that Dean returned with something wrapped in several plastic grocery sacks. He shoved the lumpy item in Castiel’s lap before buckling up and squealing out of the parking lot, his eyes only for the road. Castiel slowly ripped off each plastic bag, revealing a plush bee holding a heart that said “Bee Mine”. Cas tilted his head to the side before side eyeing Dean.

“Is this for…” Castel said hesitantly.

“For you….” Dean said quietly, chewing on his bottom lip as he refused to meet his eyes.

“Are you asking me to be your Valentine?” Castiel said, a hint of a smile ghosting across his lips.

“Don’t be stupid,” Dean barked out then frowned as he saw Cas almost pout. “I’m not asking.”

“You’re so rude, Dean…It’s a good thing I love you despite it,” Castiel said softly, his fingers making the bee’s antennae wobble.

“I thank Chuck every day for that, Sweetheart…Now, how do we break it to Sam we’re going out tomorrow without him?” Dean said with a grin forming on his lips.


lynchy8  asked:

Hullo! For the prompt thing - number 18 with nurseydex :)

18: I’m alive…I can tell because of the pain.

Hello dear! I finally finished your ficlet - it ran away from me (like all my writing does). Have some fluffy NurseyDex sickfic featuring Derek “oh the agony” Nurse and Will “my bedside manner leaves something to be desired” Poindexter. Hope you like it and thanks for the prompt! :D <3 <3

Dex wasn’t worried when Nursey didn’t answer the text he sent on Sunday morning. Nursey’d left last night’s kegster early, claiming a headache; he’d had a huge paper due Friday followed by their game on Saturday, so he was probably sleeping in. Dex sent him a string of sleepy emojis and went to study with Chowder at Founders.

When Nursey didn’t reply to his text inviting him to lunch, Dex grew a little concerned, but ultimately brushed it off. Nursey was probably in the shower and would reply soon.

Lunch came and went, and Nursey still hadn’t responded. So Dex started calling.

“Hey loser, it’s me. Wondering when I’m going to get my daily lecture on how east coast hip-hop is better than west-coast hip-hop. Chowder and I are headed to the Haus. Call me? Love you.”

“You are missing the sickest game of Mario Kart. If you want to preserve your high score, you need to get your ass over here. Or just call me.”

“Derek, is everything okay? Call me if you need me.”

“Derek, it’s two in the fucking afternoon.  Have you gone unplugged and forgotten to tell me? Call when you get this.”

(more under the cut)

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anonymous asked:

Prompt: Mother's Day isn't the best or happiest day for most of the crew but jack try's her best to make everyone feel better. This year they've decided its her turn to be happy this Mother's Day. I feel like Gavin would really want to make hand made cards.

This one is adorable. Thank you so much for sending it to me :)

Jack never really thought about having kids. Being second-in-command to one of the most notorious crews in the city, the idea of bringing a child into her life right now seemed cruel. They’d constantly be in danger, constantly be on guard, and any form of normality for them would be behind a sheet of bullet proof glass.

Besides, keeping an eye on Geoff and his lost boys is kind of a full time job, and if this is what being a parent is like Jack’s not sure she’ll ever want kids.

It’s not all bad though, being a sort of surrogate mother to the crew. She’s never asked the others what their relationship with their parents is like, only knowing her own and a little of Geoff’s, but from the way Michael and Ryan seem to shy away from affection and the way Gavin seems to crave it, she has a pretty good idea how exactly these boys were raised.

They’re too old to have their cuts and bruises kissed, and she’s not stupid enough to try, but she does try to keep them mostly in one piece. She keeps the first aid kit fully stocked, she has Burnie’s number on speed dial just in case she can’t help them, and for the most part no one has died. It’s a win in her books.

She remembers birthdays and hounds Geoff during the holidays to get them something (even if it’s just a stack of money he chucks at their heads on the 24th). She keeps them in line during heists (or at least tries her hardest) and makes sure they get homes safe if they’ve been drinking. A few times she’s even dragged Geoff’s ass to bed after a bender, cursing him the entire time, but still leaving behind a glass of water and a couple aspirin on his nightstand.

