i will not tag this long hair and freckles for notes i just will not

Someone made a post in the tag today about how they want creators to stop making trans Fenris content. On an unrelated note, here’s a drabble I just wrote where Fenris is trans


“Oh, thank the Maker,” Isabela moans, undoing the clasps on her shirt and dropping it in the dry grass.

“You know what, that’s a perfect idea.” Hawke sheds his pack, grasping the hem of his own shirt and stripping it off over his head.

“What are you doing?!” Aveline squawks.

Fenris is inclined to ask the same thing. Isabela’s brassiere is next, and she flings it gaily behind her. It lands on top of Aveline’s head. She has excellent aim, Fenris muses.

“Going for a swim,” Hawke answers, opening up the tie on his trousers. “I’m bloody melting.”

Evident by how his tan, freckled back shines with sweat, droplets running down his spine, winding in rivulets between his taut, powerful muscles…Fenris fixes his gaze instead on the wide, blue-black lake opening up from the stream they’ve been following. It is impolite to stare. He is also quite hot, but after the chokingly humid, mosquito-clouded jungles of Seheron, heat like this hardly merits notice.

Isabela kicks her smallclothes off and runs, bare feet dashing through the grass, letting out a whoop as she flings herself off a rock and splashes into the water below.

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Along for the Ride – Prompto x Fem!Reader // Chapter 1: Photoshoot


Word Count: 3666 
Adult Themed but SFW (Later chapters will be entirely NSFW. We’re building to it. I’m a sucker for sexual tension, ok?)
Reader specifics: She has some sort of fashion color in her hair. It can be any color(s), in any amount, but it’s there. 2. She has a small tattoo on her right bicep. That is all. :D

Author’s Note: This little chapter was what started my journey into Prompto hell. It has since taken over my entire damn life and it’s all thanks to someone else’s photoshoot one shot. It was fine, but it left me un satisfied. I’ve tried my hand at modeling before, so the flow just felt inorganic. I also just couldn’t wrap my head around (the canon version of) Prompto just banging a chick he just met during a photoshoot. So I was like…I’m an ok writer…I could write it…then I needed it…and before I knew it, I was neck deep into 9 chapters and I now have an overarching plan to fix the end of the damn game. (Facepalm) I’ve been consumed.

I ALMOST didn’t post this. I’ve been reeling, trying to make it perfect. Then my dumb ass muse was like, “PREQUEL!” 

Then it was like, “ONE SHOTS!” and I started like 4 that are currently incomplete because I keep going back to this damn chapter and fixing it. If I don’t just post this, I’m going to find a reason not to. 

So here you go my lovely Prompto fans. I hope you enjoy it.


(If I tagged you, it’s because I’m pretty sure you appreciate Prompto. I hope that’s ok!!  ⁽˚̌ʷ˚̌ʺ⁾)

@xnoctits, @ridingchocobros, @louisvuittontrashbags, @dirtyffxvconfession, @chocofeathers

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Request: Can you do an imagine where the reader is really insecure and queenie reads her mind and tells newt and it gets all fluffy and stuff? Thanks love!! Tag me if you can?? I love your writing ❤

Word Count: 2,191

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Requested by @thosefantasticbeast2

Requests are currently open! Feel free to send one in

“It should smell like bread fresh from the oven.”

You brush a chunk of hair back from your cheek as you lean forward and press your nose next to the cork shoved inside the vial. A sharp, bitter odor hisses out.

Your nose burns as you spin. You grab the word desk and try to hold down your breakfast as you gag and cough out the overpowering smell of filthy socks.

“I suppose that’s not it, then.” Newt’s amusement is clear in his voice. “Would you like me to get it?”

You shake your head, still bent in half coughing. “I’ve – I’ve got it.”

Newt eyes your back before turning back to the papers in front of him. “You should try to avoid smelling doxy toe fungus in the future. Might be best for your respiratory system.”

You straighten and gasp in fresh air. “Noted.”

Facing the rack of vials, you take another deep breath. You studied Newt’s notes all day yesterday. You should be able to identify graphorn slime.

Newt scratches away at the papers in front of him, writing down observations on some experiment he’s conducting.

Is it red or yellow? You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to picture the page on graphorns. It definitely isn’t green, but it does bubble. Or wait, is it acromantula venom that bubbles when exposed to any light? What did that page say?

You shove the heels of your hands against your eyes. You must remember something.

Newt brushes the bottom of your arm with his fingertips. “You know this. Remember the rhyme?”

