i have never in my life seen something look to lifelike

A Hundred Lesser Faces: (Five)

Notes from Mod Bonnie

  • This story stems from the premise: what if Voyager!Claire had gone first to Lallybroch instead of directly to the print shop in Edinburgh?

My own Jamie,

Almost six months ago, I learned that you survived Culloden. You made history, my darling! Q.E.D.

As many nights as I’ve lain awake in those months cursing myself for not having looked soonerI know I shall thank God every day of my life for the series of events that led me at last to the right pages, to you. When I fully realized what it meant— that you had been spared the death you faced so bravely that April morning, the death that has haunted my thoughts and my nightmares for so long— It was like a wound, the oldest and deepest scar ripped back open, inch by inch. I was completely laid bare from it, from the storm of emotions warring within me: such joy, such anguish for the lost time (how many more years could we have had, Jamie, had I looked?), such fear—and then joy again, because the years of grief could now be ended, and *against all reason!* I could see you again.  

Likewise will I thank God every day for the small voice in my head that nudged me at the very last moment to go first to Lallybroch, rather than to your shop in Edinburgh. Please thank Jenny for me. She explained everything. 

It is for the best, that it happened this way; easier, I think, for all concerned. Perversely, despite the shock, I find myself smiling in this moment: for we promised there would be no lies between us, remember? It is a promise I make to you again, today. You can know, then, with absolute certainty, that it can be no lie when I tell you that I am glad glad and on-my-knees grateful to Heaven that you have found true happiness. 

After all the pain and the loss, the war and the hunger and the suffering you’ve endured, to know that you have a wife with whom you’ve found something new and wonderful; that you have had the joy of holding your own children in your arms, to have seen them be born and grow? It is a balm, Jamie, a comfort to know that despite all the cruelty fate has dealt you—dealt us— you have been blessed with such great and abundant joy. Never would I wish anything less for you, just as I know you would not for me. 

It is my deepest prayer that as you read these words, you will know the truth of them, will be able to feel my heart through the page, and KNOW that from its very depths, I wish you every happiness with your wife and your daughters. 

And yet I couldn’t leave, couldn’t go back from whence I came, without telling you about another little girl, who was born the 23rd of November the year of Culloden. 

I hope the contents of the brown packet, here enclosed, tell you more than any words could about your daughter—our daughter—Brianna Ellen.

Jamie was shaking—no, he was — crumbling

Every breath wrenched through him, agonizing, and the tears were falling, blurring his vision. He had to sit back on his haunches to keep them from dropping onto the page and blurring her precious words. 

Her words


His hands were quaking with



Jesus, GOD in 


He COULD NOT think

Thoughts, words, they were—

They failed him, simply abandoned him as he shook on the study rug. Only his body seemed to know the way, for he was snatching for the parcel, tearing at the string binding the paper. There was an oily, unidentifiable wrapping within, then a layer of soft flannel, and then —   

The sound that escaped him—He didn’t even know there existed such a sound within him. It was terrible and beautiful at once, and though it was in no language, what he felt, his lips over and over formed a word, the only word he could muster: “No….NO….” 

For as though a great knife had cut through those terrible, looming stones on the accursed hill, Jamie held his infant daughter, newly-born, sleeping there in the palms of his hands. The portrait—picture?—painting?—was all in shades of grey, and yet somehow lifelike as a true bairn in miniature before him, like peering through a spyglass straight into that distant life.

He had not a single thought to spare for how, or by what means…

He could only trace the bitty wee fists curled on the blanket, the sweet wisps of hair on the tiny skull.

“Oh, mo chridhe…” 

He couldn’t look away, could not even blink, though tears were coursing downward. 

God, the child —this very child — 

—delivered safely into the world and into the arms of her mother—her mother.

The babe had lived—LIVED.

The pad of his thumb caught slightly as he caressed her cheek, and the portrait slid upward just enough to reveal — “Ohh…Jesus…”

She was grown to a toddling child, eating a cake that was smeared all about her face. And damn him if he didn’t LAUGH amidst the weeping to see just how pleased with herself she looked for it, a cuddly toy raised in triumph like a sword, four wee teeth visible as she giggled out a victory cry.

There she was again, older, standing in a great snowfall, naught but wee cheeks and grinning eyes visible under the great padded suit she wore against the cold. 

Older, still. Three? Four? Sitting proper-like in a pretty frock with her hair combed smooth. 

Such a sweet face—

Older, still, standing with a wee box in her hand beside a giant something with wheels, proud and eager, eyes bright.

And then he was gasping as the spyglass world ignited into blazing, brilliant colors. He saw his daughter’s hair, red and victorious and shining against the black coat of the huge dog she hugged tight; saw the pink flush of her cheeks, spread down her neck as it always did his, when he was happy and exuberant.

On and on flashed the paintings, these captured moments of his daughter’s life.

Going fishing and doing a damn fine job of it. 

Playing uproariously in the sea-surf, splashing and laughing with complete abandon.

Absolutely lovely as as she grew out of girlhood, and God, how vividly he could see Claire in her, as she did—in the lines of her, the way she held her mouth, tilted her head—that broad, clear brow that begged to be kissed, reverently—

Laughing, carefree, safe

Braw and strong as she chopped wood. Good lass!

Gazing softly out a window, seeming not even to notice her image being captured. 


and on

and on 

until he was gasping and looking at the last portrait, of an achingly beautiful young woman sitting on a rock before a fire, making camp for the night, perhaps. Her face was cast in the same golds and red as her hair; the dreams of her heart seeming to dance across her eyes—as they always did her mother’s. His daughter…grown.  

The paintings were strewn all around him on the carpet, a tableau of her; her life. On his knees he bowed over them, overwhelmed and shuddering with great sobs as he looked, and looked, and looked.

She was—

She would be

…..she was well.  

The child HAD been safe.

It hadn’t been for naught. 

He fell, then, and sheltered her like a cloak, keeping his child, his daughter, safe and shielded from the world for just one moment; safe…his….


It was only sudden, ripping, screaming panic that yanked him out of the quiet calm, searching wildly, fumbling with desperate hands—

But relief tore from his throat just as suddenly as he found a second page: 

Not everything can be captured in a photograph, of course (that’s what they’re called. Did I ever tell you about them?), and there’s so much I long to tell you about this wonderful person.

Will you believe she’s been taller than me since the age of thirteen? She carries it like a queen, though, like I imagine your mother did. She doesn’t slouch or try to hide. Not Bree. 

Oh, yes: most people call her Bree, for short. 

She bites her nails, when she’s thinking hard. I don’t even think she notices when she’s doing it.

She’s absolutely brilliant, Jamie, studying at one of the top universities in the world to be a historian. You would be so very proud of her. 

She’s not perfect, of course. Perhaps her biggest flaw as half-Scottish is that she HATES whisky, haha. I’ll do my best to win her over, though, don’t you worry. 

She’s a spectacular artist, another way in which she takes after her grandmother. She captures you, completely. 

That statement, actually, is true in more ways than one. Our Brianna is captivating, in every way. 

She’s an absolute wonder with maths and figures —as natural to her as breathing, it seems, just like they are for you. 

She smiles in her sleep, just like her father. 

She’s so like you, Jamie, it breaks my heart. 

After Frank died—But Lord, I haven’t said anything of him. 

