i apologize for the swearing

Friday, I’m in love... ith your writing (Week 8)

Number 8 is my second favorite number! 

I haven’t been reading that much this last week, I apologize if you tagged me in your stories. I swear I’ll chatch up with my reading soon!


First on this short little list today, I want to introduce you all to this lovely and pretty younge lady that changed her URL recently just to confuse us all… Jk, babe. I love your new URL @purgatoan . Sweet KarolinaRead it with Neil Diamond voice.

You should all go follow her, if you aren’t already I hope you are, she was previously known by loveitsallineed. I’mma let her the link to her MASTERLIST that all of you should check out, and you’ll find not only amazing Reader insert fics but also ships, lost of ships!!

And here, my favorites (Reader inserts)

Mr. and Mrs Smith (Series *smut)

Secret-Hunter!Reader x Dean, Sam never left Standford so Dean got a job near his little brother and that’s where, one night he stumble across Y/N, a medical student by day hunter by night… I been reading this one on AO3

Time To Realize (Series *smut)

Cas x Reader, Sam and Dean are like brothers to you. So when halloween is around the corner they decide to finally take matter into their own hands, forcing you to take a few days off, and let your hair down in the bunker while they work on a case, sending your favorite sngel to keep you company…

The Light and The Darkness (*girl on girl)

I haven’t found too many Female!Character x Female!Reader, this is one of the very few I read and I LOVE IT. Meg 2.0 x Reader (Bonus: a bit of fluff)  

Remember then loveitsallineed >>>> @purgatoan Go follow and check her MASTERLIST!! 

And now I want YOU to follow this amazing author @wheresthekillswitch! Done? Now, READ everything you find in here > MASTERLIST 

I’m gonna give you a sneak peek with my favorite stories

I’m Not Ready to Play Nice 

Fluffy Dean x Reader involving a pretty fun prank war!

Bring Me Some Sugar

I love this little Sam x Reader drabble, I feel identified by the reader’s height problems. I have heard so many short people’s jokes in my life, you have no idea… Ptss, Lee. Maybe some day you could do a second part to this. 

The Morning After 

Confession time, I literally just read this one… MUST READ (Oh, Cas x Reader Drabble)

Please, seriously go through Lee’s ( @wheresthekillswitchMASTERLIST. There are some wonderful stories there! I still haven’t read them all…

There you go, Week 8!

Remember to tag me in all of your SPN related works or if you feel like spreading the love, you can always recomend me some fellow writer so I can fall in love with them as well! Now go READ the works of these marvelous writers, and REMEMBER TO ALWAYS LEAVE FEEDBACK!!

Feedback is the best way to show our love!

Tagging a bunch of people below the cut because I really want this to become a thing.

Keep reading

Jack stays over at the Haus

sleeping in Bitty’s room because he can

in the middle of the night he gets up to go to the bathroom

now you have to imagine how tired Jack is after a roadie

so he leaves the bathroom, with just two thoughts on his mind

1- get back in room

2- cuddle with Bitty

he goes back to his old room.

Chowder’s yell woke up even the LAX bros on the other side of the street.


I Can’t Think Straight (2008)

Context: Leyla, a Muslim British-Indian woman, is coming out to her mother, telling her “I’m gay.” Her mother reacts with horror and disgust, telling her “You’re up to your neck in sin” and going so far as to ask “Who did this to you?”

But it’s this scene that sums up the reality of LGBTQ+ desi youth. Our parents may very well love us and want the best for us, but the absolute bottom line is: our parents do not want us to be happy. They want us to be appropriate, to be respectful, to have children and well-earning careers, to fit into the mold of heteronormativity and gender roles, to be religious and pious. But no, they do not want us to be happy. Happiness doesn’t fit into it. To them, happiness is indistinguishable as a separate characteristic because according to them, doing all of these things should already be making us happy. The ideal created for desi children is that they shouldn’t strive to do what makes them happy, but what makes them “good.” Unfortunately, under this context, good is defined as anything that isn’t seen as immoral or out of the norm. 

A woman who is not straight is rejecting her role as a wife, and to a lesser extent, her role as a mother. She is rejecting the notion of subservience to men, of obedience and inferiority. Under our current system that is hugely patriarchal, a woman who does not submit is a threat. 

