spinzgirl  asked:

New girl in school claims to be dating Chat Noir, and Adrien is curious as to why it seems to bother Marinette so much.

So, this went a bit sideways.  I hope you like it anyway!

“Oh my god!  Alya!  For the last time, Amelie is not dating Chat Noir!”

“Alright, girl! Simmer down.  Right now, I have it tagged as an unsubstantiated rumor.  If—”

When,” Marinette interjected vehemently.

Alya rolled her eyes. “—or when we get confirmation one way or the other, I will update the post and its tags.  Until then, it stands.”

“Fine.  But I’m telling you now, it’s not true.” Marinette crossed her arms with a humpf and slouched in her seat.  “What is it with new girls and lying, anyway?  First Lila, two years ago, and now Amelie.  It’s ridiculous.”

“Hey!”  Alya knocked the back of her hand against Marinette’s shoulder in mock indignation.  “It wasn’t so long ago that I was the new girl!”

“Did I say your name? No, because apparently you were the last New Girl to have a decent moral compass.”

Adrien studied Marinette’s expression curiously.  She was right, of course, but why was she so sure?  How did she know?  And why did it seem to bother her so much?

“Dude, why are you freaking out over this?” Nino asked, echoing Adrien’s own thoughts.  “I thought you weren’t into the whole Ladynoir thing.”

Surprisingly, Marinette’s first reaction was to blush.  

A lot.

“I’m—I’m not!  I just hate it when people lie, and I hate it more when their lies involve other people.  What if Chat Noir did have a girlfriend, and these lies got back to her?”

“Valid, but only based on the assumption that the new girl is lying.”

“She is lying!”

Nino and Alya both groaned, but Adrien only tilted his head curiously.  “What makes you so sure?”

Her eyes widened, and darted to the side.  “I just am.”

Adrien accepted her answer and let it drop.

For the moment, anyway.

Keep reading

The price of hard work

Check Please, following Bitty’s jam debacle

Lardo sighed. Immediately, Bitty set the ingredients on the counter and turned around, caretaker instincts on full alert.

‘Lardo? What is it?’

‘Humpf. I need to price my art, and it sucks,’ she mumbled, drawing a duckling on the margin of her list. ‘Needs to be done before the end of year expo, but honestly? I’d rather give the lot and don’t bother with money.’

‘Larissa Duan! You spent the entire semester on these! You can’t just give them away!’

‘… Yeah but I like making art.’

‘It’s still work! You should be paid for that effort! And all the money you spent on supplies- lord I can’t even imagine how much those gigantic canvases are. Weren’t you complaining about how expensive good paint is just the other day?’

‘Yeah, I guess so. So, you’re saying all good work deserves remuneration?’

‘Of course!’

‘So you should get paid for your jam.’

‘Wait what- no! Not me! This is completely different-’

‘Hm. I tried. Shits, your turn.’

At that same moment, Shitty enters the kitchen, dressed only in a pair of Falconers boxers and a black tshirt that belonged to Lardo, which fit him like a crop top. Bitty didn’t even know he was at Samwell that day. 

‘Eric Bitty Bittleman The Second, tiny bro of my heart, maker of the pies, we need to talk.’

‘If this is about the jam, I already told the Falcs I didn’t want to be paid-’

‘I’m here to talk to you about market pricing, my man. There are other people, out there, working their asses off to make delicious jam, and they love doing it as much as you do. But those bros, bro, are actually depending on it to pay the rent. What you’re doing, here, is depreciating the value of jam, and convincing fans of said jam that they can have an product of excellent quality- for FREE! This is bad for business, Bits, this can even come back and bite you in the ass when you open a bakery. You don’t want to hurt future you and your fellow bakers, don’t you?’

Bitty stays silent for a moment, mouth wide open.

‘I- I didn’t think of it like that! I was just, you know, in the zone, you know how I get? And then there was all this jam, and I know the team would make a good effort, but they couldn’t seriously eat it all? But, I didn’t know it actually had an impact on the economy?’

‘Well, now that they know where to find delicious jam and baked goods for free, do you think the Falcs, their families and the SMH are going to get it elsewhere?’

Bitty bit his lip and looked at his hands.

‘I just wanted to make them happy. I love feeding people.’

‘And you can! You still can! I’m not saying you can’t make gifts once in a while or bake for your friends, I’m just saying there’s a line at some point.’

‘Yeah, I guess you’re right. But I know nothing about- about pricing! Lardo, how do you even manage with art?’

‘I use my resources, man,’ she said, snapping her fingers.

At that moment, Ransom and Holster barged into the kitchen, both carrying their laptops.

‘Boys? Were you all waiting in the hallway?’

‘No time for chitchat, Bits, time is money,’ says Holster, straddling a chair backwards in front of him. ‘We’re here to help.’

‘I got a spreadsheet here,’ says Ransom, sliding his laptop. ‘Compiling ingredient prices, electricity for the oven, mason jar prices, transport from Samwell to Providence and your work time, from the moment you went to buy those fruits until you closed your last mason jar.’

‘That- that is a lot of time.’

‘Wish I had that kind of concentration for studying law,’ grumbled Shitty.

‘It’s not all,’ continued Ransom. ‘This second sheet calculates the prices of similar products from spots around Samwell and Providence, from the Stop N’ Shop to the fancy little cafés and farmers market near Jack’s house.’

‘Wait, did Jack sent you those?’