It was two years ago. He had a good, full life, and he loved Bree more than anything in the world. He could have been cruel, could have taken out his anger upon the child, the very breathing manifestation of the ways in which I’d betrayed him—but he didn’t. From the moment he first held her, Frank loved her as his own, and while things between he and I were tenuous, to say the least, I will always love him for the father he was to her, for the sacrifices he made for her. I hope that is a comfort to you, and not a blow. 

After he was gone, after giving her time to grieve, it felt important that Bree should know about you, about the stones. It took—well, it frankly took a bloody lot of luck and a jolly good miracle to get her to believe, *but she does.* She loved Frank with all her heart, but she knows now that Jamie Fraser was her father. IS her father. 

You should know that she was instrumental in finding you. She persisted when I would have faltered under the doubts and the fears. As ecstatic and overjoyed as I was at the news that you were alive, I was so afraid Jamie, for you, for me, for Bree. 

Even though I know she, too, was plagued with fears, she remained strong; and she kept ME strong. Even at the very stones, when I was so wracked with guilt over leaving her forever that I would have stayed, for her sake, she was there to strengthen me, to tell me not to look back. She said that she was giving me back to you, and that if I didn’t go, *she* would. ‘Someone has to find him and tell him I was born,’ she said, and she meant it. 

THAT is the kind of person your daughter is growing to be, Jamie: determined, and brilliant, and selfless for the sake of those she loves; *and that includes you.* She asked me to give you a kiss, just from her. I’ve left it here, on the page, for you to keep, always. 

Brianna has been the greatest joy of my life since we parted, a joy that would have been richer only if I had been granted the grace to raise her with you at my side. Thank you for her. THANK YOU for making me go on, for her sake. Despite everything, it has been a good life. Even in those long years of grief, I had the joy of seeing you every day, of seeing your spirit, there in the child of our love. And I’m so very grateful. 

I’ll keep telling her about you. There wasn’t enough time, before I left. She’ll be able hear everything, now. I promise. 

Jamie shook his head hard, fast, feeling for a third page that wasn’t there. “No…” 

Be happy, Jamie Fraser, and LIVE. 

“No,” he moaned. his eyes clinging to the fleeting words, even as he begged them not to stop. “Claire…”

Love, always

“Mo nighean donn, don’t —  


Those next seconds were everlasting, each terrible, catastrophic truth echoing in his soul like the toll of a great bell, over and over. 

She had been here

Claire had been here

She left

Claire left

Because Jenny—

She was sitting at the bottom of the staircase, crying hard into Ian’s shoulder. When the study door crashed open, her head shot up and she jumped to her feet, her face pure terror. “Jamie, mo ch—”

“When?” He snarled it, and Jenny convulsed with a deep sob like a swallowed scream, and covered her face with her hands. 

Jamie was thundering toward her, a veil of red over his vision as he demanded, “WHEN?” 

Ian—in a shockingly deft and smooth movement given the leg—shot to his feet, shielding Jenny from Jamie’s rage with his body. 

In all truth, the rational parts of Jamie’s mind were glad for Ian’s presence, for that was the only thing keeping the blood rage from taking control, from taking revenge. “WHEN was she here, woman?” he bellowed over Ian’s shoulder,  “How fucking long did ye see fit to keep—”

Ian shoved him, eyes blazing. “You’ll NOT talk that way to—” 

Mor—ning—”Jenny sobbed, her voice a strangled whisper, “—gone before—Jamie! Oh, JamieI ken I’ll—never for—give mys—for—” 

HOW MANY MONTHS?”  he roared, overtaken by despair, overtaken by rage, becoming a nameless beast under it. “HOW MANY YEARS, JENNY?” 

“This morning—” she wailed, “To—TO—DAY—” 



And then a great wave, tall as a mountain, rose up within Jamie, blasting out everything within him in a single cataclysmic moment of clarity. 



Then she was—

She could be no more than—

He vaulted up the stairs four at a time, paying no heed to Janet and Wee Ian and the others who were gathered at the top of the staircase, wide-eyed and pale and gaping.

Less than a minute later, he thundered back down past them all, breeks only half-laced under his boots, traveling bag on his back. 

“No,” Jenny moaned, grasping at his sleeve as he passed and trying to hold him back. “Jamie, ye canna—Ye CANNA catch her, she's—GONE—she’s—”

He shook her off, hard enough to knock her off-balance, and ran to the kitchen, shoving what food he could lay his hands on into his sack and moving straight to the door, so crazed with determination he could barely see what it was he took. Food didn’t matter. Fatigue, already tugging at him, didn’t matter. Claire was— 

“Jamie, she’s nearly a day ahead—” Jenny caught the handle just as he did, eyes absolutely wild. “Ye dinna even ken where she’s bound or—” 

He spared his sister one look, and let all the hate and contempt, the rage and the betrayal show there as he growled, “I ken precisely where she’s bound.” 

Healing Touch

Third in the sensory series sparked by @lepus-arcticus and the @txf-fic-write-in word vomits. 

You can read See Me and Hear You

Diana Fowley is dead. She has to tell him and she is dreading it. She has rehearsed the words over and over but when he opens the door she is bereft of words. His face is softer somehow, gentle. She removes his cap and listens to his words about Albert Hosteen. She doesn’t believe him. She can’t believe him. He was there. She prayed with him. And yet she knows Mulder is not lying to her. He opens himself up to her with beautiful sentiments about how she is his constant, his touchstone. She runs her thumbs over his lips and she is undone. It is difficult to turn away, but he has been through so much.

              She walks down his hallway and considers how many significant moments have passed between them here. His shitty apartment block has become a cornerstone of their nearly moments. She would laugh at the irony of their almost kiss if it weren’t so painful for her to remember her icy prison; she would indulge in the fantasy of nearly kissing Mulder, if it weren’t so humiliating that she told her college story to a would-be rapist; she would wonder at the length of time she sat with him on his couch going through case files or arguing against the existence of life on other planets or convincing  him that completing paperwork on time saved hours of interrogation by auditors later, if it hadn’t been such a ride.

              She is waiting for the lift when he lays a hand on her shoulder, strong and warm. She feels a ripple through her insides, powerful to the point of pain. She runs her hands down her thighs and turns to face him. He is still wearing that damned stupid cap but there is something so vulnerable about him that strikes at her core.

              “Will you stay, Scully?” he says.

              “Mulder, are you okay?”

              He has undergone back-street brain surgery. He has lost a friend. They have both been witness to the remarkable and unexplainable, to the horrors that power can deal out. There are so many questions. And yet his one question seems burdened with the weight of the universe and its mysteries. A simple four words. Will you stay, Scully?


His apartment is a comforting mess. So Mulder. On his walls are prints and movie posters, blistered paintwork, shadows of his past. In his kitchen are the bare essentials but he makes the tea with surprising care and precision. In his living room, the green glow of his fish tank wraps itself around her, settling on her shoulders like an old lover. She sinks into the leather cushion of her side of the couch and he sits next to her. He sits forward though, elbows on knees.

              “You should be in bed, Mulder. I can stay here, if you like. I’ll grab some linen.”

              He swings round, his mouth open in surprise. “No, Scully. I don’t want that.”

              “So, what then?” She reaches out to him, flattens a palm over his back, and the plane of his muscles ripple under her hand.

She thinks that perhaps he doesn’t know what he wants. He’s in a kind of perpetual shock, his life has been one protracted incident, so many losses, so many bitter disappointments. And he has been so alive that it brought him close to his death. She doesn’t know how to make it better.

He shrugs.

“Oh, Mulder,” she says, sliding forward on the couch so that their legs are pressed together. “Tell me what you want.”