Now, I’m not saying desi parents are bad parents or hate their children because it’s pretty clear this happens in nearly every other culture in the world. But I am saying that desi parents do not make their children’s happiness a priority, they make their children’s success a priority: successful careers and marriages and children = successful lives. So if you ask a desi parent “do you want your kid to be happy?” they’ll immediately say “yes, of course.” But if you add on “do you want your kid to be gay if that makes them happy?” the answer will be a lot less positive.

This movie tackled Leyla’s sexuality and coming out to her parents absolutely head-on with no coyness about it. She goes straight up to her mother and admits that she’s a lesbian. But her mother’s reaction is really the thing that most “coming out” stories try to gloss over, or sugarcoat, or just in general avoid. Her mother admits with frank and brutal honesty the truth that all LGBTQ+ desi kids know: our parents would rather see us miserable and straight than queer and happy.


  • jack and shitty are BFFS FOREVER
  • jack and bitty werent even FUCKING SUBTLE bitty straight up said he and jack were boyfriends in front of ransom and holster
  • but they didn’t confront him about it because THEY CARE ABOUT HIM
  • and they wanted bitty to tell them on his own time
  • they all love each other and its BEAUTIFUL I SWEAR TO GOD
  • shitty apologized for the crap he pulled THANK FUCK
  • lardo is the head of the senior trio MY GUY
  • LOVE
  • HAS
  • JACK

so i says to myself, i says, “what if instead of working on any of my wips i just made myself sad for no reason”

“I’m sorry that we can’t explain,” Clark said, “but you’re just going to have to trust us.”

Martha Wayne had not lowered her pearl-handled Derringer. Lamplight glinted off the filigree. Outside the door, the party continued on as if nothing was amiss. Her finger was not on the trigger, discipline immaculate, leaning backward against the desk with her other hand braced against it. “That might present a problem, Mr. Party Crasher.” She seemed to take a particular relish in the word crasher, said it like the sound of an apple cracking in half. “I really must insist on knowing how you got past my security,” and she threw a pout into her insistence that gave her voice a hint of petulance. “My security is very good, isn’t it, Mr. Pennyworth?”

“Always flawless, Mrs. Wayne,” he said from where he guarded the door, spine stock-straight. He was nothing but sharp edges, a Doberman watching the room.

“That, we also cannot explain,” Diana said.

Martha arched one perfect eyebrow as she took in the sight of Diana’s arms, left bare as they were by the Grecian cut. They were a study in opposites; Martha was pale, slender, looked like she’d been poured into her dress or had it poured over her. Tall, but Diana was taller. And while Diana might look like she could snap a man’s neck with her hands, she also looked like she’d feel bad about it.

Martha looked like she was calculating the cost of cleaning the rug.

“I also don’t trust people with accents I don’t recognize,” she warned.

“Don’t trust us, then,” Bruce said, startling Clark. He’d been keeping his distance, and the other two had fallen into guarding him, a wall between Martha and Bruce. Bruce stepped between Clark and Diana, and immediately Martha had trained her pistol on him. Scanning him, looking for whatever it was they’d been trying to protect. “Trust your instincts.”

“My instincts say you’re dangerous,” she pointed out, though obviously intrigued.

“So are you,” Bruce said. His eyes never left hers.

“Flatterer,” she accused.

Bruce held out his hands, palms up, an offering. “I would never hurt you,” and his voice almost broke over never, rasped like sandpaper in his throat. “Look and see, if you don’t believe me.”

She watched his hands warily for a moment. His spine was straight as steel, his posture perfect. “Alfred,” she said finally, lowering her pistol. “If they try anything, you have my permission to kill the pretty one.” She winked at Clark, red lipstick an impish curl.

“With pleasure, Mrs. Wayne,” Alfred said between his teeth. He was already taking off his tie to wrap it around his hands. Clark’s sheepish blush was an apology no one was willing to accept.

Martha set her pistol down on the desk and came closer to take Bruce’s hands in hers. For a second — half a second, maybe — he shut his eyes, grit his teeth. After that, he never wavered.