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Method Actor - Anthony Ramos x Reader

Summary: On the stage of 21 Chump Street, the reader is playing Naomi Rodriguez opposite a very talented Anthony Ramos. He seems to have feelings for her, but she fears that this is only acting. 

Warnings: Two or so curse words, but nothing other than that! 

Word Count: 1,433 (I cut down! Yay!)

A/N: Two fics in two days. I feel like I should apologize for being so over-excited! This burst of inspiration, combined with an added adoration for Anthony Ramos meant I couldn’t stop myself from writing this one. I hope you enjoy it! It’s got the same slight angst feel to it but I’m a sucker for a fluffy ending. Let me just add @alexanderhamllton because the poor girl has only gone and cursed herself for asking to be tagged in my pieces! Enjoy, and send in requests and prompts! I love those. 

askbox | masterlist

The problem is, the moment you met Anthony Ramos was the day your feet slipped from right under you. So this is what it meant to be swept off your feet. You hadn’t been hoping for much when you signed up to audition for 21 Chump Street, you really hadn’t. With such a strong, talented rising star writing the piece, Lin-Manuel Miranda had been (in your mind) taking a huge chance casting some new girl as Naomi Rodriguez. And yet, here you were, two days before the premiere at rehearsals and you couldn’t take your eyes off the curly-haired boy in front of you. You had gotten close, during the process of the musical, and you were happy to know such a sweet boy, but damn it, were you whipped, and fast.

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What They Call You... Stiles

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Reader x Stiles Stilinski

A/N: As requested, here’s the nickname that Stiles gives the reader. And remember, requests are open. Also, if you want to be tagged then lemme know

Tagging: @stilinski-jpeg, @obsessed-withthe-hales @dumbass-stilinski, @wolvesofthebeacon

You had known Scott and Stiles for a long time since you had been at the same school since fifth grade. You weren’t friends or anything, but you had classes with them and if you missed class then you could talk to them and look over their notes. As mentioned, nothing close.

It wasn’t until high school that you became part of their ‘crowd.’ You were in the bleachers, reading, when the lacrosse team came out and started practicing. That was nothing new, but there was something new on the team. You felt a shiver run down your spine, making you look straight at Scott McCall. Putting your book away, you watched in silence as each player went against Jackson.

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I knew your skin until I didn’t

Tags: fluff, sex but not smutty, freckles, drabble
Words: 680
Pairing: Dan Howell/Phil Lester

Summary: Everything is different, but everything is the same.

Authors note: The boys have freckles. For some reason this is entirely too cute to me so… this happened. Enjoy.

(I should be writing for my June project but here I am once again affected by a damn selfie. Why won’t they let me be?)

Fic under the cut



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Vacation Stopper

Pairing: Dean x Reader, implied Erin x Sam, Implied Rach x Cas (see what I did there girls? ;))

Word Count: 792

A/N: This kinda happened in real life. Only Dean being gifs on tumblr and research was fics my chickas needed betaing help for. I was not easy to pull away ;)

The reader represents me in this and Erin is @blacktithe7 and Rach is @mysupernaturalfics In this drabble they are the reader’s blood sister but in real life they are my sisters by choice. I honestly have no idea what I would do without you two.   Please don’t ever leave my life cause I would be lost without either of you!

***My fics are not to be saved nor posted on any other sites without my express written permission.***

You growled, hiding your face deeper in your pillow as your phone rang for the second time. Even though you were alone in bed, you didn’t wanna leave it because chances were you wouldn’t be for long.

When the connection broke and the phone rang for the thrid time you know you couldn’t ignore it anymore, so you reached for the nightstand and pulled it to your face.

“What?” you groaned into your cell, making your little sister giggle at the other end, which did not help your annoyance one bit. You loved your sisters to bits, but damn they could be a pain in the ass sometimes. “Rach I am on vacation,” you reminded her in an annoyed tone of voice.

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No Longer Ignored (Lafayette x Hamilton x Reader)

Words: 2572

Request: What about a Lafayette or Hamilton x reader where the reader is a Deaf nurse that patches up the Hamilsquad every time they get hurt on the battle field? I’m taking American sign language right now, so I personally think it would be interesting to see how either of the boys would react to a situation where they tried to learn a language they can’t actually hear! LOVE WAR OF LOVE TO PIECES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Tags: @superwholockbooknerd526

Warnings: None (?)