He turns to her and there are tears in his eyes. “My brain is so busy, it won’t let me be. I just want to be.”

“We can just be, Mulder. If that’s what you want.”

He falls into her, a surprisingly light weight at her side. She lets herself think that it’s because they fit so well, that together they are one. But she admonishes the skittishness of the thought and lets him sink further into her until his head is on her lap.

“’S’like Mothman, Scully,” he says.

She chuckles and strokes his hair. It is always thicker and coarser than she remembers. “Don’t ask me to sing.”

His shoulders move up and down the slight friction against her thighs unsettles her. She shifts under him and he glances up at her. “I had dreams, Scully. Fantasies, almost. I…I can’t explain it, but I know they were wrong. Like they were introduced to make me think it was my life.”

“What do you mean?”

“I married Diana. We had kids. It was…so illusory, so fake. But I was helpless to fight it, I was trapped in this make believe world and I had to go along with it. But it was all a lie.”

His voice is tight, gravelled with fatigue. She shushes him, placing a finger over his mouth as she massages his scalp.

“But you, Scully,” he says looking up at her and clasping her hand in his. “You were real. You were bright and strong and lifelike. You were no illusion. Only you were real.”

“It’s okay, Mulder. The anaesthetic they gave you, the treatment, it was… barbaric. It’s understandable that your memories are mixed up.”

He laughs. “You can never be anyone but you, Scully.” He kisses her knuckles and she feels the warm press of his lips tingle through her veins.

“Is that a good thing?” She lets the question hang.

His lips whisper over the skin on the underside of her wrist and she squeezes her eyes shut as he moves her hand down so that he is kissing to her elbow. “You can never be anything other than a good thing, Scully.”

He turns so that his face is against her abdomen and she can barely breathe. His head in her lap, his nose pressing against the fabric of her blouse, his hand in hers, the other under his face, his legs curled up, making him seem so vulnerable. She lifts her eyes to the ceiling and watches the patterns of her thoughts swirling there.



“What happened to you? In Africa?”

She lets out a breath and feels his face press closer to her stomach. “I saw things. Strange things. Like your dreams, I can’t really explain it. But I feel different somehow. Like something has changed inside me. I can’t articulate it.” She looks down at him and strokes his fringe away from the bandage. “I don’t know what happened in Africa, Mulder. I just don’t know.”

“I feel it too, Scully. I feel a change in you and a change in me. Like we’ve been touched, somehow.”

“You nearly died, Mulder.”

“But we’ve seen it before.”


“Healing.  Samuel Hartley in Tennessee, Jeremiah Smith. There are many cultures around the world that believe in the power of touch.”

“Mulder,” she says, trying not to sigh too deeply. “You should sleep.”

“I can’t. I know something has shifted for us. I want to hold on to that feeling for a while.”

She knows it too. She feels it deep inside. Something has stirred within both of them. She lets the tears fill her eyes. He reaches up a hand and strokes her cheek with the lightest of touches. He brushes away her tears and pulls her face towards him.

I love you

Requested by Anon. ( A oneshot for each member based on this reaction)

I hope I’ll be able to write one for every member.

Please excuse my lack of writing and mistakes in any form. This is my first oneshot and also my first text longer than a reaction.


Words: 1,2k

Genre: Angst(?)

Warnings: mentions of blood, torture 

Originally posted by sugagifs

Love is a strange thing. Is surrounds us every moment of our lives. We live because of love and we do things because of love. Love can make us better. Love can make us do awful things. But love exists. In everyone.

He walked the earth for years. Too many to count. He saw everything. The good and the bad. People would may envy his immortal life. But there is nothing someone could be envy of. He just existed, he didn’t lived. Until he met you. You made live. You were his reason to live. But no one said that loving a demon would be easy.

You were alone. Again. It happened quiet often in the last weeks that your boyfriend wasn’t home. WHen you asked him where he was, he simply changed the topic of your talk. And you falled for this trick every single time. Of course you were worried about his strange behavior, but you didn’t wanted to annoy him with dumb asks. 

So you made the best out of it. You changed yourself in comfy clothes and placed yourself infront of the TV, ready for a movie-marathon of your favourite trilogy. Suddenly you heard a knock on the door. You walked to the door in joyful anticipation since you thought your boyfriend yet again decided to spend time with you. 

“Did my grumpy little boy decided to-” you couldn’t say more.

Suga never knocks.

He watched the moon sending his silver ray’s on the surface of the small lake. It was unusually quiet for this daytime. No partying teenie’s and no old grandmas with their dogs. But the silence didn’t bothered him. If anything it helped him to think better. Thinking. Yes, that was something he did more than ever in the last time, but he also had his reasons. 

He thought about you. Your relationship. Your smile. Your story. And more than anything your future. He was insecure. Yes, a insecure demon. But it was entitled. He never wanted more than you being happy. He wanted you to have the world. He wanted you to never stop showing him your beautiful smile with the deep dimples. But he wasn’t sure if he could be the one giving you this fulfilled live. How many demons marry a human and build a family?  No demon ever did. Your whole relation was impossible. And still, you loved each other. He remembered the smile you gave him every morning, hair ruffled and eyes sleepy. How you leaned against him when you needed him. How you kissed him. Softly and sweet, as if he was the one who needs protection.

He made his decision. Fuck the rules. Fuck the traditions. You were the one who made him feel again. Who made him live again. He would never let go of you. He dialed your number to tell you that he would come over. Come over in his way. And his way was teleportation. Your phone ringed. Once, twice. No one answered. Now he got alarmed. You would never not answer your phone. He told you once that the world was a dangerous place. And not every demon thinks about the human race as positive as him. So he forced you to never let go of your phone when he wasn’t with  you.

He immediately teleported into your living room. And he know the moment his feet touched the ground that you weren’t there. But your phone layed on your table, along with cola, ice cream and the remote for the TV. 

If a stranger would have seen him, he would have thought that there was a lifelike statue. But he was nothing like that. He felt the burning fire inside him. Whoever took you, be the end of the night the person will beg for mercy.

You slowly awoke. A terrible headache followed. You didn’t knew where you are neither why or who took you. But you knew that you were in danger. You couldn’t see far and you couldn’t move too. 

Suddenly you heard footsteps near you. Someone was coming. The steps approximated and then they stopped in front of you. You raised your head, but you regretted it promptly. You couldn’t say if it was more human or more like an animal. You couldn’t find any words to describe what you saw. Dread of whats going to follow filled your paralyzed body.

The something bowed it’s knees and forced you to look at him. It spoke, but you weren’t able to understand it. The something stoopped and looked deep in your eyes as if it waited for an answer. You swallowed and breathed quickly. Suddenly a slap filled the room. Your cheek felt like it was burning and you felt your nose bleeding. But you didn’t made any noise, too scared to anger it more. 

The it grunted before lifting your chin with claw-like hands. It hurted. The claws cutted in your flesh. Another spate of unknown words followed, but there was one name you would understand in every language.

Min Yoongi.

You didn’t knew how long the thing tortured you. You couldn’t say how much time passed. It could have been minutes, hours, days weeks, or months. The only thing you were able to think about was the incredible pain. Broken bones, deep cuts and bruises covered your body. You stopped screaming after the ninth time it stopped the torture to scream at you. The thing disappeard a short time ago, but you weren’t strong enough to think about that. Tears filled your eyes. It was all your own fault and Yoongi would never be able to find you here. You knew you were as good as dead. Blood flooded from your head, your mouth and your nose and you wanted to vomit but your body wouldn’t let you.