She frowned as she looked at his palms. She flipped his hands over a moment to look at his knuckles, then back again. She ran her thumbnail along a deep scar carved through the lines of his hand, curled his fingers to see his nails. Then she looked at his face, and her frown turned to something else.

Goodness.” She reached up to take his face in her hands, and he swallowed hard but didn’t recoil. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look so sad.” His hands balled to fists at his sides, white-knuckled. “Not while looking at me, anyway,” she added flippantly as she let him go to give him breathing room. “I am a delight.”

She looked like she was about to say something else, but then she froze. She held up a hand to gesture for silence, didn’t even breathe so that she could listen, her gaze lost to the middle distance. Clark and Diana cocked their heads to the side to listen; Bruce already knew what it must have been. A heartbeat in the walls where it didn’t belong, unsteady breathing kept carefully quiet, rustling as it crept closer.

Clark put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, but Bruce only shook his head.

“Alfred, heel,” Martha ordered, grabbing her pistol to put it away in a desk drawer. Alfred did not seem put out by the indignity of the order, moving quickly to put his tie back on where it belonged.

“Quickly, now,” Martha said, gesturing to Bruce. “Tell me what we’re doing, and tell me quietly.”

He clasped his hands behind his back, leaned closer for a low whisper.

“There’s another party crasher here,” Bruce explained, “and he’s here to kill your son.”

Martha’s eyes widened, her jaw stiff. She nearly reached back for the pistol again. Then she collected herself, lifted her chin to accept the challenge that had been presented to her.

Bruce stood straight again, and turned to leave her side, to stand behind the others again. Not quite hiding. Diana reached out to touch his arm, but stopped before he could pull away from her. Bruce didn’t like to be touched, not when he was this raw and aching Bruce, one of a hundred different Bruce Waynes that shared his heart and skin and scars.

Diana refused to call this the real Bruce. There were others just as real she’d seen, real smiles and real warmth. Just not here, not now.

“Brucie,” Martha called, surprising both Clark and Diana. Bruce pretended to look over a bookshelf, and shut his eyes. “What have I told you about eavesdropping on Mommy, dear?”

After a moment’s delay, a panel in the wall above a shelf opened up. A pale face peered out of it, large dark eyes and a mop of black hair. Eyes far darker than those Clark knew. “Not until I’m fourteen?” the boy asked.

“And yet here you are,” Martha scolded. “You may as well come down, you’re far too young yet for me to be craning my neck to talk to you.”

Brucie twisted and contorted himself to get out of a space that shouldn’t have fit him, even as small and as delicate as he was. A porcelain doll of a boy, and when he dropped he landed silent on the balls of his feet. His pajamas were black silk, embroidered with birds in red thread. Martha gave him a golf clap over his landing, and so he doubled over in a showy bow with both arms outstretched.

“Have you been watching the party, dear?” Martha asked. Brucie said nothing, clasping his hands behind his back in much the manner of his older self. Brucie had much less practice at pretending he’d been doing nothing wrong, so his eyes wandered everywhere in the office but his mother, rocking on his heels. “Have you figured out who the murderer is?”

Clark and Diana both looked to Bruce. Bruce bowed his head, hiding behind his own shoulders.

“Yes!” Brucie said immediately, perking up. His rocking had turned to a bouncing of his heels, only his toes remaining on the floor at all times. Bruce remained still as a statue, still as he always was, grounded as a tree. “I knew the second I saw him, this time. I mean, at first I thought it was Ryers, because at first I always think it’s Ryers, but he’s just a red herring.”

“Do you know why you’re so sure?” Martha asked, which stopped Brucie short. Bruce shook his head, knuckles resting against his mouth.

“It’s just — he’s just — I know who it is, though,” Brucie said, clearly believing this ought to count for something.

Martha put her hands on her hips, raised an imperious eyebrow, and Brucie slumped under the force of maternal censure. “What do we say about Who?” she asked.

Bruce tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling, fingers draped over his mouth only barely hiding it as he mouthed the words. “Who’s no good without a Why and a How,” Brucie said sullenly. Bruce shut his eyes again, shut them hard, and took a long slow breath that didn’t help.