‘Brah, Jack ASKED US to do this,’ said Holster with a roll of his eyes.

‘So, here are the prices of a single jam unit- counting the ingredients and the mason jar,’ said Ransom, before clicking on another Excel page, ‘and this is the price of each if one calculates the time worked, compared to what bakers and cooks make in those same cafés and suppliers.’

‘…I- I understand wanting to keep the market, and paying for the ingredients,’ hesitated Bitty, ‘but I’m still not sure I want to be paid to bake?’

‘I’m gonna give away every single one of my art pieces,’ said Lardo, doodling more ducklings. 

‘… Alright, alright, I think I get it. I’ll just put the money in the Haus funds, since I took pretty much all of it to pay for the ingredients.’

‘You put back what you took and you keep the rest,’ said Shitty. ‘Do you really want to graduate without a cent in the bank and live off of Jack’s salary?’

‘What? No! Of course not!’

‘So start making dough, my boy. That future bakery won’t finance itself, you know.’

‘Also, people respect a product if they have to pay a reasonable price for it,’ commented Holster. ‘You don’t want to ruin your reputation from the get go. Honestly I’d suggest asking for more, since it’s also fucking delicious and a secret family recipe and organic shit people are crazy about, but we’ll work our way up there over the years.’

‘Here, I got the price per unit, what everyone bought listed hockey team, then alphabetically, the total, subtracting what was borrowed to the Sin Bin fund- that makes-’


‘Well, it WAS a shit ton of jam,’ shrugged Lardo.

‘And hard work, too,’ added Shitty. ‘So, do you accept?’

‘Well, I guess? Y’all make a lot of good points…’

‘Sweet,’ said Lardo, sending a text.

A moment later, Bitty’s cell phone vibrated with a message. His bank application signalled that someone transferred him funds- 

‘How did Jack know exactly how much to send???’

‘Told ya, Bits, it was all his idea,’ said Shitty. ‘And the Falcs have been giving him money, even hiding it in the pockets of his hockey bag, to pay for their stuff. He just wanted to make sure you were on board with it.’

Bitty didn’t know what to feel about all this, he was still insecure about pricing his jam - and his pies, cookies, muffins and other pastries, if one was to believe Ransom’s other Excel spread sheet- but the reality was that he was now five thousand dollars closer to open his own bakery, someday.

Returning the Favor

Characters: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: The next morning (after the events of “Beard Burn”), Steve’s girlfriend returns the favor ;)))

A/N: this is intended as the sequel to Beard Burn! Yay! Look i finished something that i promised i would do! Thanks again all you beautiful people for getting “Beard Burn” over 1k notes.  That’s crazy,,,

Warnings: all smut, some fluff.  oral sex (mr), language

Words: 2260

tags: @feelmyroarrrr @sistasarah-sallysaidso @daybreak96 @doct0rstrange @trade-baby-blues @yourtropegirl @lipstickandwhiskey @captainumeboshi @emily-james-barnes

also: @bkwrm523 you seemed excited about this ;)

and @daughterofthebrowncoats i dk i just tag you in everything and this is blowjobs ;)

Read Part One Here

(I should have used this gif for the first one dammit)

The next morning, you wake before Steve, eyes fluttering open against the annoying morning sun; you’d forgotten to close the blinds last night.  You groan and roll over onto your back, hitting Steve, who immediately wraps an arm around your stomach.  You glance up at him, expecting to find him awake, but he’s still fast asleep on his side, one arm bunched under his pillow, the other now lazily thrown across your stomach.  You smile and reach a hand up to run through his beard.  He looked so cute like this, his mouth open, lightly snoring, eyes squeezed shut against the sun.

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Nurse Damon

Originally posted by theeskyisthelimit

Damon x Reader

You wailed and plopped your head on your arms. Elena, Caroline and Bonnie were staring at you, you could feel their stares seeping into you and had you felt well enough you would have sat back up and pretended to be fine.

“I told her she was too ill!” Caroline stage whispered to the others who muttered to each other and before you realised it you had been traipsed off to the nurse’s office.

“My parents aren’t home.” You grumbled groggily, unsure if anyone was still in the room with you as you lay down.

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@omgcpwinterextravaganza | december 1; gift exchange 

spreadsheets to make it easy [ao3]

unbeta’d and late as is usual (~4200 words) 

Justin isn’t sure what he expects when he clicks on an email with the subject Adopt a Child for the Holidays! , but he’s not that surprised when the link inside brings him to the homepage of a local orphanage. He’s more surprised than he’d like to admit outside of his own head when it’s a link for donating a holiday present to a child rather than actually adopting a kid for the holiday month, but he blames that on the fact that he’s been in a youtube spiral since he got home from work at lunch and has apparently forgotten how to think for himself.

He eats the sandwich he made for dinner one handed while he skims through the page, looking at the pictures of kids of all ages decked out in holiday reds and greens and blues and whites, smiling or making faces at the camera. The captions on the photos say that they were taken from last year’s party, the first time the orphanage was able to do a holiday party, if the captions are to be believed and Justin hasn’t accidentally opened a virus again by clicking on a link from an unknown source. He doesn’t remember giving out his email address to any orphanages, but then again Holster never remembers his own email address half the time so he uses Justin’s to sign up for things. At least if this is clickbait, it’s probably Holster’s fault time.