A figure popped up at he entrance. You closed your eyes, you just wanted to die. But in place of the expected pain, warmth encased your cold body.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry y/n. It’s my fault. I should have known that they wouuldnt let us breaking the rules without consequences. Forgive me my love.”

Yoongi. He came to safe you. He came. You wanted to hug him. Kiss him. Tell him how much you love him, but instead your view went black.

A annoying beeping woke you. The white of the striplights dazzled your view. Slowly the blurred lines got sharper and you realised that you were in a hospital. No demons. No torture. No Yoongi. 


No Yoongi?

THis cant be. He would never leave your side. Where the hell was he? You panicked. WHat if the things got him? What when he needed your help. When you got ready to turn out, the door opened. At first you thought it was Yoongi, but a nurse entered the room.

“Miss y/l/n ! You can’t stand up. You’re too weak and your body still needs to heal.”

“How long did I slept?”

“Three day’s.”

“W-Where’s my boyfriend? Where is he? Is he ok?”

“Boyfriend miss? No one was here in that three days. You got involved in a car crash. The driver fled. But there was no boyfriend……I think your still very puzzled. I’ll go and call the doctor that you awakened. He will tell you more. And please, don’t get up.”

She leaved the room, but you didn’t noted it. This can’t be. He would never leave you.

Would he? You never thought about that before….

You needed some seconds before you saw the small not on your nightstand.

“I love you.”

Being Damian’s Friend Would Include...

Hi! Could I request where you are Damian’s friend that the batman doesn’t know about and one day they follow him cause he is acting weird and they see you both being really adorable in the park? for anon

I AM SO SO SO SO SO SORRY, I know i disappeared and i know this isn’t  exactly what you requested. but my stress blocked my brain and i failed my english class so i can’t seem to english right since then so i’m just insecure, ignore me   ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Damian and reader are around 14/15

  • You meet Damian thanks to Alfred
  • ironically, you walk his dog. Titus
  • You aren’t rich and you needed a job 
  • and the fancy old man that buys groceries on the same place that your mom thankfully was nosy enough to overhear the entire conversation with your mom
  • “mOM I’M BROKE” “Get a job then” “bUt WhEre?” “go sell some lemonade or walk some dogs” “but i don’t know anyone with dogs and the twins down the street already have a lemonade stand”
  • so he offered you to take care of the huge dog a few times during week
  • you accepted (obviously)
  • the fancy old man is hella rich
  • Spoiler: He isn’t rich he’s just the butler 
  • but anyways the place is HUGE and you start to suspect that maybe some bad people live here
  • Like the mafia or something
  • You’d never seen anyone besides alfred too much Investigation Discovery isn’t helping with your mental health
  • So you decide to ask alfred about the bosses
  • “Master Bruce is always working and his sons tend to disappear”
  • Something clicks when you hear the name
  • this is the- no, wait. THE Wayne manor
  • As in Bruce Wayne’s manor
  • shocking
  • Mafia theory: Discarded
  • New theory: The Waynes are vampires
  • (this one was discarded after you found out that the youngest son was a vegetarian)

Keep reading

Make you cry

Fandom: The Originals

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x reader

Summary/Request:  Ooo!! I have a sick one 😂😂 this is the last one I promise I’ll stop being annoying 😂😂 you can do a klaus one in which the person (aka me) is trying very hard to find something that will make klaus cry because let’s be real he never cries.. only to find out after numerous attempts that it’s something stupid like watching the titanic or something. - doneherondale

Word Count: 1861

The godforsaken scene from Marley and me began playing. The poor dog was being put down and the tears began to roll down your cheeks. You buried your face into Klaus’ shoulder and ugly cried mumbling about how unfair it was. He rolled his eyes at the movie and patted your head comfortingly.

“How are you not crying?” You asked wiping your eyes.

“Because that is the course of life, love”

“But the dog died”

“I’ve seen hundreds of dogs die in my lifetime, another one in a film isn’t going to do anything to me.”

“But you never cry. Like the only time I’ve seen you cry was when That which made you think I was dead”

“I have nothing to cry about. It fuels my rage”

“I’m with a psycho”

“You just realised?”

The two of you laughed at his joke and you yawned.

“Let’s go to bed now love”

“When you turn me and I don’t need to sleep as much, I will love life so much”

The two of you retired up to your bedroom. Klaus stripped off his top and got straight into bed. You went into the bathroom to quickly wash your face and pee before joining him. He immediately pulled you into his chest as a ‘protective measure’ but you knew it was just because he liked cuddling at heart. 

The idea of Klaus not finding the death of a dog so sad kept you up longer. How could he be so void of emotion that the death of a dog did nothing to him? You tried to think of the last time you had seen Klaus cry properly. Like tears falling freely from his eyes and it had been a very long time ago. The witch incident was a year ago. He couldn’t have really gone an entire year without crying. It was crazy. So that’s when the idea of trying to make him cry came up. You would do everything in your power to make Klaus Mikaelson cry.

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doctors- a penvenys AU chapter 3

Dwight knew as soon as his phone rang at 1:45am that it was bad news.

“What.. the fuck ?” He turned the light on and winced at the sudden change of scenery before fumbling for his phone.

“Hello?” He yawned blearily. He hadn’t even had time for contacts, placing his glasses so they more or less hung off his nose.

“Dwight it’s me.” The voice was almost unrecognisable and incredibly shaky.

“Demelza?” He was shocked because if anyone wasn’t a morning person, it was her. “What’s going on?”

“This is going to sound stupid but- I need someone to come and sit with me.” Her voice showed a feigned courage but underlying fear. “Caroline isn’t well.”

Dwight’s heart dropped, knowing how much this meant to her. “I will be there in half an hour- do you want me to bring board games and colouring books?” He knew her favourite car journey distractions could help around about now.

“Sounds good. Sorry I would’ve asked Ross but he’s in surgery you know.” Her voice was dead and this concerned Dwight more than it should.

“I’m going to hang up now, will you be ok?”


He arrived at the hospital and found Demelza looking lost in reception. “They’ve evacuated her room Dwight. None of my flowers are there or anything.” She collapsed into a chair in the waiting room full of late night A+E victims.

“They’ll keep her in intensive care for a while and then move her back I’m sure.” Dwight replied calmly, taking his backpack off and getting out the pocket board games he’d bought.

“But that’s not it.” A tear squeezed the corner of Demelza’s eye. “She’s having surgery now and they’re not sure her body will cope- one of her fractured ribs is interfering with her organs and she’s already in shutdown mode. I don’t even know if she will make it through the night. They won’t let me be on duty because they can clearly see I’m a mess but I’m a bag of nerves.”

As a qualified doctor who sometimes flirted with surgery, Dwight knew that this was not good at all. In fact, there was very little chance Caroline would make it. His heart dropped that he’d encouraged such bottomless optimism in Demelza and somehow in himself? Just by talking to her he felt attached in a way he couldn’t comprehend and so he figured out playing a game was the best solution.

“So Cluedo is out because there’s only two of us.” Dwight decided not to reply to Demelza directly because she needed time. “But I have Kerplunk.”

Demelza offered a watery smile. “I love Kerplunk.”

So Dwight spent the next 5 minutes setting it up in tense silence with both their pagers on the table between them, a constant reminder of what was going on around them.

But once the game started, tension leaked out a little bit. It  was a game that didn’t need any words but could still be enjoyed and could still occupy minds and that was the goal really.