Why Kallura Won’t Become Canon

A three-point argument:

  1.  If Keith and Allura get together, there will be no room for any non-hetero ships in the show, at least among the main seven. Coran and Pidge’s ages defer them from any relationships. Shance and Hance have had no solid foundation on which to become romantic (and Hunk is def with Shay). Not that we’ve been for sure promised an LGBT relationship, but it’s been a little too dodged by Dreamworks to not think it plausible.
  2. Keith honestly seemed so indifferent about his physical contact with Allura, and emotionally he seemed mostly focused on the mission, even when Allura apologized for her behavior. I swear this isn’t just because I’m a Klance shipper, but Keith really didn’t seem interested enough in Allura for something romantic to develop.
  3. tHAT MOMENT IN EPISODE FIVE. WHERE SHIRO GRABS ALLURA’S HAND WITH HIS GALRA ARM AND THEY BOTH LOOK SO SOFT AND EARNEST,,, COME ON PEOPLE WE ALL SAW IT. Dos Santos and Montgomery are masters of subtlety, and this tiny scene held more chemistry and symbolism between Shiro and Allura than the whole season did for Keith and Allura.

So worry not friends, there’s no doubt in my mind that Kallura will die with the eighties. Happy fandom-ing!


Happy owls for your dash~!! Hope today is a good day for you~! ♡

mr. neighbour || 12

Genre: Neighbour!Jungkook; angst
Notes: I’m sorry it took so long! But here it is. Also warning, there’s some swearing so I apologize if that kind of thing bothers you ;w;
Series:  1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // 7 // 8 // 9 // 10 // 11

Jungkook was avoiding you. There was no doubt about it. He would reply to your texts with minimal words if he even responded, and he would conveniently go to school or come home at different times from you. You didn’t want to admit it, but it made walking to school and home a bit lonely.

The most frustrating part though was that you had no idea why he was avoiding you. The fact that it started happening after your little drunken incident made it all the more suspicious. Had Jungkook been lying about you not saying anything weird that night?

“Argh!” In annoyance, you shoved your fingers into your hair and tousled it around wildly. The other patrons of the café looked at you and an embarrassed blush bloomed on your cheeks. Great, now people thought you were crazy.

“People think you’re crazy.” A cup was placed in front of you and Taehyung sat down across from you.

You glared at him weakly and took the hot cup into your chilled hands. “What are you, a mind reader? Get out of my head.” He only grinned at you, not the least bit bothered by your glare. “What are you doing here anyway?”

Keep reading

Chapter Two: Our First Everything

Lafayette x Reader 

Chapter One

Note: Okay so I have to mention a couple of things, firstly I had to give Lafayette glasses because I can’t stop thinking about how cute Daveed looks in his glasses lately and I don’t know why and secondly I borrowed @writeyourwayoutofhell head cannons of what Lafayette is like when he sleeps. Also this basically has no plot it’s just cute moments and stuff between Lafayette and the reader? Like getting coffee when they first meet, the reader meeting his friends stuff like that. 

Disclaimer: I don’t speak french more than the basics so all my French comes from google translate. I apologize if it’s dreadful.

Warnings: Swearing, Implied smut (I was too lazy to actually write the smut)

Word Count: 2,192

Tagged: @ pearltheartist 

Originally posted by mirandasdaughter

Y/N grew up learning French, determined to learn it when she found out that her soulmate tattoo was written in French. She took French all through school, even when all her friends dropped the subject she stuck with it. She had to learn, had to be able to speak to her soulmate when she met them. Whoever they were.

Hercules stops a few steps ahead and looks back to see what’s keep Lafayette, he frowns when he notices his friend frozen staring at the girl. He comes to stand next to Lafayette and waves his hand in front of his friends face.

“Laf? Helloooo you okay there?” Hercules asks until he notices that his friend and the mystery girl are staring at each other’s exposed forearms. “Oh! Oh shit okay well, I’m gonna go and meet Alex and John you two stay here and get to know each other. Have fun buddy” Hercules pats Lafayette on the shoulder before heading off down the street.