She takes care of them, cleans up their messes, breaks up their arguments, stops Michael from killing Gavin, is there for them, and sometimes it’s worth the headaches for the good moments.

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Words: 2,132
Dean x Reader
Warnings: angst, anxiety, description of loss of family members
Requested by sunkitchi (“Hi! This is my first time actually submitting a request and I was wondering if you could do a Dean x Reader oneshot where Dean finds out that Reader has an intense crippling fear of thunderstorms?”) and shesgotnoworriesintheworld (Song fic based on Safe & Sound by Taylor Swift ft. The Civil Wars).

Your name: submit What is this?

”How’s the research coming?” Dean kicked the door closed behind him, arms filled with a case of beer and a paper grocery sack.

”Uggggggh,” you groaned and put your head down dramatically on the book that was splayed open in front of you.

Dean chuckled at the action. “You look like you could use a beer,” he said, setting the load of snacks down on the remaining space on the table that wasn’t occupied by piles of paper with your scribbles or stacks of old books.

You rubbed your hands over your face. “What I could use is some time out of this frickin’ hotel room. Sometimes I wonder if I should get trained up to go on the actual hunts with you guys,” you said, standing and stretching. “Research really isn’t as glamorous as it sounds.”

Dean frowned as he watched you sit down on the end of one of the beds and start pulling on your boots, starting to lace them up. “Yeah. But research is much safer than the actual hunts,” he said. He shut the door to the mini-fridge after he crammed the case of beer inside.

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Viva la Resistance || Fitz and Hunter


The first thing Fitz thought, as he fumbled his way past the minimal security on a corner drug store, was that he really needed to find a way to avoid having to steal basic necessities. Tonight was reddish-brown hair dye, ‘40s-red lipstick (both for Simmons), a beard trimmer for himself, and as much cheap instant food as he could carry. Not exactly a master example of a thief, but when you come from another universe and your counterpart is a household face near the top of Hydra’s scientific food chain, it was better not to be seen at all.

Dumping the hair dye, some basic hygiene supplies, and the makeup into a canvas grocery sack, he stopped. Had he just heard a noise? Fellow thief, law enforcement, an animal that had followed him in? An echo? Fitz wasn’t exactly Scott Lang, after all. His infiltration experience was limited to being on a team with ICERs for protection, and that was when he’d been taking his medication regularly. Here, in a world where people with his injury were euthanized (probably brutally) instead of treated, he had gotten clumsy. He froze, knowing not to call out, but switched off his stolen flashlight and waited, breathing far too loud for his comfort.

queeniedear  asked:

how about lolo and zhi 43!

“Why are you/we whispering?”

“Stand very still! Don’t move a single muscle!” Zhi whispered, eyes huge as he practically buried his nose into the cabbage that LoLo had just taken out of the grocery sack.

“Why are we whispering?” LoLo asked, keeping himself very still. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling down at the boy, though.

“It’s a cricket wasp,” Zhi breathed, moving his hands very slowly. “I want to catch it.”

“That’s the second time this week my produce has been buggy,” LoLo muttered, moving quietly over to the shelf where he kept different-sized clean jars with lids to be used as emergency specimen collectors. “I need to have a word with them.”

“It’s a marvelous development,” Zhi said, channeling his father. “I wish all of our vegetables came this way.”

“Hmmm,” was all LoLo said as he unscrewed the lid and carefully put the jar into Zhi’s outstretched hand.

anonymous asked:

Bucky at the pound.

“Steve! Oh my god, this one!” Bucky looks up from where he’s crouching on the floor next to the three-legged, skinny little mutt that’s trying to bite him as much as say hello. “He’s just like you! We’ve gotta take him home.”

“You said that about two more already.” Steve tries to keep the smile off his face, so relieved to see Bucky this alive again. 

He’s struggled to become habitually verbal again, battled nightmares and flashbacks and truly debilitating anxiety, along with the memory loss that’s plagued nearly every waking moment and left them both terrified of what each day will bring. But the suggestion of getting a pet had perked him up like nothing else, and seeing him so relaxed is threatening to make Steve adopt the entire pound just to keep that energy alive.