Dwight was also terrible at Kerplunk whereas Demelza could play for England so when finding himself with many marbles and her with very few, her smile seemed to become genuine, almost forgetting the tense circumstances. Dwight was relieved by this.

A nurse came strolling in at around 2:30am to which Demelza asked, “Any news Prudy?”

“Unfortunately not.” Her arms were crossed and she looked as if she hadn’t slept in days. “Also, Sister Keren wants you to clock in now. She says we ought to make use of youse bein’ here while you are.”

“Wait.” Demelza’s eyes widened and eyebrows raised simultaneously. “She’s asking me to start a fucking shift? Like this?” She presented herself with her hands, indicating her watery eyes and lack of scrubs. “Well she can go fuck herself.”

“Ain’t gonna be easy tellin’ her that.” Prudy winced. “But I understand. T’int right t’int fair t’int just t’int proper. Listen I’m supposed ta clock out round three but will stay ‘til six ta cover ye.”

“Prudy.” Demelza stood up, taking her hand. “You couldn’t possibly.”

“I know ya’d do the same.” She shrugged modestly. “And s’truth. Fuck sister Keren.” And with that she turned on her heel and left.

“My god.” Demelza turned back to Dwight and sat down. “I would die for that woman.”

“Maybe I should just become a nurse.” Dwight shrugged. “Doctors are absolutely merciless.”

“Ay, well you’ve gotta stick together when your pay is being docked hourly by the government.” She shrugged. “Fuck Theresa May right?”

“Yup.” Dwight was so tired and his head was swimming. But he knew he could always nod to that.

They packed Kerplunk away and Dwight left Demelza with an adult colouring book whilst he tried to make sense of his hectic schedule for tomorrow where he was scheduled in about 3 places at once. And to think, he became a GP for less work.

The clock struck 4am and it was radio silence all round.

“I’m going to have a wander round.” Dwight told Demelza, putting the random tabloid he was reading down. “See if I can hear anything. I start at six though so I can’t promise I will be back.”

“If you hear anything.” Demelza’s eyes were weeping. “Tell me straight away- page me or something.”

“Ok.” And with that, Dwight stumbled off, to try and hear things and to nap in his office before his shift.

His hands were on his cheeks trying to get some life into his face as he carried his backpack like a lost explorer.

“Oh thank God Ross.” He saw his friend across the corridor and reached out to him. “Have you heard anything about Caroline? Demelza’s driving herself mad.” He yawned.

“It’s 50/50.” Ross frowned. “I’ve just come from putting a cast on at A+E but they had to pull her out of the induced coma to operate and they aren’t sure if her body’s strong enough.”

Dwight sucked in his teeth. “But she’s alive?”

“For the minute, yes. This doesn’t come without risk but they only put her in an induced coma as a precaution you know- it’s just a case of her body being ready to come back at full force.” Ross shrugged. “We won’t know until she’s recovered from surgery but the doctors reckon her other injuries have healed enough for her to come out of an induced coma if she’s successful. All we can do is wait- we should know by about 9am.”

Dwight looked at his watch. It was a quarter to six.

“They’re being so quiet in surgery it’s impossible to know what’s going on. Just start your day as normal.” Ross tried to sound convincing.

Dwight huffed before heading off to his office. He had a packed morning including two hours of doing low-key jobs in A+E like stitches.

Evidently he had no way of napping before a shift. He was due to finish at 12 though so there was a silver lining.

“Dr Enys, the antibiotics aren’t working.”

“Rosina, it’s called antibiotic therapy.” Dwight rolled his eyes. His last appointment of the day was a sad twist of fate. “It means you have to take all of them until you run out. You’ve taken about a week’s worth.”

“You know…” She looked at him, pouting and leaning forward. “I thought this would involve actual therapy- you know like one on one.”

“Sorry Rosina.” He laughed nervously. “My face can’t cure chlamydia.” He backed away. “So really if you just keep taking your drugs you should be absolutely fine- no need to see me again.”

Thank God.

He was about to cry with relief that he’d finally finished his day when his pager went off. It was one of the sisters claiming there was an emergency that he needed to attend to before he clocked out. So maybe his shift would end around three now. He sighed.

“Sorry Miss Hoblyn but I have an emergency to attend to.” Dwight muttered dryly, kicking open the door for her. He had heard a rumour earlier in the day that some idiot had been trying to perform stunts on his motorbike and Dwight was probably needed to do some stitches or something.

He reached the intensive care unit and looked for the right bed- number 64. He had bought his bag with him just in case he was needed for stitches so he thought himself well prepared to do some stitches or something.

He realised when he opened the curtain of number 64 that the answer was or something.

He dropped his bag straight on the floor and his face was white.

Directly in front of him was an incredibly lifelike Caroline Penvenen looking very smug considering not even 24 hours ago she was on death’s door.

“Don’t you just love that they gave me my own pager?” She shook it in her hand. “And you were first on my list to call… I heard you’re the best doctor they have in this godforsaken place.” She was immobile but it was what to be expected from someone who hadn’t moved for months.

“I’m-I’m sorry.” The situation had not yet dawned on him that he was speaking to a real, animate Caroline Penvenen. Of whom he had told several of his secrets too whilst she lay in a hospital bed. “I’m not an intensive care doctor- we have some really good ones though.”

“That’s funny because Demelza told me that you do a little bit of everything- so why not me?” He expected her to be shy but she smiled with ease until it was almost a smirk.


“Did you know, just before my accident, Demelza was so keen to get me to break up with my boyfriend she was going to set us up on a blind date?”

Dwight looked up and into her eyes. Abort. This was a mistake. Her gaze was intense. “Would you have gone?” He asked.

“Dr Enys!” She feigned surprise. “What kind of woman do you think I am? I’m loyal to a man.”

“Oh- I didn’t realise.” Dwight stuttered, embarrassed. “I never saw him call into see you.

“Well I guess the wedding is off then.” She frowned but she didn’t really seem too bothered. Dwight was struck. Demelza was lying? She didn’t just have a boyfriend but she was engaged too?

“I’m just kidding.” She broke the silence. “I do have a boyfriend though and he’s coming for me.”

Dwight’s stomach sank now not just due to jealousy but plainly because he knew this to be incredibly unlikely. He’s seen patients like this before and he just knew that somehow or another, she would end up heartbroken.


Fandom: Naruto

Characters: Sai, Yamanaka Ino, Yamanaka Inojin

Pairings: Saiino

Words: 1,788

Notes: Inspired by all of madhattressdelux‘s headcanons and reblogs of Saiino which have destroyed me and my heart/soul. there is a fire of Saiino in my soul now that cannot be tamed and now there’s this. i’ve never written these two (three) before, so i hope it turned out alright and that it’s not horrendously awful. constructive criticisms always welcome :) also, thanks to matchaball for encouraging the idea and letting me borrow some of her beautiful words.

There was only one picture of herself that hung at her desk. A single sketch done on rough paper, in black pencil with just a splash of color for her eyes and hair, and though the edges were beginning to fray and the color starting to fade, Yamanaka Ino was certain she’d never seen a more beautiful piece.

To this day, Ino was still amazed at the level of detail achieved by her talented husband, from the small flowers in her hair to the patterns in the lace of her dress, he’d sketched them all but that wasn’t what Ino loved most about the drawing. It was the emotion in her face, in her blue eyes, so lifelike that somedays she was convinced picture-Ino’s face would burst into a bright smile, and it was the love that she could feel in every stroke of his pencil. For all that her husband hadn’t been able to express in words or actions, even on that day, he did through those lines, those careful strokes of his skilled hand, and Ino felt them as if they were her own. It was her favorite picture in the world.