Keep reading

I Apologize in Advance

[Image Credit]


I’ve never mentioned it, but I’m a Mercy main. And this woman is so important to me. Lord. And since I didn’t have a Valentine this year, enjoy some Mercy feels. 

I’m so sorry. (Listen to this to make it hurt even more)

  • Mercy dies. Now we may all see this as a common thing in-game, but canonly, Mercy has never fallen. Not once. For who would ever be there to bring her back again?
  • She is always at her most vulnerable when flying in to declare that ‘heroes never die’, and she knows this, knows the stakes are too high and the environment too hostile, but she does it anyway.
  • Her significant other is the last soul she ever saves–imagine this to be who you will, I refuse to drag the ship war into this post–and their horrified face is burned into her retinas before everything goes dark.
  • Every person who has ever been revived by Mercy has received a golden scar in place of the killing blow. Some team mates are covered in flawless gold more than others, but in their hearts they all know they carry a piece of her with them. 
  • Until she falls. The moment the life leaves her eyes, those glimmering blessings fade into dark knots of scar tissue. Dull, just like the world has become without her in it. The only one that retains its glow is a piercing mark above her significant other’s heart, brought on by the most lethal blow of all–losing her.
  • Hundreds are in attendance for her funeral. All of them come baring stories of her compassion, of seeing her brilliant wings and a smile on her lips as the pain faded away, as the darkness fled and breath returned to once still lungs. So many of them keep glancing down at various scars, as if still in disbelief that the light behind them is gone. That she is gone.
  • As the skies open up and her body is lowered into the soil, the heavens weep for the woman who showed mercy one last time.


It Has Always Been Forever - Part 19

Previous Chapters :)

Part 19.

 A week later, Claire and Jamie stood in their kitchen dubiously looking at a plate of fresh chocolate chip cookies covered with cling film Angus had brought in reparation for the stag night drama. It wasn’t the first time he’d brought them baked goods.

“What do you think?” Claire asked cautiously.

“I dinna ken,” Jamie replied, just as cautious.

Angus had come early that day, clean and sober, peace offering in hand. “I dinna know what to say about my behavior that night,” He began saying. “But I hope you’ll accept my apology.”

“This isna what I think it is, is it?” Jamie said, standing hands crossed across his chest, eyeing the plate with utmost skepticism.

“Och, nah! This time it’s a genuine apology, I swear!” Angus had assured, earnestly.


The last time Angus had “apologized”, he’d brought a lovely looking box of fudgy brownies, that were rather more special than was entirely necessary. Back when Claire and Jamie had just gotten together, Angus had thought it funny to regale her - much to Claire’s irritation and Jamie’s embarrassment - with detailed stories of a hot and heavy summer fling in Paris Jamie once had in his late teens, that - as it turned out, according to Jamie - had fizzled out toward the end, with Annalise getting back together with her ex.

Claire had sniffed the brownies once and was about to stop him from taking a bite, that is, until he asked, “Why d’ye suppose they put oregano in the brownies, Sassenach?” as he looked them over critically.

What’s the harm? she’d thought. They were home, alone, and not likely to do anything stupid.

Home alone they were, immune to stupidity they were not. They’d eaten half the plate before things started getting well dodgy. Jamie had started singing, she couldn’t quite make out what it was, but caught a trailing, yet distinct, “I’m yeeers!” He’d managed to convince himself the song would be stuck in his mind for good; Claire had to make sure he didn’t hurt himself, the way he’d begun digging his finger in his ear trying to get it out.

“Some say the stars are actually angels sitting by wee fires,” Jamie said in wonder, a while later. They’d spent an unimaginable amount of time looking out the window.

“A med school professor of mine used to love telling us the stars were the souls of the departed. That no matter how many we saved, it was inevitable we’d lose people. We were doctors, not Gods.” Claire said, reverently. They never did realize they’d been avidly staring at the glow of streetlights.

When Claire had finally started regaining some of her mental faculties, she noticed Jamie’s shirt was on the sofa, but Jamie himself wasn’t in the apartment anymore - the front door slightly left ajar, his deep rumble coming from the hallway. She glanced at her phone’s screen which read 4:42am. She headed for the door, Jamie’s voice getting clearer. He was knocking on the Bugs’ door with the sort of loudness that strived to be gentle and quiet.