“I know, but this one.” It’s the ugliest fucking dog in the world, but Bucky looks like he wants to cradle it to his chest and keep it forever. “He reminds me of you.”

Steve regards the mangy-looking tiny thing with its long snout and sandy coat and one flopped-over ear, then looks at the first really big, genuine grin he’s seen from Bucky since he came in from the cold, and tilts his head with a fond little sigh. He’s a fucking sucker. The little bastard does look kind of like him before the serum. Maybe

“You’re looking after it, I’m not picking up poop.” Bucky isn’t listening, too busy cooing at the horrible little thing where it’s trying to chew his metal fingers to shreds. “What d’you wanna name him?”

“I…” Bucky’s eyes unfocus for a second, he disappears somewhere before he’s back in his head, smiling a little more tentatively this time because he’s not sure of himself. “Rocky? Didn’t we… I think… There was a dog called Rocky?”

“Mr Greenberg’s, we used to work at his grocery store when we were teenagers. The dog was a hundred years old and napped in the back all day, not much of a guard.” The corners of Steve’s mouth quirk up as he remembers catching Bucky napping at the end of his shift, lying on a pile of grocery sacks with the dog lying on him without a care in the world. He’d forgotten about that until now. 

“Perfect. Rocky it is.” Bucky nods decisively and holds his flesh hand out for the mutt to smell, looking up triumphantly when he gets a lick to the palm instead of teeth. “He says it’s a deal.”

Steve tries to be rational (how the fuck can they handle a dog when Bucky can hardly function half the time?), but he can’t stop smiling. It’s the first time he’s seen the man he loves happy in what’s apparently been seventy years, he figures they’re entitled to be a little irrational about it. 

Mike Nesmith recalls a bizarre incident during the Monkees’ 1969 tour in Mexico

(from “Hey, Hey, We’re The Monkees”)

We got a call from a guy down in Mexico. “We want the Monkees to come play.” “Well, it’s thousands and thousands of dollars. How legitimate are you?” “I’m really legitimate.” “Well, what’s the venue?” “It’s a 600-seat nightclub.” “No, you don’t understand—we would play the bull ring.” He said, “No, you don’t understand. For a nightclub, I’m gonna give you more than you ever made in any stadium you ever played.” And the agent says, “Well, fly up here with the money in a suitcase,” and the guy does.

We get down there and, for starters, the tickets were $1,000 a piece—that’s not the real number, but it was some number like that. For another, he’s selling bottles of champagne for like $1,200. His family’s there, three little girls, eight, nine, and twelve years old, in crisp, white, crinoline dresses, and their hair all done up with tiaras. I thought, “This really has gone into the zone. I don’t know what’s happening here.” As I live and breath, I swear to you this is the truth, the parking lot was carpeted with red carpet, and it’s a 200-car parking lot, too. We leave this club in Mexico City and travel to Guadalajara to play the bull ring, to fewer people, it seems, than saw us in the club. We’re backed up by an all-black, ex-Ike and Tina Turner, James Brown-type band that Davy and Micky found, Sam and the Goodtimers. By now we are frilled and laced and the costumes had gotten more and more bizarre and I think I had little buttons on the hat I’m wearing and it’s just really gone into Marie Antoinette time.

Afterwards, we go back to Mexico City and we got a day to wait before we play at this club again. We’re staying at a hotel that’s on the plaza, which is across from the President’s residence. We get this call that says, “There’s gonna be a student demonstration, so be careful because the President has given the order to the military to fire on the students if they get out of line.” And of course this is mind-boggling to me because I’m down there as one of the Monkees. So the next morning I get up and I’m curious to know why the students are revolting. I’m watching through my window as buses arrive and uniformed guards line the square, shoulder to shoulder. Command centers are set up, but the students never materialize. It’s an extraordinary view, and I think, “I’m gonna get my camera and take some pictures of this.” With the long lens, I can see that the soldiers are in differing stages of disarray, which includes uniforms with missing buttons, things hanging off, belts askew, the wrong type of shoes, and so forth. I take a couple of pictures, put the camera away, and there’s a knock on my door. I open the door and these two guys say, “Were you just taking a picture?” I said, “Yeah.” They say, “Let us have the film.” And I said, “I’m not gonna do any such thing.” And they say, “Give us the film right now or you’re gonna go to jail.” And I said, “I’m an American citizen. You can’t do this to me.” They come into the room. They get my camera, open it, take the film and leave. You cannot say, “I’m one of the Monkees,” and have it mean anything other than peals of laughter. Nobody’s gonna say, “Oh, well, here’s the film back.” So I’m just mute.