A/N: I couldn’t help myself and made it with both Laf and Ham (I love this idea so much omg). I was researching this for HOURS, and I loved that you requested it! It made my brain work again and I had so much fun writing this. Hopefully you like it (if anything is offense please lmk, I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings).

You cleaned the blood off the table, moving the scalpels and forceps to the side, making sure that they were disinfected. Your fellow nurse, Anna, was helping a soldier that was slashed with a blade. You helped her stitch the deep cut, since this was her first time being on the battlefield. She told you how the constant gunshots and screams made her have nightmares all the time, and you could not relate, although you felt empathetic to her. She constantly apologized once she realized that you could not hear what she said. When you first met her, she grew angry that you did not talk to her, even with you telling her that you could not hear. Eventually, one of your relatives spoke you through sign language, and the shock on her face was memorable. Ever since then, she was always nice to you, making sure that you were not left out in conversations. She even learned how to sign to speak to you more clearly, and it made you happy that she put effort to create a relationship with you.

As you were consumed in your thoughts, a hand touched your shoulder. You turned around, coming face to face with a soldier.

Alexander Hamilton:

His dark brown hair was pulled back into a bun, covered in a liquid (which you assumed was blood). His brown eyes were filled with panic, pointing at the man that was dragged it. He was yelling rather quickly, turning his head back to point at the man. You tried to follow his movements, staring at his lips. You glanced over at where Anna was suppose to be, but she was gone. You were used to dealing with the soldiers without her, so this shouldn’t be different.

You walked over to the man, examining his injury. He seemed to have a bullet lodged in his arm, and you grabbed the forceps and alcohol nearby. It was deep, already passed the blood vessels. He was lucky that it was stuck in the subcutaneous layer, just above the muscles. You tied a band around his upper arm, lightly patting the wound with alcohol. He jumped up, moving his arm. You gestured toward the bun man, putting your hands in a grabbing motion. He seemed to understand what you were telling him to do, calling to the other two men by the door. They all seemed to be friends to the freckled-face man on the table. They held onto him tightly, and you saw him take a deep breath. Once you knew he was secure, you began removing the bullet.

It did not take long, and once you were finished with cleaning and stitching up the wound, you wrote the man on the table a note, saying that he must rest until his wound is healed, making him visit the medical tent twice a day. He grimaced at the note, and said something too quickly for you to understand. Once he left, you were alone with the bun guy. He smiled at you, and began speaking.

Thank you for helping our friend. He mouthed, and you smiled and nodded, pulling the dirty sheets off the bed. He seemed confused. You turned away to put the sheets in a hazard bag, folding it up quickly. A hand touched your shoulder, and you turned back to the man. You couldn’t help but see that he was quite handsome, his intelligent eyes drawing you in. You blinked quickly, blushing at the inappropriate thoughts that came into your head.

Are you ignoring me on purpose? I asked if this was your first time working on the battle field five minutes ago. Your face dropped, forgetting that you did not tell him.

You put your first two fingers to your ear, tapping it twice. You then made a circle with each of your hands, moving it from your chest outwards. Hear, no. You made it as simple as you possibly could. He still stared at you, even more puzzle than before.

What are you doing? Are you making fun of me? He said, frowning. You sighed.

This happened a lot, well, all of the time. Many hearing people that you bumped into, either on the street literally or if they were asking you something, always became offended that you did not respond to them. It did hurt that when you tried to explain, they wanted nothing to do with you, yelled their speech (like saying it louder will instantly cure you) or treated you like a child. You hoped that this man would not behave that way.

You saw Anna appear out of the back, noticing him standing quite close to you. She looked concerned, and began spelling out letters.

Is he bothering you? She asked, glaring at the man. You shook your head, smiling at her.

No, he thinks that I am trying to make fun of him. Can you explain to him that I cannot hear what he’s saying? You asked her, gesturing. His face is getting more and more red by the second, and he finally turned back to Anna. She looked at him, and began speaking. You appreciated that she didn’t turn away from your view.

Anna: Excuse me, sir, but she cannot hear anything that you are saying.

Man: Wait, what?

Anna: Y/N, she can’t hear you. That’s why she doesn’t say anything when you’re not facing her. She can only sign to get her point across.

The man’s eyes widened, looking back at me. The blood drained out of his face, leaving it a pale white. You saw the embarrassment grow in his eyes, the usual thing that happened when someone found out about you. He apologized quickly, the confusion in his face was gone. Anna smiled at his actions, and looked at you, a sparkle in her eyes. With his back turned to her, he couldn’t see what she was doing.