“Mrs. Bug? Are ye there? Mrs. Bug? D’ye perchance have some of those wee cheese crumpets ye make? The wee cheese crumpets ye made last Sunday fer church? Mrs. Bu- Sassenach! D’ye remember the wee cheese crumpets? The wee crumpets Mrs. Bug made with cheese?”

“Stop saying ‘wee cheese crumpets’ will you and come on,” Claire hissed at him, grabbing his arm. He was still gesturing just how wee they’d been as Claire tugged him back into the apartment.

“Do we have some left over, then?” he asked hopefully looking round the kitchen. “The wee cheese crumpets.”

“Jamie, the brownies had pot in them,” she immediately came clean as she went to the fridge and got him a strawberry popsicle, and steered him to the couch. “I’m sorry, I should have told you at once, but I couldn’t resist, I was curious to see what would happen,” she added, her voice shaking with laughter.

He sat down like a sack of potatoes as his face went slowly through a range of emotions, to finally dawning realization. He looked up at her, popsicle in hand, eyes full of accusation.

“Damn ye, woman.”

When they were clear-headed enough to go outside again the next day, they found a plate of fresh wee cheese crumpets by their door.


Now, they looked at Angus’ latest gift, the memory of the many odd things that’d happened that night running through their minds and had no wish for a repeat. Jamie gingerly peeled the cling film off a fraction.

“Please give it a wee sniff, Sassenach. Mind, dinna jest this time, aye?” He said, giving her a mock gimlet eye.

Obligingly, she bent down, inhaling deeply. “Flour, chocolate, and sugar. Pretty much just a harmless cookie,” she said business-like, then, voice cracking with humor, added, “Not one sign of any, ummm… oregano.”


“What time are Jenny and Gail meant to get here,” Jamie said as he snapped the last cookie in two and handing her the bigger half. Claire sat comfortably on his lap with no particular intention to move unless absolutely necessary. He’d settled them on the sofa, her weight a comfort to him.

“About an hour or so. Jenny won’t say what we’ll be doing, just that I was to rustle up a few more people and we should all wear comfy shoes. But seeing as how Jenny and I both have an extra passenger on board, doubt it’ll be anything that’ll involve the police,” she looked at him teasingly. He snorted, finishing off his cookie.

“Ye dinna ken Jenny all that well then,” he retorted. “So who did you manage to rustle up?” he asked.

“Oh, on short notice: Mrs. Bug and Geillis Duncan from the hospital,” she said, making Jamie laugh.

“Mrs Bug? For a hen night? And isn’t Geillis the, umm, wee naughty one ye told me about? Should be an interest evening,” he said.

“Mm-hm. Well technically, Geillis overheard me speaking to Jenny on the phone and well, now she’s coming along too,” she replied with a smile.

Claire nestled closer. In truth she didn’t much feel like going out, but Jenny - and Gail - had insisted she have herself a night out. So she’d agreed. She thought though, Jamie’s arms were in her honest opinion, far more enjoyable than anything Jenny had mind.


“Wait, hold on. What are we doing exactly?” Claire asked, unsure she’d heard Jenny right. Their little group stood outside what looked like a massive loft, with a bored looking attendant waiting to let them in.

“It’s simple really, we get locked into yon room and have an hour to figure out how to escape it,” Jenny said cheerily.

“Och, aye? And what happens if we canna figure out the clues before the hour is finished? Are we to be locked up indefinitely?” Mrs. Bug asked nervously.

Jenny squinted at the pamphlet she held. “I dinna really ken…” she said, “but they have a wee board that has the fastest times groups have completed the room. I reckon we can get our names on yon board!” She looked expectantly at Claire, who had an amused look on her face, shaking her head.

“You’re just like your brother! Can’t turn away from a challenge can you? Well, then, c’mon ladies, let’s break some records. What is the record?” Claire said, she couldn’t keep the excitement from building in her voice.

“20 minutes, 21 seconds,” Jenny answered promptly.

“I thought you said this was a hen night, Rand-sorry-Beauchamp? Shouldn’t we be, you know,” Geillis said wickedly, “getting plastered while impressively built naked men dance about?” she asked while thumbing through her phone, which had been pinging insistently since she arrived.