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anonymous asked:

Grapholagnia :)

Send me a word and I will write a drabble

Grapholagnia - The urge to stare at obscene pictures.

Are you the Anon who sent the request for mentally undressing also? I’m working on it. It may actually be a follow-on to this one. I sense that someone wants me to write smut…

Let me just say: I REGRET NOTHING!!! RATED M for ogling, drooling, disobedient pants, and potential future continuations.

The giggling draws me in. The girlish, bubbling noise out of place with the scent of chemical cleaners and formaldehyde that still lingers in the air. They scramble as they sense my approach, aware of their impending doom in the last second as I hold my hand out expectantly and confiscate the folder concealing whatever has distracted them from Rue’s hands. She averts her eyes, her cheeks darkening with an embarrassed flush as she hands it over to me.

“Please continue your work,” I calmly state in my best teacher voice.

“Yes, Miss Everdeen,” Rue and Sasha whisper in unison, bending their heads over their desks, pencils scratching away, completing their lab reports. With a satisfied nod, I return to the board, detailing their homework assignment as my class continues their quiet work.

Keep reading


He had barreled in as soon as you had barely turned the doorknob. He set the brown sack of groceries down on the counter. 

“Alright, they didn’t have those weird veggie chips you wanted so you’re gonna have to deal with these rice cracker things that–” he was half turned around, mid-sentence when you splashed him in the face with holy water. He froze, except for the fluttering of his eyelashes to clear away the water. “Are you freakin’ kidding me, Y/N?!”

You were biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. “I thought maybe you were a demon.”

“You knew damn well that I wasn’t a demon!” he said angrily, mopping his face off with his sleeve.

“You could have been,” you said, now unable to stop from breaking into a wide grin. “Hehehe…”

He set his jaw and looked at you. “Oh, you’re dead.”

“WHATEVER! You’ve done that to me SO MANY TIMES!”

“You’re dead!” he said again, lunging at you and grabbing you around the waist as you made a sudden move, trying to escape. But his strong arms closed around you quickly and he pulled you back against him as you were struggling and laughing, feeling droplets of holy water cast off of him landing on you.

You continued to struggle now laughing with glee at his reaction as you suddenly felt his face next to yours and his breath against your neck, sending goosebumps running up your spine. Now you froze.

His deep voice sounded right next to your ear in a gruff whisper. “You’re gonna pay for that… probably later tonight,” he said. And you could hear the mischievous smile in his voice now too.

You bit your bottom lip as you smiled again, feeling your heart racing strong in your chest and his doing the same. You were still frozen and pressed against him. “I look forward to it.”

Happy Thanksgiving, Supercat Fandom!

Cat had never minded working on the holidays. It put productivity into an otherwise wasted day. At least, that’s what she told herself to cover the disappointment of being alone. She would take up the entire day with overseas conference calls. This year was different, however, this year she wasn’t working.

Cat wanted to be working, anything to blunt the suffocating loneliness. Carter was with his father as usual on Thanksgiving. Adam was on a trip with his new girlfriend. Cat had always been alone on this particular useless holiday, so she had always worked. Except this year she didn’t have a job.

Going into the kitchen, she poured herself a drink and leaned back against the counter, taking a sip. Cat checked the clock with a small turn of her head. It was getting late and soon she could go to bed and forget this day.

The slight woman began to slowly pace the house, thinking to herself. She had taken this leave to find herself, find new direction and new purpose. To find something, to dive. The internal frustration increased with every passing day. Cat couldn’t figure it out, simply couldn’t put her finger on what would make her happy or what it meant for her to dive.

As she continued her mental wondering, a face flashed through Cat’s mind. Kara’s face, fair and smiling with those beautiful blue eyes, long hair falling over her shoulders.