Of course, the drawings of her son ran a very close second and Ino looked at the pictures every day, taking her few spare moments like this to admire how they showed his growth, and she couldn’t imagine a more perfect way to capture or display her son’s life, but there was just something about the drawing of her, the oddity among the drawings, that always caught her attention. Perhaps it was because she was still a little vain, even in her older age, or because it was just so beautifully done that one couldn’t help but be drawn to it, or maybe it was because she could remember the exact moment he drew it. That was likely it because that moment, the morning after their wedding, was high up on her list of ‘Best Days of my Life’, but sometimes Ino wondered what her husband had been thinking when he draw that picture. If the words he’d scrawled at the bottom were any clue, Ino’s mind could only begin to imagine.

What was on your mind that morning, Sai? she thought to herself, letting a smile stretch over her lips as she stared at the picture, her mind wondering back to that morning. What were you thinking?

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At first blush

Requested by @thehopelessfighter: “Thorin and the reader have very strong feelings for each other but neither of them know. They are nice to each other and share smiles and the reader always blushes. (but she isnt shy) When Thorin finally confesses to the reader how much he loves her (and always will) the reader blushes so freaking hard but Thorin has always loved that.”

I hope you enjoy, sweetheart!


The room is quiet as you lay out your supplies. A small table has been drawn up to your easel, ready to receive quills, ink bottles, brushes, and paint pots as you methodically arrange them, and the blank canvas waits to capture your subject. To be asked to paint the portrait of a King is a momentous occasion indeed, and yet it was not mere artistic ambition that had made your heart flutter as you gathered your supplies, or caused you to spend much longer than usual choosing your clothing for the day. 

Though you are more conscientious than ever before in your preparations, you can’t help but steal curious glances at your surroundings on this, your first visit to the King’s private chambers. The furnishings are appropriately rich, yet comfortable, with a more homely, lived-in feel than you’d expected, but upon reflection it is befitting the man who makes his home among them.

Your eyes have wandered to the collection of swords and axes displayed on the wall, the storied blade Orcrist given a place of prominence among them, when the door from the outside corridor opens and Thorin Oakenshield enters the sitting room. He greets you warmly, inclining his head in response to the curtsy you quickly bob, and your confident smile falters slightly as you feel the familiar heat creep into your cheeks, their flushed color betraying the leap of your heart upon seeing him.

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KaraMel Fanfic #7 Part 1

Title: Someone Who Sacrifices Everything For Her

Prompt: When Kara falls under the effects of Black Mercy, it’s up to Mon-El to save her.

Part 1 of Someone Who Loves Her

Also posted on AO3

Note: This story is loosely uses the plot of Supergirl 1x13 and the Black Mercy storyline, but I only half-rewatched the episode, so if there’s anything I got wrong I apologize :)

Mon-El couldn’t take her eyes off the young woman lying on the hospital cot. He was frozen, his arms limp on both sides, his shoulders taut, and his eyes… His eyes on the cot. He was unable to look away, no matter how much he wanted to. He blinked several times, as if closing his eyes would make the creature clinging onto her disappear.

It didn’t. It was still there, still sucking on her life, killing her, and he was unable to do anything.

“What is going on?” Winn asked as he barged into the room, stopping short at the sight of Kara. “Oh, my God, please tell me I’m hallucinating.”

“You’re not,” J’onn said as he crossed his arms, looking over at Alex. “What’s her condition?”

“She’s unresponsive to outside stimuli,” the agent began to explain as she looked over at Kara’s face as a medic ran tests on her—as much as she could with her invincible skin. “But her brain activity is still normal. It’s like her body i-is unaware that anything is wrong.” The distress in woman’s voice was audible as she took a deep breath. J’onn cursed under his breath.

“What the hell is that thing?” he asked, almost yelling in frustration. He was referring to the alien creature clinging onto Kara’s body, which looked a lot like a bunch of roses that had tentacles.

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Hi, so I’ve been seeing lots of people hating on Clint’s family and that makes me sad.

The main issue I’ve seen is that they “aren’t real characters” or “They’re just a plot point.” Yeah, okay. Let’s imagine someone makes a movie of your life - how many people wold they have to include that impact your life? Lots. How many of these people could they actually give in-depth back stories? Like five, max. And that’s just a movie about one person - this one’s about, what, eight now?

Now let’s take a look at Clint’s character:

Clint with a family: One thing that always seemed a bit strange to me was how distant he was with everyone else on the crew. For everyone else, this team was their life and their world. When the team called, they answered. Clint was never that submerged - he waded around in this world, but he always had his head above water, looking for something else. That’s because this world is not his only world, not even his most important world. His family is.

Clint with a wife: He’s a pillar. He’s the rock. Whether anyone else admits it, you can see that they all know (Clint included), that if something happened to him, they would all be totally lost. And Clint never leans on anyone else. He never unloads to Steve or Tony or even Nat. Now, I’m the kind of person that everyone leans on, and let me tell you, I couldn’t do it if I didn’t have someone who looked after me, myself. For Clint, that trusted person that he tells everything (his worries, his fears, and all the funnies) is his wife.

Clint with kids: You all love Clint and the Maximoffs, and how he’s so supportive of Wanda and the teasing he’s got going with Pietro. Have you ever met a good dad? And I mean a really good dad who goes to soccer games and has pep talks and comforting speeches ready at a moment’s notice? Those dads are the best. They know how to spot the people who need help, and they generally understand the “tough love” aspect of holding up another person. They also just know how to have fun. When to just give up all the seriousness and make a really, really bad joke about how terrible the situation is. Clint is such a dad…

I also love how it gives a whole new depth to Clintasha (now my brOTP). It’s literally this old guy looking after a lost little girl and showing her how she can become so much more. It gives a whole new depth to when Nat calls him “my best friend.” It’s not romantic. They’re not interested in each other. There is no ulterior motive for their friendship. It’s purely them looking out to each other.

Clint having a family just makes so. much. sense. Of course he has a family! That’s how it’s been played from the beginning. Now, could they have given Larua some character development? Maybe, if they’d cut out half of those unnecessary fight scenes. But then, Bucky’s been a main character for three movies, and how much development have we actually gotten from him?

emmaawatson  asked:

Hi! First off I love all your drabbles especially Bucket List! It kind of reminded me of this One Three Hill episode I saw. Anyways I have a prompt! Klaus and Caroline are assigned partners in a class to take care of the (fake) baby together for the whole year. Caroline wasn't so trilled about that at first haha but of course that changes. Bonaus points if you include them acting like a real family lol.

Thank you so much for the love, @queenvampirebarbie ! I am so, so sorry this prompt took me so long, but I really hope you like it!

Home Economics || Klaroline

“The whole point of home economics is to learn the real life skills that go into managing and maintaining your adulthood. Whether you are married with kids in your own home, or you are single, childless and renting, or any other living situation, you will need to know how to pay your bills, gauge your needs versus your wants, and how to prepare for the rest of your life.”

“Yawn,” Bonnie muttered, leaning down toward the counter. “I already know how to write a grocery list and pay an electric bill.”

“Same,” Caroline said with a nod. As kids of single parents, the girls were used to helping out with the errands. “But shh, I don’t want my GPA ruined because I can’t hear the home ec lecture over you.”