“Ideally,” said Gail, “but seeing as how Claire and Jenny both can’t drink…”

“And the naked men?”

“Can bide!” put in Mrs. Bug, primly. “Men arena the be all, end all. And they shouldna be!”

“Alright, then. We just have to leave our phones wi’ him, “ Jenny pointed at the attendant, “And head on inside.”

Geillis didn’t look at all pleased with having to leave her phone, but sighed dramatically, popping it into the box with everyone else’s with a murmured, “Dinner and drinks - of your choosing, of course - on me after.”

An undeniable buzz thrummed through them as they stepped through the door.


The room had been 18th Century themed, many of the puzzles imaginatively archaic. They’d blazed through the first few easily enough within ten minutes, much to Jenny’s pleasure, but as the puzzles got progressively - and frustratingly - harder, they found themselves at a dead stop staring at a wagon wheel with a cipher etched upon it for a solid fifteen minutes.

“I swear I’m going to break something, can someone please figure this out! It canna be that bloody hard!” Geillis exclaimed, frustrated. She’d been jotting down possible answers on her palm (a pen having been one of the things they’d unlocked in a previous puzzle). As much as she played indifferent to the night’s activities, Geillis had gotten into the puzzles just as much as everyone else.  She cast a gimlet eye around at the others, who were absorbed in trying to connect the clue to what they’d figured out already.

“It must be connected to the ‘stranger in the night’ puzzle,” Jenny said logically.

“Aye? Is that the one at the crofter’s cabin?” asked Mrs. Bug.

“No, that was the secret room bit,” Gail said.

“Hold on, then what was the castle dungeon again?” Claire asked.

“Oh, for the love of Christ!” Geillis shrieked, snapping the pen in two.


Suffice it to say, they didn’t figure it out. Whatever clue the cipher wheel contained, it went unsolved - and the pimply-faced attendant refused to tell them, in case they wanted to come back and have another go - much to the frustration of all.

“Well, bugger them,” Geillis said, checking her phone and frowning. “Let’s go have ourselves some dinner. And an ass load of drinks, eh?”


“I didna ken cocktails could be quite so… Colourful,” Jenny was saying, dubiously looking at a flaming blue one Geillis was industriously putting away. Gail eyeing her own yellow one with some hesitance.

“What? With a husband and three bairns, does one forget what fun looks like?” Geillis asked. Jenny laughed.

“Och sometimes. I love them to bits, but the Lord knows it’s good to get away for an evening!”

“Joe’s always hinting he’s ready for kids - and so I am, truth be told - but it does feel extremely pleasant to not be someone’s wife for a night,” Gail said taking a cautious sip.

“Well, I for one can’t wait to be married,” Claire put in with a smile, seeing the side-eyes from the others, she added, “If married life’s anything like what life’s like now with Jamie, I gladly want a lifetime of it. And - I beg your pardon Mrs. Bug - the sex-”

“Oh, yes. Do tell!” Geillis cheekily said. “From the glimpses I got of yer ginger-haired laddie sneaking about the hospital during yer midnight trysts, I’d say he’s one hell of a ride.”

“EH uh-uh! I dinna need to be hearin’ about my brother’s bedroom efficien-”

“-Prolific bedroom efficiency,” Claire put in helpfully, grinning at Gail.

“Being as yer already with child,” Jenny continued, unperturbed by the interruption, “I ken he ken’s his business right enough. Plus ye willna be too keen when you’ve bairns snapping at yer ankles and a husband who’s off busy “working”. Isn’t that right Mrs. Bug?” Jenny mock-warned. Claire knew Jamie wasn’t going to be that kind of husband, so did Jenny. By all accounts he’d probably be the exact opposite.

“Weel. Lads can get a wee bit… Complacent, ye could say, once they find themselves settled. What with words like “romance” and “wooing” seemingly neither needed nor dwelled upon anymore. But, Arch and I do live quite close by, and the walls arena all that thick… I will say yon laddie sure knows his way about it. As do ye, lass. Heavens, the skelloching!” teased Mrs. Bug, eyes sparkling, making Claire blush as the others giggled.