The more he clicks through the tabs though, the more Justin thinks this is probably a legit orphanage looking for donations in order to make sure they can purchase enough gifts for the kids who will be there through the holiday season. He’s staring at the bright red ADOPT-A-CHILD button that’s been on the side of every page when Holster kicks open the front door of their apartment.

“Hey, fuck daylight savings,” Holster says in lieu of a greeting. It comes out a little muffled; he’s got a scarf wrapped around the bottom half of his face to fight the wind, but he shucks that off easily enough and throws it on top of the chair they’ve been using as a coat stand since the weather’s turned cold. His jacket goes on top of it. Justin would be more annoyed if they weren’t the same size in outerwear and wore each other’s interchangeably. Holster continues, “It’s like barely 6pm and it feels like midnight, I hate it.” He kicks his shoes at the wall, letting them fall on top of Justin’s neatly placed shoes. That actually annoys him so he glares at Holster until he bends and fixes them.

“And it’s dark and cold, and I had to talk to Margaret about her daughter for fucking ever,” Holster continues talking all the while he passes the kitchen and goes into his room to change out of his work clothes.

Keep reading



“Do ye no’ listen to a damn word I say?” Jamie said, shaking salt on his chips.

“I’m not the meek and obedient type,” Claire said, splashing vinegar all over.  She tore off a piece of fish and popped it into her mouth.  

“I specifically asked ye not to come.  Not to talk to her.”  

They sat in a Fish and Chip shop close to New Scotland Yard.  The place was small.  Warm.  Tables pressed tightly together.  They sat side by side.  

Jamie said he couldn’t sit across from Claire.  He said he could never fit behind the person at the next table.  

Claire didn’t care what his excuse was.  She pressed her leg into his. 

“I never agreed to that,” Claire said around a mouthful of food.  

“Aye, ye did!” Jamie pointed a chip at her before eating it.

“No,” Claire was smug.  “I didn’t.  I climbed on top of you instead of answering.”

She watched as his memory ran through the conversation and subsequent action from that night.  His posture relaxed.  “Aye.  Ye wee vixen, ye did.”  He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the lips.  “Mmmm. Vinegar.”  

“Still,” he shook his head in disbelief.  “Next time warn a man.  I nearly died seein’ ye out front touchin’ her hand.”

He reached for a pen.  “Tell me again what ye saw when ye touched her.”

“Um,” Claire swallowed.  Reached over to stay his hand.  “Wrong book, hon.”

Jamie stopped.  Hon. He shook his head at the endearment.  Smiled to himself.  So, Claire Randall.  Have I softened yer heart a wee bit?  

He wiped his hands on a napkin.  “Aye.  Thank ye.”  He dug into his pocket for the caramel coloured notebook.  

“She was in the hospital.  The priest had come to visit, but he was mainly focused on talking to her husband.  It was like she wasn’t there.  She was trying to explain that they could keep up the chemotherapy, and do what the priest wanted, but he ignored her.  Kept quoting scripture.”

“What did he look like?”  Jamie’s pen was poised.  “Did ye glean a name?”

“I couldn’t see his face.  He was a big man, though.”  Claire closed her eyes in concentration.  “No.  No name.”

Jamie scribbled and Claire took another bite.  “I’m surprised Reverend Campbell didn’t tell you who it was.”

“Aye.  Weel.”  Jamie said around a mouthful of chips. “He’s scared of the man, whoever he is.  He wouldna say a word without a lawyer.  Chief Inspector is no’ happy wi’ me right now.  Stirring up the church and such.”  

“Jamie?”  Claire worried that her part in all of this would backfire.  “Chief Inspector Grey….does he know about me?”

Jamie nodded, swallowing his bite.  “Aye.  He kens I have ye workin’ with me.  Ye ken that.  Ye heard me on the phone the other day.”

“I mean,” Claire pushed her food away from her, “does he know about me.”

“Ye mean yer gift?”  Jamie shook his head, “No.  I’ve told no one.”

Claire relaxed.  Jamie reached for her food.  Pulled it closer to her.  

He leaned into her shoulder, whispered in her ear.  “Now eat up.  I’ll be wanting to see ye home.”

“Such a gentleman,” Claire whispered back.  

“Och. No.  There will be nothin’ gentlemanly about what I do to ye when I get ye there.”  

D.C. Mohr gave Jamie a look across the room.  Tapped the side of his head.

Jamie cocked his head to the side in agreement.  This priest was as odd as they came.  Jamie and Angus were continuing to interview the Parish staff.  Jamie was purposely leaving the secretary until the end.  He could tell she was anxious.  Nervous.  

He wanted her near to breaking.  

At this point, he and Angus had been trying to talk to the man for the past half hour but he kept going off on these tangents.  

Father Fogden, despite his strong resemblance to St. Francis of Assisi, was not the picture of priesthood.  He rambled incoherently most of the time.  

Ramblings that yielded some interesting comments in between.  

“One must make sure that the sheep are taken care of, that the flock is tended.  The world is full of wolves, wolves that threaten our sheep.  Curses.  Plagues.  Trials.  Hardship.  Burden.  Affliction.  Misery.  Woe.  Tribulation.  Misfortune.  Pain.”  

Jamie was scribbling furiously.  

“You would know him.”

Jamie stopped writing.  The Priest was staring at him intensely.  “You would know him.  Aren’t you Scottish?  You would know him.  Bone.  The Slayer.” 

Jamie was frozen to the spot.  Riveted.  “How would being Scottish help me know him, Father?”  He shot a quick glance at Angus. 