Cat closed her eyes and took another sip of her drink, attempting to chase the image away. She could never stop herself from thinking that maybe the thing she was searching so hard for had been right there the entire time, staring at her with those piercing blue orbs. Maybe if Cat had only had the courage to…

Just then there was a knock at the door. Cat put her drink down, a little annoyed at the interruption of her inner musings. Walking across the house to the foyer, she opened the door.

Her green eyes met the blue ones she had been dreaming about and Cat’s lips parted with surprise. She smiled slowly and said quietly, “Hi.”

Kara gave an anxious smile back. “Hi, Ms. Grant. I, uh,” Cat saw that Kara was obviously nervous. “I know Carter is usually gone on Thanksgiving, and…” She trailed off, unable to take her eyes off Cat.

Cat’s lips turned up a little more and she wondered how Kara could be so completely adorable and utterly beautiful at the same time. Glancing down to the grocery sack in Kara’s arm, Cat pointed and asked, “What’s that?”

Kara’s wide eyes flitted to the bag and back up. “Um, well, I, uh,” her voice was quiet like it always was when she stammered in front of Cat.

“Kara,” Cat said gently.

There was a pause between them before Kara stood up a little straighter. “I know it’s getting late, but I brought some of the food we made earlier and I was hoping we could have Thanksgiving dinner together.”

Cat’s features softened with each word and she looked at the floor for a moment, touched at the gesture. When she looked back up, Kara told her, “I’m so thankful for you, Ms. Grant, and there are so many things I wish I would have told you before you left.”

Cat responded, simply, “Me, too.” Suddenly, Cat realized what diving really was. It was taking the ultimate risk. For her, that meant only one thing.

Reaching out, Cat took the bag from Kara’s arm and set it on the small table next to the door. Then she hooked two of her fingers over the hem of Kara’s slacks and pulled her through the doorway.

Kara smiled fully as she crossed the threshold and lifted her hands to gently touch Cat’s face. Cat leaned forward as she pushed the door closed, closing the distance between them to press a tender kiss to Kara’s lips. It was time to dive.

anonymous asked:

What are your headcanons about James and Lily's cat.

def a mangy stray kitten james brought home in a grocery sack one day

his name was elvendork, which was pregnant lily’s concession to james

was ridiculously fond of sirius black

caught mice and left them on lily’s pillow

maybe fetched bacon sandwiches

loved to steal licks of butterbeer if a mug was left lying around

refused to eat dry cat food & would only drink from the bathroom tap

the potters replaced their draperies often because the cat loved to destroy them

ACTUALLY SPEAKING the cat was a holy terror but they loved him so much

scratched up james’s broomstick once. james didn’t speak to her for two weeks

took frequent naps inside lily’s spare cauldrons

loved the family owl and shadowed her and tried to play with her and getting pecked was not even a little bit of a deterrent

was very protective of pregnant lily

was absolutely not fond of baby harry

spent a lot of time in hiding after harry learned to crawl around


Carrying a sack of groceries after swinging by the market, Brent surveyed the buildings before him. Glancing over the numbers, he stepped up the stairs of the porch to one of them, extending his empty hand outward to ring the doorbell. He’d kept up correspondence with his uncle Henry over the past year while he was in Korea, after ensuring strict confidentiality that the older man wouldn’t reveal Brent’s location. He was a safe bet when all components were considered. Interaction with his estranged uncle had been sparse, a seven year lapse between the ages of eleven and eighteen until Brent reached out to arrange a meeting between them. 

Henry was a good man, enough so that Brent could trust him to keep a secret and to feed him information when he could, but there was enough distance between them that he didn’t know Brent well enough that he could read him. He wouldn’t pass as much judgment. He was worth visiting and checking up on for more than one reason, especially now that momentarily Richard was taken out of he equation entirely. It had been nearly a week and not much progress had been made, ye it was enough to compel Brent to visit.

But if Henry was anything like him, he wouldn’t want to meet again in a restaurant like they had previously. So he would bring the food to him. It was the least he could do considering he doubted that he could provide all that great of company. 