Bonnie stuck out her tongue, chuckling at Caroline’s perfectly outlined notes.

Their teacher kept speaking. “To help achieve this, you will be assigned your very own living situation to manage your home economics as a year-long project,” Ms. James explained. “Yesterday, I had everyone predict their future course of life. Using that information, I have grouped you into pairs to best simulate your future.

“Many of you imagined you would be married with children,” Ms. James said, gesturing to the lifelike dolls sitting in carriers at the front of the classroom.

“Some expected to be single, but you’ll still be paired as roommates to have a partner in this assignment,” she explained. “That said, I’ll go ahead and read off the pairs and your living situation.”

Caroline’s eyes went wide, horrified.

“What’s wrong, Care,” Bonnie asked.

“I wanted twins,” she whispered. “And I told Ms. James I’m up for any opportunity for extra credit.”

Bonnie choked down a giggle at Caroline’s panicked expression. “You’re screwed,” she told her friend as Ms. James started reading the assignments.

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Daydreams: An Akatsuki no Yona fanfiction

ARE YOU READY FOR SOME UNABASHED SHIN-AH/YONA FLUFF? ARE YOU READYYYYY?? I may regret some of my decisions, but finishing up this half-written drabble I started a while back WILL NOT GO DOWN AS ONE OF THEM. Especially the part where they start making out. No one will make me regret that.

I hope all my crew members of this ship enjoy!


The inability to move during his dreams or even after he awoke for a few moments wasn’t abnormal for him at all, but it was an unfortunately common occurrence. And yet it was still different. Unlike the nightmarish fear and panic that normally raked his insides and left him feeling horribly unsafe and filled with terror, he instead felt heavy as if he was stuffed full of something like dust or dirt. And so Shin-ah lay there without any agency, as suddenly the realization dawned upon him that he was not the only character in his dream.

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Time for a little Sterek fic rec..

In Desperate Times by Nokomis

Stiles gets magic wish-granting powers, but only when he’s in danger. He begins to teleport to Derek in increasingly awkward moments.

One Hale of a Sandwich by whatthehale

Stiles in bed isn’t really something Derek should be thinking about.


Because the person who normally picks Lily up from school? Is Scott.

Lily’s other parent. And Stiles’s partner.

Not to mention the entire source of Derek’s current misery.

AKA, the one in which Derek thinks Scott and Stiles are in a relationship and that they want to threesome with Derek.
Spoiler Alert? They aren’t and they don’t.

That Which You Cannot Undo by uraneia

By twenty-eight, Stiles has resigned himself to a quiet life of working in his magic shop, selling Jackson Whittemore fart-inducing tea, and looking after his goddaughter. It’s a good life. But the quiet goes to hell when his sister, Lydia, shows up with a crispy werewolf in her trunk and a bite mark on her shoulder, because hard on her heels comes the hottest person Stiles has ever seen, and he happens to be looking for his uncle.

You know, the dead guy Stiles helped Lydia bury last night.

(Or: the Pracitical Magic AU nobody asked for.)

Disambiguation by idyll

The one where they’re all scientists in Eureka, and Stiles is being stalked by Derek’s freakishly lifelike animatronic wolf.

Lucky That I’m Yours Every Day by stilinskisparkles

Derek doesn’t see how Valentine’s Day can get any better than a normal day with Stiles.

Came for the coffee, stayed for you by nashirah

“Ask him about Twilight!” They heard Laura’s shout. Derek almost dropped his hammer.

“For Christ’s sake, Laura!” He shouted back, and added, calmer now, “She made me read it, alright.”

(Or the one in which Stiles’ dad owns a bookstore and Derek’s mom runs a coffee shop. It’s just a romance waiting to happen.)

Camp Lake Hale by sarcasmandirony

Stiles and Scott decide to spend their last summer before college being camp monitors in the summer camp they used to attend when they were kids. Stiles aspires to rival Nathan Hale as the coolest camp monitor ever. Of course, this being Stiles’ life, Nathan is getting married at the end of the summer, which leaves the most boring Hale family member in charge of camp matters - Derek Hale. Blah.

Have My Heart by GotTheSilver

Whatever Laura says, Derek doesn’t stalk Stiles. He doesn’t. Yes, his sketchbook might contain studies of Stiles’ hands, the subtle muscle definition in his forearms, but that means nothing; he’s good at art, it’s life drawing, nothing else.

Practically Perfect by betp

/“Daddy, we made an ad for our new nanny,” Scott says, wearing rocket ship pajamas and offering Stiles a piece of construction paper that night.

“Just mull that over,” says Isaac. His pajamas have cows on them.

They pad back up the stairs, and Stiles looks at the paper. In crayon, it reads: WE NEED A NANNY PROBALLY. Reqirments:
- eyes light up
- wants to go places
- can travel between dimentions
- likes cheesebergers
- a wear wolf
- lisens to good music
- favorit color is pink
- has friends who can fly
- will merry our Dad

There is a stick figure drawing of a werewolf with red eyes and bared teeth, marrying Stiles on a cloud./

Or, “The one that has next to nothing to do with the kids.”
This is a straight-up unapologetic Mary Poppins AU.

Wolf Cub by moodwriter

A strange wolf is not supposed to touch another pack’s cub and that’s why, on a rescue mission, it’s Stiles’ job to take care of the wolf cub who’s curious about everything and everyone. Stiles is not used to werewolf children, and the pack is not used to Stiles taking care of a child. Their Alpha gets very confused about this, too.

Manual Instruction by Hsuany

“Dude, I’m telling you, it’s everywhere.” Stiles is upset that Scott cannot seem to grasp his distress.

Scott chews slack-jawed on a Twizzler and says, “Are you sure this isn’t like that time in eighth grade when the history channel convinced you that aliens built the pyramids?”

Hopeless Wanderer by blacktofade

AU: Stiles visits Paris and ends up getting ridiculously lost. Luckily, he meets Derek, who has a sense of direction.

Glazed and Confused by wishingonalightningbolt - re-read

or, In Which Love is More Important than Donuts.

Stiles is a forensic tech with the San Diego FBI. He thinks he’s been fairly lucky, since he’s never had his life threatened, sustained few injuries, and only has to work with his least favorite agent every once in a while.

And then all of that changes.

For Love is Not Ours to Command by weathervaanes

Where Derek’s skills at thinking on his feet mean that he and Stiles have to act. For the sake of Stiles’ dad, of course, for the sake of the pack. No personal interest interference at all, whatsoever. Right.


“Why does my dad say that you and your boyfriend are a bad influence on me?”


“Yeah, what boyfriend? Dude, you are not allowed to not tell me crap like this. You didn’t think I’d like be a douchebag or something. Right?”

“No, wait, what? I have no boyfriend.”

“He says you were with him at the police station.”

Stiles blinks. “Uhm. Oh shit.”

Closer Than Most by Finduilas

Laura organizes a charity bachelor auction to raise money for the wolf sanctuary she and Derek inherited from their parents. Derek reluctantly gets roped into bidding on one of the bachelors, and he sure as hell doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into when he decides to bid on Stiles.

I’m a fan of Tom. I admire his work. I could spent hours talking about any of his roles. Talking about the great development he underwent. Speculating about roles I’d love to see him in. I admire him as a human being, from the way I see and hear that he treats others and the opinions he shares. I’m invested in his jobs and love seeing him succeed. I’ve seen most of it and I’m looking forward to see more. I’m happy if others praise him for it and he gets recognition by his peers. I love looking at him and therefore I’m always happy to have new photos. I get a pleasure from listening to his voice. Beside the awesome metaphors and insightful thoughts, I like the sound of it. The emotions that resonate in it. I love his dorky demeanour that makes me happy and he is someone that can make me smile.