Fogden blinked suddenly, as if he’d just noticed Jamie and Angus. “We have guests!  What great fortune!”  

He yelled over his shoulder to the outer office, “Can we have something to serve our guests?”

He turned to Jamie.  “Do you like Sangria?”

“No, thank ye, Father,” Jamie said, coming out of his shock.  “Can ye tell us if ye’ve recently been in the old chapel on the grounds?”

The man’s back went ramrod straight in his chair.

“Oh no.  No, not at all.”  His black eyes fixed on Jamie.


Jamie felt a chill run down his spine.  

“Spirits, Father?”  Jamie watched as the priest swayed a little in his chair.  “Father!  What do ye mean, spirits?”

The cleric slumped over, head lolling forward.  

Both officers’ heads swiveled to the door as the parish secretary came in the room carrying a tray of tea.  

“What’s wrong wi’ him?” Jamie asked, voice concerned.

“Drunk,” she said.  And set the tray down with a clatter.

“Read the words to me again,” Claire said, pencil poised.

They were in Claire’s office at the morgue.  It was quiet there.  Private.  

Jamie ran through the list for the third time.  Claire wrote down only the words that spoke to her.

Jamie was fascinated.  He read them slowly.  Her eyes were closed in concentration, “listening” more to her inner voice than his.  She would shake her head if the word didn’t resonant.  Write furiously if it did.  

She brought it down to four words.  With the last two that she swore were connected to his name.  

Trials.  Hardship.  Woe.  Pain.

Bone.  The Slayer.

“And he said you should know him because you’re Scottish, is that right?”

“Humpf,” Jamie grunted. 

“Aye….hold on.”  Jamie stopped and dug through his book for a sheet of paper.   

Claire’s mind was a chaotic mass of sensations.  

“Synonyms,” she mumbled.  “That much is clear.  And for you to know must mean that the words are Scottish in origin.  But words don’t derive from Gaelic.  They come from Latin or Greek.”  

She sighed.  Looked up from her notes. 

“I’m sorry, Jamie.  It’s all too much.”

Jamie was staring at the paper.  

Jaw clenched.  Muscular throat working.

“Why that slippery wee bastard.”

Jamie snapped his notebook closed.  

“What?” Claire got up from her chair to look over his shoulder.  “What did you find?”

He bolted before she could see.

“I’ve got to go.”  Jamie’s long strides took him to the door of the morgue.  He pushed open the door.  Stopped.  Walked back. 

Kissed her firmly on the lips.

“Call ye later.”

And he was gone. 

Claire placed a hand to her lips.  

God.  No.  He can’t be walking into THAT.  

Claire grabbed her medical bag.  Searched it.

Dammit.  She’d need a couple of medicines before she could show up there.  Time was of the essence.  

The hospital was two blocks from the morgue.  She ran the whole way, driven by fear.

Panting heavily she made her way to the pharmacy.  

She was commanding.  Authoritative.  With an air of the busiest of doctors. She got what she needed.  Bypassing paperwork.  Bypassing protocol.  

Bypassing questions.  

Catapulted into action she didn’t even hesitate when the unknown number rang her phone.  

“I know it’s you!” she half-shouted into the phone.  “Detective Inspector James Fraser is on his way!”  

She heard a sharp sob on the other end.  

“What’s happening?” Claire asked.

A small voice answered.  It was the secretary at the school.

“He’s going to kill him.”


By: ProMarvelFanGirl

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky just wants to watch the Dodgers game.

A/n:  This is for @just-some-drabbles 4k Follower Rom-Com Challenge!  Congrats on 4k it is well deserved!  I had been looking for a reason to write this fic and when I saw ‘loner’ on the prompt list, I knew I had found my chance :)

He looked amazing, his dark hair pulled back into a neat bun, his muscular arms were propped up on the dark wood of the bar, a glass of scotch held loosely in his right hand, he looked every bit a male model.  The simple grey sweater he wore clung to his body, showing his dedication to the gym.  He had caught the eye of almost every girl in the room from the minute he sat down, but his focus was solely on the flat screen tv that hung over the bar in front of him.  The yankee’s baseball game played on in silence but held his full attention.

A busty blond with big blue eyes had clocked him the moment he had walked in, she knew she had the eyes of every straight man in the room, her tight red dress was like a second skin draped over her body.  She threw her shoulders back and marched up to the mysterious man, the man who seemed to not even realize she was in the room.

Sidling up beside him she fixes him with a smooth smile, “Hello there handsome, buy me a drink?”

He didn’t even turn to look at her when he shook his head. “Not tonight ma’am.”

Letting out a huff and giving him a look of confusion, she turned away from the bar and met the eyes on a man across the room and made him the sole focus of her attention.  

Keep reading



They refused to answer questions for Chief Inspector Grey.  They refused to talk to Jamie. They refused to allow anyone to touch their son.

In the end, Claire asked to see the death certificate only to discover that no doctor had been called to declare the young man dead.  That tiny loophole gave her the leverage she needed to have the Coroner request an autopsy.

Which was how she found herself in the morgue, just her and the young boy on the table.  It was late.  

She did her best work in the silence.

She cleared her mind, and closed her eyes.  Nothing.  

She took his hand, held it gently for a moment.  


So many prayers surrounded this child.  There was some comfort in that, perhaps.  

She took a deep breath, adjusted her microphone, and began.


“Are ye sayin’ it was a natural death?”  Jamie was confused.  He looked at the notes he’d made in his book as he devoured his fourth piece of pizza.