(This photo is not mine. If you’d like to reblog just the picture, reblog from this post.)

For @mrs-chanandler-bong21. <3 Thank you for sending this my way.

More Than Ever Dreamed

Vacationing with a toddler is an interesting experience.

It’s different when they go to the Hamptons. The nursery has been set up since before Lily was born, and they make sure to stock the house with the essentials – diapers and wipes, the milk she likes, fruits and veggies – beforehand. They still haul an impressive amount of stuff between Manhattan and their beach house, but it’s almost always extra clothes and toys, things to keep their daughter occupied.

But bringing the baby to Europe with them has been easier, maybe even better, than she had expected. They don’t have a car or a spacious trunk to cart everything Lily could possibly want, but even without her twelve favorite stuffed animals, her light up play pad, and every bath toy she owns, they’ve been getting along just fine.

It probably doesn’t hurt that she has already charmed her way into getting three toys and two adorable new outfits from town since they arrived four days ago.

Kate Beckett knows she’s a sucker for her daughter’s sweet little pout, but she’s not alone; Castle has been the one whipping out the credit card any time Lily so much as looks at a doll, car, or stuffed animal.

Thankfully they managed to make it down to the market and back today with only minimal damage to their parental resolve.

Halfway back, Lily’s happy chatter had slowed, and she had nuzzled her nose into the crook of Kate’s neck and drifted off.

“You want me to put her in the crib?” Castle offers once he lowers their grocery sack onto the kitchen counter of the house they’re renting for duration of their stay. They had been fortunate to find this place; it has everything they need, including a sweet, airy nursery for the baby.

“No, no,” she hums, brushing her lips across Lily’s hairline. It isn’t particularly warm today, but the walk was sunny and they’re both a little damp with sweat. “I was going to put her in our bed after we unload this stuff, maybe shut my eyes for a few minutes, too.”

Her husband smiles, leaning across the island to steal a kiss from her mouth. “Kay. Go on, I got this.”

She hums, returning the gentle press. “Thanks, Castle.”

He wakes her an hour and a half later with another soft kiss and a cup of coffee.

“Hey, didn’t think you wanted to sleep too long,” he whispers, pushing a wild strand of hair behind her ear.

“Mmm, no, you thought right.” She smothers a yawn anyway. “Thanks.”

Castle stands, giving her room to scoot from the mattress and get to her feet. “I also took the liberty of preparing a cheese and bread tray for us to have along with our coffee. It’s waiting outside for us.”

Her stomach rumbles in anticipation, but she doesn’t hustle from the room to get to the food. Instead, she curls her arms around her husband’s waist, stepping into the wall of his chest.

“That’s perfect, Babe. And when Lily wakes up, she’ll probably want some too.”

Castle’s large hands trail up her back. “There’s no keeping the cheese monster from the muenster.”

Kate groans. “Castle.”

He grins into her hair. “It’s a little funny, Beckett. You know it is.”

Lily sleeps on, oblivious to her father’s terrible sense of humor.

“Not even a tiny bit,” she denies, shaking her head. “That may be the worst of your dad jokes so far.”

He chuckles, pulling her closer. “Lily likes them.”

“Lily’s thirteen months old, Castle. She likes when you gobble her belly, too.”


They share a grin, turning their attention to the girl sleeping sideways in the middle of the bed. She had been a surprise – a complete surprise – but she’s made their world so bright, so full. More than Kate had ever thought possible.

“Come on,” Rick hums finally. “We’ll hear her when she wakes up.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, but it doesn’t stop the sigh from escaping her lungs. Watching her daughter sleep never fails to be hypnotic, calming.

They take care to barricade the edges of the bed with the pillow shams and decorative cushions, lest Lily roll, before leaning over and dusting a kiss to their little girl’s head.

“Sleep well, sprout,” Castle whispers. “Yell if you need us.”

Kate brushes her hand down his back, waiting until he straightens to take his hand.

Together they retreat through the French doors to the balcony, settling into a cozy lounge chair to enjoy the afternoon breeze, a plate of snacks, their coffees, and each other.

At least until a certain someone bellows a single word,



Yep, definitely interesting.