“Mrs. Bug!”

“Now, ladies! The night’s still young and so are we! What’s next?” Gail said putting down her cocktail and looking expectantly around the table.


Jamie could hear them coming up the stairs near two in the morning, singing in loud whispers, heels clattering against the stone floors. He opened the door just as Claire was about to put in her key.

“Jenny, Gail and Geillis are spending the night,” she said breathless, her voice a little raw and without preamble.

“Oh, aye? And Mrs. Bug?” he asked.

She gestured at a rather giddy looking Mrs. Bug stumbling into her apartment. “Good night Mrs. Bug!!” they all chorused as the door shut with a loud clatter. Stepping out of the way as the ladies stumbled in, Claire lagging behind to give him a kiss hello.

“We called Joe in the taxi. And Geillis, well, let’s just say her late night rendezvous was rather more preoccupied attending his wife. Much to Geillis’ fury,” she said, recalling the drink-fueled, cell-phone throwing rage Geillis had gotten into with her mystery man, “thought it best she come with us, lest she find her way to his apartment to give him a piece of her mind in person.” Which had then prompted them to find the nearest dance club to dance the night’s stress away. Watching the other three seemingly trying to drunkenly harmonize and Geillis declaring for the umpteenth time that night, “All. Men. Are. Fecking. Wankers,” seemed a fitting end to what turned out to be quite a willy nilly night.

Jamie came up behind Claire and gently rubbed her shoulders. “Had a good time, then?” He asked her quietly, moving her hair away from neck and placing a kiss on her nape.

“Mmm… Had an interesting time. You haven’t lived till you’ve seen Mrs. Bug dancing to EDM!” She cleared her throat and leaned back. “Take the bedroom ladies, Jamie and I are good with the couch.”

“We are?” Jamie inquired looking over her shoulder at her. She discreetly slipped her hand behind and grabbed a handful of his bum, squeezing, pulling him closer.

“I don’t mind the close quarters. You?” she said turning in his arms, both hands now intently kneading his behind. He smiled and shook his head, his hands starting their own explorations. Jenny snorted unbecomingly behind Claire.

“To bed wi’ ye, Janet,” Jamie said, not taking his eyes off Claire.

Claire sighed and turned to see Geillis sprawled on the couch and Jenny trying to take off her heels, her feet having swelled up.

“I’ll just get them settled, shall I?” she whispered to Jamie, reluctantly extricating herself from his arms. And grabbing hold of her erstwhile Sirens, headed for the bedroom, whereupon seeing the massive bed, all three stretched out haphazardly and promptly fell asleep.

Claire closed the door behind her and slowly made her way back to the living room, shedding her jacket and shoes (her feet sore beyond belief), her loose fitting dress felt welcoming light against her skin, she absently rubbed her tiny baby bump as she walked. Jamie was waiting for her on the sofa, she could see he was sleepy, but alert.

“Yer sure ye’ll be comfortable, Sassenach? I can sleep on the floor-” Jamie began sitting up, but she put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down.

“I’ll be in your arms. There’s nothing more comfortable than that,” she said definitely. She settled beside him, fitting her body to his, arms wrapped round his waist. He pulled the plaid throw off the sofa and covered them both. They lay quietly for a time, listening to the soft snores of the other three in the bedroom - making sure they really were out for the count. Then Claire’s hand deftly undid his board shorts.

“Sassenach, I dinna think-” Jamie began a little hesitant, he’d always been a little shy - albeit thoroughly willing - of being intimate where other people could walk in on them. Even when he’d visit her at the hospital, she’d have to constantly assure him they wouldn’t be caught. She silenced his protest with her lips, her hand left him, only to take his and slide it between her legs.

“I’m tired of talking, Jamie. I’ve been on my feet all night and now all I want to do… Well, you know exactly what it is I want. Come here,” she whispered against his neck. He let out a rather high pitched squeal as she lightly dragged her nails against him, making her laugh. “Now, hush,” she breathed, teeth fastening on the base of his neck, and he said no more.


supernatural url-inspired graphic challenge
↳ glorioustiel vs wiccasam