Claire had come home from the morgue tired and hungry.  So hungry she’d stopped and grabbed a pizza from the corner restaurant.  Turning up her walk she found a tall, red headed Scotsman sitting on her front steps.  

She was embarrassed at how happy it made her.  

“Yes.  You’ll get the official report soon, but all signs point to it.  Increased lung and liver weights.  Cerebral edema, lighter brain weight, structural brain lesions. Also, contusions, acute neocortical and brainstem hypoxic neuronal changes…all indicate -”

“English, Sorcha.  Please,” he said around a mouthful of food.

“He suffered from seizures.  Lots of them.”  She took a sip of her wine.  “There was something else.”

Jamie lifted his head sharply.  “What?”

“Olive oil.”

Jamie pointed at his pizza.  Looked at Claire.  “Olive oil.  Like, what ye cook with, olive oil.”

“Yes.”  She wiped her hands on a napkin as she explained.  “I’m certain that’s what it was.  It was on his forehead, and his hands.  I took a sample and sent it off to the lab.”

Jamie picked up his pen.  Scribbled another note.

“There were a lot of prayers around him,” Claire said, softly.  

Jamie stood and went to his jacket.  He rooted around in the pockets until he came out with another notebook.  

A caramel coloured notebook.

“What’s that?”  It seemed familiar, but she didn’t know why.

Jamie held it up.  “Oh, this?  This one’s yers.”

“What do you mean, mine?”  

“I bought it when we were workin’ on the Geillis Duncan case.  These are off-the-record notes.  The ones I canna share, but have to support with actual evidence.  The notes based on yer visions, not yer findings.”  

Jamie’s ears turned pink.  “I bought it because the colour of it reminded me of yer eyes,” he admitted, shyly.

Claire blushed.  He did that?  That was weeks ago.  Well before…  Some days she still had trouble believing that he accepted her visions so readily.

“Anyway,” Jamie cleared his throat, “What about the bruising?”

Claire was grateful for the redirection.  “Straps.  Restraints.  He was tied down. Wrists.  Ankles. Across his chest.  They must have been violent seizures to warrant such bruising.  He would have bled a little too as the skin was rubbed raw in places.”  Claire took her plate to the sink.  “I’ve sent a blood sample to be tested, as well.  We’ll find out what sort of medications he was on.”   

It was getting late.  

And she was getting nervous.  

She watched as Jamie scribbled in his book.  His penmanship really was awful. He finished writing, closed the book and snapped his pen.  When he looked up, Claire looked down.  

It felt awkward.  Tense.  Charged.  

She wanted him to stay the night.  Again.  But she didn’t know how to say it.

“Humpf….”  Jamie made that Scottish noise he always did when he had something on his mind.  He took his time stuffing his notebook back in his jacket pocket. 

He wanted to stay the night.  Again.  But didn’t know how to say it.

“You can…” she said.

“I was hopin’…” he said at the same time.  The silence grew.  “You first, Claire.”

She crossed her arms. Uncrossed them.  Swiped at some crumbs on the counter.  Looked up at Jamie.


Jamie dropped his head.  Smiled.  Glanced up into those whisky coloured eyes.

“I thought ye’d never ask.”


From his office he watched as James made a call.  He could hardly hear the conversation, just ‘Sorcha’.  He didn’t recognize the name.  But ten minutes later when she walked into the offices, he knew right away what was going on.

Because he knew her name.  It was Claire.  Dr. Claire Randall.  The M.E.  

So this ‘Sorcha’ must be some kind of pet name.  And pet names meant familiarity.  And familiarity, at least in the case of James Fraser, meant more than friendship.  He should know.  One did not simply make friends with James Fraser easily.  He was a guarded man, a cautious man.  

A man who once admitted to having an attraction to this woman.

He watched as she waited for James to notice her.  She waved the envelope and in that split second when their eyes met he saw all he needed to see. 

James’ eyes softened.  His posture straightened.  It was subtle.  But it was there.  James jumped up and grabbed his jacket, badge and notebook.  He didn’t bother to look back.  

Damn you, James Fraser, thought D.C.I. John Grey.  Damn you, anyway. 

Jamie was sitting across the table from the boy’s father.  A tape recorder ran between them.  But it recorded nothing because the man wouldn’t talk.  

They’d had him brought in when the findings from the lab came back.  There were too many discrepancies.  And Jamie wanted answers. 

“Listen.  All I want to know about are the bruises.  How did he get the bruises ‘round his wrists and ankles?”  Jamie looked at the solicitor for help.

She shrugged.  

“Because from where I’m sittin’, ken, it looks like ye tied yer son down and left him to die.”  Jamie watched the man close his eyes.  He pressed his advantage. “Like an animal.”  

The dad’s jaw clenched.  

Jamie was done.  “I’ll have to charge him with Neglect.”

“But you have no evidence!” the lawyer insisted.

“Aye.  I do!” Jamie snapped.  “I have a wee boy with bruises on his chest, ankles and wrists.  Skin rubbed raw.  I have an expert witness who will stand up in court and swear the boy didna die at home.”  

Jamie stood up so quickly his chair wobbled behind him, threatening to fall over.  He leaned across the table, his face close to the father. “Where did yer son die?  Eh?  Where did ye have him tied up?”

“Enough,” the solicitor stepped in.

“Aye.  Enough.”  Jamie straightened, grabbed his file, and opened the door of the interview room.  He motioned for a uniformed officer.  “Process him.”