To a certain degree I love hearing little details about his life, his habbits, his likes and dislikes. They are something like an outsiders input to make the fantasies more lifelike. That’s the irrational part of every single one of us, that is always happy if other humans share ideas or traits and makes us like them more. Does it change anything that he dislikes rhubarb? No. Does it make me happy in a way that we share that trait? Yes. Would it change my opinion of him if he sat right in front of me eating it? No. 

I don’t know about you, but beside my fantasy life, that has nothing to do with either Tom’s life or mine, I just hope that Tom is happy. Part of it is having close relationships with other humans. Whether it’s random sexual encounters, enjoying single life, spending time with family and friends, having fun with whomever he wants, or finding his soulmate he wants to spent his life with until the universe ends. I just hope that whatever he does makes him happy and if not that he finds happiness. Just like any other human being.

My own fantasies aren’t touched by that. Maybe because I never had the fantasy to meet Tom and then he falls in love with me and we live happily ever after. He’s merely the faceclaim for some of my fantasies, which include different incarnations based on me. It’s extremely fun, but I’m always aware that that’s just my fantasy. That’s nothing that’ll change as long as it is fun for me. 

Tom just happens to be a human that I like a lot and that makes me happy, even though I don’t know him and I wish him a lot of happiness. :)


1. she loved motorcycles. she got a motorcycle at 18 immediately crashed headfirst into a winnebago that stopped suddenly in front of her then drove away, leaving her unconscious in the road. two passing bikers pulled her off to the side and called 911, and she remained pals with them until she moved out of new york. once she came home with a terrible wound. she had laid her harley down in the street, gouged a fist-sized chunk of flesh out of her leg, and decided not to go to the hospital because she then hit the exhaust and the wound was cauterized shut, so she just picked the bike up and rode home.

2. dropped out of high school in tenth grade. wanted to join the navy, but had an iron problem and was disqualified from military service. all of her husbands were in the military.

3. held many jobs in her life. at one point, she sold corndogs wholesale for a living before i was born. once interviewed at a jewelry store and failed the polygraph test because she said she’d never stolen anything. when asked to clarify, she admitted that once she had stolen salt and pepper shakers from a wendys. retook the polygraph test afterward and got the job. took a third job at a toy store in the mall during the holidays for the discount so we could have toys for christmas.

4. got her ged and went to school to climb telephone poles with bellsouth. quit climbing telephone poles when her safety rig failed and she had to either fall off of the pole or slide down it. she came home that night from the hospital with the front of her body shredded from splinters, and had left most of her shirt in strips on the pole. she thought it probably looked hilarious.

5. owned a canary-yellow corvette with a BORICUA sticker on the back window when i was in middle school. wanted to get spinny wheels on it, but was informed by a friend that this would be ENTIRELY too puerto rican of her.

6. was married three times. was still married to her first husband when i was born (my dad was…not her first husband). my army hospital birth certificate lists me as samantha jo perry (first husband’s last name. he was also in the army, stationed in korea, and had cheated on her first. the marriage was over, but he was dragging ass on signing the papers), so that my father wouldn’t get in trouble since the army has rules against adultery. my first official birth certificate and social security card listed me as samantha jo gonzalez (her maiden name). i wish she had left it that way instead of giving me my father’s last name (i love my father, but his last name is terrible).

7. she was a talented artist without any training or classes whatsoever. she could sketch out a lifelike portrait of somebody in fifteen minutes, and painted beautifully. she never devoted any time to it because she had other responsibilities.

8. she didn’t read books because if she started one, she wouldn’t put it down until she finished it, and she had to work.

9. couldn’t spell the word professional, not ever. it was the funniest fucking thing in the world, because it’s like she had to write it down at least once a week for whatever cosmic joke reason and NEVER EVER COULD SPELL IT.

10. she was generous. we were in poverty while i was growing up, but once she was in a position to help others, she did it hard. willingly and without any expectation of a return on the investment. she was the same way with her time, energy, and fiery defender-of-the-wronged streak. the first time i ever heard her use the word fuck was when she made a man apologize for referring to a waitress with several slurs while he was complaining about something. i believe the exact phrase was “what the fuck is the matter with you? say you’re sorry.” my mom was about five-three on a tall day, but men were afraid of her. i don’t remember one man ever talking down to her in my entire life. not even a white man, and she was a proudly latina woman in a male-dominated field. it’s like some part of their lizard brain knew she could and would destroy them.

11. she loved the x-files, the show heroes, comic book movies, the lord of the rings, and the x-men. storm was her favorite. she was good friends with a comic shop owner named paul when we lived in miami, and we’d spend so much time there that paul started giving my brothers and i a shitload of free pogs whenever we came in. we had so many pogs. too many pogs. i inherited all of the nerd stuff, and it is to my eternal frustration that i didn’t get into any of it until after she died.

12. she wasn’t a particularly excitable person, but the first time we watched the fellowship of the rings together (she’d already seen it once before–she also didn’t rewatch movies ever), she grabbed my arm at the scene where arwen calls the horseys down the river and said “this is my favorite part.”

13. she loved horses. she wanted to retire and have a farm with horses like she did growing up.

14. she was an armwrestling master.

15. she had two tattoos, a blue unicorn on her thigh she got when she was 18 and an orchid over her chemotherapy port after she went into remission.

16. she never told me i was beautiful when i was growing up, but she never made me feel ugly, never told me i needed to lose weight, and never talked negatively about herself around me. i didn’t realize i was weird-looking until i was almost out of high school.

17. she made sure all of us could read before we started kindergarten, and fostered an environment that made us feel safe and comfortable learning and asking questions about the world.

18. the sex/drugs/drinking talk was me helping her wash the car at 13 and her saying “you know i try to raise you to make good decisions, and i’d prefer it if you wait to do adult things until you’re an adult. but you can come to me with anything and you don’t have to be afraid to talk to me or ask me if you need something. okay?” and i said okay, and we went and got ice cream. i boned down for the first time at 14 (maybe it was 13? YOU CAN FORGET YOUR FIRST TIME IF IT WAS LITERALLY THE STUPIDEST THING IN THE WORLD) and never actually took her up on her offer, but i never felt like i couldn’t.

19. i know she didn’t tolerate racism or sexism, and she was never homophobic that i know of, but my stepfather definitely was. consequently, i didn’t figure out who i was until i was until after she’d died, and i regret not knowing how she would have reacted. when i told her my best friend in the first two years of high school was a lesbian, she said “other people will think you’re a lesbian, too. are you okay with that?” and i said yes, and she nodded and said “good.” so i think she probably would have been fine with me.

20. she joked on me CONSTANTLY. she was a huge troll when i was a teenager because it was so easy to make me mad, and whenever i grouched out like a human pufferfish, she would laugh. i appreciate it now because i learned not to take myself too seriously. she was also hilarious, and i credit most of my sense of humor to her influence.

21. it genuinely makes me angry that i have so many people that i love who will never get to meet her. my friends loved her. if your mom sucks, mine would have picked up the slack.

22. it genuinely makes me angry that i’ll never be able to talk to her as an adult, and neither will my brothers, or her grandchildren. that’s fucked up.