Three days later, Jamie was working at his desk when D.C. Angus Mohr threw a newspaper onto his desk.  He jammed his finger at a name in the Obituaries.

“What’s this?”  Jamie asked.

“Caught me eye,” the little man said.  “Same school as the boy we collected from the Funeral Home.  Second death in as many weeks.”  

Jamie looked up as the other detective tapped his temple.  “Got me thinkin’, you know?  Raised the hair on the back of me neck.”

Jamie picked up the paper and scanned it quickly.  Same school.  

Ste. Anne de Beaupré.  Headmaster, Father François Anselm Mericoeur d'Armagnac.  

“Can I keep this?” he asked.  D.C. Mohr nodded, slapped Jamie on the back, and walked away.  

“Cheers,” Jamie mumbled, already lost in thought.  He dug out the caramel notebook to be sure.  He found the entry he needed.

Prayers, she’d said.  Surrounded by prayers. 

They sat in a tiny coffee shop beside the Thames.  The barges were at work. Horns honking.  Seagulls crying.  

The pages of the lab report were strewn around them.  He needed to go over them again.  With Claire.  He needed to talk about the latest death in connection with the school.  With Claire.

Somewhere along the way the officer who never wanted a partner suddenly needed one.  

And he needed Claire.  

“So,” Jamie said, papers rattling in his hands, “the substance on the boy was olive oil, and sweet calamus.”

“Um-hmm,” Claire mused distractedly.  “Used in Anointing of the Sick.”  

Her fingers flew over the keyboard of her laptop.  

“The school is small.  Very small.  I imagine it’s because of how rigorous it is.” Her hair was tied back in a messy bun.  Pinned up hastily.  One lone tendril corkscrewed down her neck.

“Rigorous how?”  The answer lay in this school.  He knew it.  Felt it.

“Well, most Catholic schools give you a simple, very basic education of the Faith.  Daily prayers, Masses for special events.  This one says students participate in Daily Mass.  Confessions every Friday.  There are 3 priests on staff, besides the Head Master.  The rest of the teachers are lay people. No cell phone policy.  No personal electronic devices allowed.  And the uniform is something out of the dark ages, really.”  

Claire looked over at him.  “It’s not structured like most Catholic schools, but it’s not unheard of.  A bit old-school, I guess.”  She twisted the computer so he could see it.  

Jamie pulled it towards him to look more carefully.

Claire stretched, her back tight.

“The only thing that bothers me,” she said, “is the fact that he didn’t have any meds in his system.”  

Jamie gathered up the papers and put them back in the folder.

“I mean, there’s literally dozens of them.  And in seventy percent of cases, they work wonders at controlling epilepsy!”  As a doctor, this detail bothered her.  

As an intuitive, this detail screamed at her.  

He closed the lid on the laptop.  “We’ll never find answers sitting here.”  He drained his cup.  “Come.”

“Where are we going?”  Claire stood up, slipped her computer into her bag and reached for her jacket.

Jamie called back over his shoulder. 

“To enroll our fictional child.”  

Check to the Heart (Part 1 of ?)

Bucky x Reader

Modern day Hockey AU

SUMMARY: You are the daughter of one of the greatest hockey players to ever play the game, now as owner of the Avengers, he is bringing your childhood crush Bucky Barnes to the team.  The minute he sees you in your father’s office, you can tell by the smirk on his face he hadn’t forgot about your crush either.  This is going to be fun.

CTTH Masterlist

You sit in the big leather chair in front of your father’s desk staring at all his numerous awards.   Your dad was one of the top 10 players of his generation,  he was now the current owner of the Avengers, one of the top NHL teams in the country.  You were eventually going to take over the team.  You had been working with the team for two years and had great relationships with the team and staff.

 You just wanted to keep your father’s legacy alive.  You were his only child and though you had played hockey as a kid, it was never your long term goal.  You chose to go to business school.   You loved the sport and knew that your future was the team.  

 Your father had called you in to go over some changes he was making to the team.  You were in the process of putting your feet on his desk, when your dad walks in grumbling, “Get your feet off my desk.”

 “Sure thing Daddy-o, so what’s going on?”  Your dad gives you a wide smile, you didn’t like that smile.  That was the smile he gave you when he caught you sneaking in after your curfew.

 “Well I signed someone today.  He is gonna help turn the team around.  He’s a good guy and one hell of a hockey player.”  Your dad was practically hopping in his chair with excitement.

 Feeding off his energy you are getting just as excited. “Oh my God! Did you get Matt Murdock?!”

 “No! Better…James Barnes!”  Your dad looked so pleased with himself.   All you can do is look at him in shock.  Bucky.  Of all the players in the world your dad had to choose your childhood crush and ex friend.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

How would the villans react after a really bad argument with their s/o? //i love you blog so much x33


A/N: I love you!! Here you go! This is my last post before going out of town!! :3&

Black Hat:
-Kay, first, you probably have to be super patient to be with him at all. So any argument is probably a bit of a surprise.
-It won’t be until you’re gone and the argument is over and he’s alone in his office that he’ll really think about it.
-When he gives the silent treatment, he actually loves how flustered it makes you.
-“It’s simple. He’s right, you’re wrong.” Is typically his thought process.
-He may not even do anything…
-You will most likely have to be the one to apologize first, Black Hat is too Black Hat to apologize x)&
-And when you do, he chuckles with that stupid “I told you” so grin on his face.
-If he really, really, like seriously messed up, maybe he’d apologize
-He’s the type to apologize in small ways, like fixing something that was broken either in the argument or as the thing that began the argument, a small stuffed animal, a hero’s head on a plate. Maybe a small note, but probably not.

Dr. Flug:
-Oh man, why did he yell at you like that?
-He would feel so bad to have let things escalate so much.
-He would try to see your side, and hope you could see his.
-He’d feel so awkward if you didn’t forgive him right away.
-He would like try everything to make it up to you.
-He’s so obsessive, he wouldn’t be able to sleep until the conflict was resolved.
-Typically Flug will be the first to apologize.

-*insert high pitched “humpf!” here*
-She wouldn’t talk to you for a good long while. The silent treatment is her best weapon.
-She probably doesn’t even remember what you were arguing about after an hour or so, but she’s still upset!!
-You probably would have to get her to talk again with food.
-If she was wrong, after a day or so of watching you be upset, she’d break and apologize profusely.

-Why are you so mad?
-He probably wouldn’t understand the point of the argument, unless you had messed with something he found important.
-5.0.5 is the type to instantly forgive with a hug.
-Even if you’re still mad at him, he will hug you until you forgive him.

Wake up! - Yoongi (Suga)

Gender: Fluff 

Reader x Yoongi 

Word Count: 1,825 

I know I didn’t post anything in a long time and I’m so sorry for that. I hope you like this imagine! Feel free to give this post some love and share it if you want. A follow is always welcome since we are waiting to post a BTS mafia series when we reach 2K in the blog! Thank you for all the support you give all of us in the blog, we love yooou!!


Originally posted by kimbapandkpop

The incessant clink of the alarm in the bureau on the side of your bed did that you reluctantly extended the arm to press sharply the button, making the boring noise cease. Moaning a “humpf” in the pillow, turning your belly upwards and pushing your arms and legs to all around the bed made your muscles stretch. You sat in the bed rubbing your eyes, after your head directed to the body, yet dormant of Ho-seok in the bed to the side of yours. The blanket extending until the height of his pectoral, showing a calm and soft expression. Slowly you exited the bed, feeling the shock of temperature in the ground of wood of the room, directing your body to the bathroom for the daily procedure, you brushed your teeth and went back to the room. Approaching on the bed where Ho-seok was, you sat in the rim and passed the hand gently in his hair.
“Hobi, good morning … we need to wake up, if not we can’t  go to the park” you said while continued the affection on him.
“Good morning” a hoarse voice of morning echoed in the room. He caught your hand and intertwined with his, soon after sitting in the bed.
“Better I go wake up the others boys” you stood up while he agreed in answer. Getting out of the bedroom, and directing yourself to the kitchen, you faced the strong luminosity coming of the sky on this beginning of morning, the light coming from the glass door on the living room. Opening the door of the cabinet above the range cooker, you caught the pot of coffee, and soon the strong smell coming from the crushed grains inside the pot fulfilled the aroma captured by your nostrils, making a small smile exit of your face. Soon after pressing the button, and turning in the machine, you went in the direction of the rooms on the opposite side to yours.
You already were used to wake up the boys. After all, tomorrow would be a year that you all met, then all agreed to do something fun to celebrate the date. A smile escaped of the your face, while you passed the hands thought your hair. The memory yet recent of the fright that you felt when your mother told who would be the new roommates that would share the loft with you. A wave of despair in know that, the son of your mother’s friend was an idol, and that not only he, but all the members of the band would be coming to live in the apartment, took account of you. Yet more, when the door opened and a tall Namjoon appeared, and soon, behind him others six boys.
In the beginning it was strange, you had to be always going to dress up in the bathroom and had to know how to act casual in your own home! But while the time passed, you could see that the affinity between all of you was really big, resulting in an awesome friendship. Today you do not live without them, neither they without you. Arriving in front of the white door, two quick beats were given in the door as a sign of warning, did that soon after that, you opened the door in a small gap to check the state wherein the boys were found. After stare at two bodies, one covered and the other in pajamas, you opened more the door, giving space for your body pass inside of the room.
“Good morning Jin” you gave a light kiss in his left cheek, making his eyes open.
“Good morning” he got out the bed and stretched his body right after.
“Help me wake up the boys? I already woke Hobi, I’m missing the others”
“Of course I help. I let you wake Suga, he always prefers to hear your voice in the morning” he gave you a bear hug, and kissed your forehead gently before exiting the room. Between all the boys, the only one that you had caution to act with was Yoongi, not because you two don’t get along, but because you are completely in love with him. Usually, when they arrived home to rest after hours of training, you and he didn’t leave each other’s side, always seating or playing together. This changed when you started to feel the famous “butterflies in the stomach”. Suddenly, stay near him was agonizing. He always touched your hands and hugged you. The will to kiss him, banging on your heart, while your head soared red alarms. But, could you do that? Could you really kiss him? Of course NOT. It was clear that he didn’t like you the same way, and plus, you didn’t want to change the relationship you both created. The best option was move away from him, only until this feeling depart completely from you. If he realized or not about it, you didn’t know, but he never said anything until now so why bring this subject up, right? The best way is act normal, and wait until you get back to your true self.
But the major problem is that you just couldn’t stop liking him. Every time that you had any contact with him you felt your heart beat increase. You noticed that it was almost impossible discard the feeling in a trash. Of course you wanted it to be like that but life just don’t play easy with people. With all that battle in your head, you tried act normal around him, like you always did, and that means being touchy. Even not spending that much time around him, every time you needed to talk to him, you needed to touch him.
“Suga… time to wake up” you touched his shoulder gently, giving a light push. Receiving in exchange no reaction of the body lying there.
“Please Yoongi! We need to go to the park before the activities we signed close.”
“Humm” the sound exited of his voice as result. You knew he prefers when you call him by his actual name. He turned from his previous position, now facing you, still with closed eyes.
“Wake up, wake up, wake up!” you tilted and put a arm in the bed for support, staying front to front with his sleepy face. “I’m not leaving the room until you open your eyes” your voice was calm. The realization of the closeness between your faces came to you like a reminder from your head. In reply, his eyebrows arched, showing a sign of annoyance. Suddenly you felt an arm pull you, it made you fall atop of Yoongi’s warm body. He pulled you to lay in the bed with him. You fell with your body resting on his pectoral, and legs on each side of him. With your heart beating without any control inside your body, your eyes opened up in total surprise and your head was in total alert.
“Why you are so distant from me this weeks?” a thick and hoarse morning voice echoed in your ears. Yoongi’s eyes were still closed, but you knew he was just trying to gain some time to stay in bed. Your surprised face fadded, and you tried to control your nerves.
“I-I’m not distant” it was the only thing you could think to say. You didn’t get that close to him in a long time, so your nervousness was taking your whole body.
“You’re not a good liar” his hands met my back, embracing me, and one of your hands rested under your chin while the other, as a unconscious manner, went in direction of his hair, playing with it. A mortal silence took place in the room. You didn’t stopped yourself, as you kept feeling his hair in your hands, and he was calmly accepting it.
“Y/N…” the clear sound of his voice took you out of trance.
“Hum?” you responded him as you were looking down at his white shirt, then noticing his open eyes while you looked up at him.
“I’m in love with you" a gasp followed by a huge smile came out of you. Is this a dream? Are you imagining stuff?
“I don’t want to stay far from you" Your heart beat a hundred times per minute, a mix of excitement and fear on your head. Yoongi raised abruptly, bringing you also, making you both sit looking at each other.
“I like your touch …” you felt his hands holding yours, and placing one of then in his cheek. “I like your perfume” he got closer. Now, leaving your hand and putting his on the back of your neck. You were inches apart, and you felt so close, but so far at the same time. “To hear your voice, and to look into your beautiful eyes” he got so closer, so close you could almost feel the touch of his lips into yours. “But the only think I’de like to do right know is kiss you” you felt his lips touching yours as he spoke, and without think twice, you advanced and kissed him. After so many time, you could really feel what your thoughts couldn’t imagine. The feeling of his soft lips on yours were like heaven. It was calm and soft, both of you wanting to enjoy every second of it, until you broke the kiss.
“This was really good, but we have to go to the park with the other boys" Your lips continued inches apart, and both eyes were closed. A light smile came out of you, and of his lips soon after.
“I knew I wasn’t the only one feeling it” a giggle left him as you separated completely. Getting up from his bed and heading to the door you stopped holding the doorknob.
“I did not want to risk lost” looking at him behind you and opening the door to get out you said.
“Miss what?” confusion spread in his face.
“We” as you opened the door completely, the view of six boys in front of you captured your attention. “You were hearing us all this time?!” Tae and Hobi were laughing uncontrollably. You were running behind them all, while laughs spread around the living room, and kitchen.
“We couldn’t handle ourselves” Jimin said running to the sofa.
“Yeah! He told us he was going to tell you soon.” Jungkook looked at Jimin while saying it, turning to you right after.
You weren’t running anymore, but you stopped in front of them, now sitting in the coach, with heavy breaths for running around.
“And when you took long to get out, we thought it was happening. So everybody came to listen you two behind the door.” Tae came with a cup of water and fitted on the couch with the others.
“Okay, okay. Now that everybody knows everything, can we please go to the park?” You said in defeat. Thinking this happened in the best way possible, throwing yourself in the armchair and letting a smirk get of your face in relief.



Watery, angry eyes turned and regarded the person who spoke her name. Her face had a comically large frown on it, her eyebrows furrowed fiercely, her upset obvious to anyone who looked at her. And boy were the villagers looking.

“Kagome. You are over tired. Come on now.”

“I’m mad at you, Inuyasha. I don’t want to listen to you.” With a loud ‘humpf’ she turned on her heel and gave him her back. It was quite the sight, the local priestess with her heavily pregnant body telling her husband off in the center of the village.

“Think of the baby, Kagome. Come on. Sango will let you rest at her house if you are that mad at me.” Inuyasha held his arms out to his wife. She was due any day now, and while the thought of her in labor scared him, he was ready to be able to hold his baby, and maybe have a wife who was a little less upset with him.

Kagome considered his proposal for a bit, before beginning to waddle her way across the village to where Sango and Miroku lived. Inuyasha patiently waited for Kagome to indicate he should follow. She made it 10 steps for exclaiming “Inuyasha! I can’t balance right!”

Inuyasha went to her and took her small hand in his, and together they walked slowly to Sango’s.

One of the men of the village who had seen all of it, vocalized what everyone was thinking. “What happened?”

One of the oldest women in the village, who still remembered the right when Inuyasha had attacked the village, responded, “Inuyasha’s met his match, and found himself a family along the way.”