Anna: He’s hilarious, and handsome. I feel bad, maybe you should make him feel better.

She wiggled her eyebrows, and you rolled your eyes, grabbing the blood-stained tools. You looked back at him, and he was talking to Anna, and you could catch only a few words.

Hearing. Y/N.  Long time. Words. Sign Language. Help. Yes.

You assumed that they were talking about how you helped her learn sign to talk to you. You frowned, wondering why he wouldn’t just ask you these questions. You were standing right here. A small part of you believed that he was afraid of trying to talk to you. But you pushed it aside, moving around the rest of the materials. You glanced out of the corner of your eye, noticing that he walked out of the tent already. Anna gave you a look, and helped the next patient that came in. Your chest swelled with sadness, wishing that he didn’t avoid you after this. At least, that’s what all the men you met did.


A few days passed since you saw the handsome man. His friends walked in and out of the tent almost every day, with every injury possible. You scolded them constantly, rolling your eyes every time. You learned all of their names. The man who was shot was named John Laurens. The other two were Gilbert Lafayette and Hercules Mulligan. They were fun to be around, and they always made sure to face you when you were in the room. The handsome one, which the boys refused to tell you the name of, never appeared. You assumed it was because of your lack of hearing, and you silently were saddened by it.

As you folded the blanket on a cot, you saw the handsome man walk in. He looked nervous, glancing around until his eyes contacted yours. He marched over, his hands shaking. You grew concerned, wondering if he was experiencing anxiety. It wasn’t uncommon that the men in the army came to you about this.

He seemed to take a deep breath, then held out his hands. You watched him struggle, curious as to what he was going to do. As you saw him form letter slowly, you smiled.

Man: My name is A L I X A N D E R.

He smiled at you, hope in his eyes. Your heart warmed up at his effort, and you felt the tears appear in your eyes. His grew wide, dread slowly consuming his face.

Oh hell, I insulted you, didn’t I? I’m so sorry, I was trying to tell you my name. He said quickly, his hands shaking. You shook your head, your soft smile growing wide. He instantly looked relieved, the tension off his shoulders. You signed your words slowly, and he concentrate on your hands, never looking away.

Thank you, Alexander. And my name is Y/N. I am happy that you made an effort to sign. But you can just talk to me if you want, just look at me when you’re speaking.

Alexander: If I want to court you, I should learn, right? He signed, and you were surprised at how good it was, compared to him spelling out his name before.

You blushed quickly, and he looked at you, a small smirk on his face. He held out his palm, and you placed your hand in his, his lips pressing against your skin softly. You involuntarily shivered, and he grinned wildly at you. You made the sign for laugh, putting both of your hands next to your face and grinning.

Does that mean you want to court me? He signed, his eyebrows raised. You nodded, and Alexander pumped his fist in the air, his happiness infectious. You couldn’t help but smile back at him. Who knew that the man who ignored you for days would be the one you looked most forward to being with?

Marquis de Lafayette:

His hair was brown and curly, pulled back into a bun. His face was full of cuts and blood dripping. But he seemed more concerned about another man, guiding you onto the battlefield. He had a panicked look in his eyes, pointing towards a man lying on the ground. You ran over, staring at his injury. The man seemed to have a bullet in his stomach, not able to move. You pulled out materials from the bag, gesturing to the others (there were three other men, including the one that pulled you out) to help hold him down. They understood quickly, moving the man’s arms and legs out of the way. You cut through his shirt, showing his lean stomach. You stared at the entry would, glad that the bullet was still visible. This meant that you didn’t have to dig through his skin to find it, which may cause even more injury to the man.

You patted the wound with alcohol-covered gauze, staring at his face for a reaction. His mouth was wide, and you assumed he was screaming. You gave him an apologetic look, then began removing the metal.

It was over in 20 minutes or so, you finally stitching up the hole. You wrote a quick note to him, telling him that if there was anything wrong, to go to the medical tent ASAP. He rolled his eyes, but nodded, carried away by two of the men. You were left with the curly-haired man, and he smiled at you. You couldn’t help but beam at him, his smile infectious.

Madam… (you couldn’t understand the rest) thank you for helping my friend. May I know your name?

You tensed up, and began signing your name. He looked at your hands, then back at your face, the same puzzled look that appears on everyone. It didn’t bother you; you were used to the expression. You grabbed the paper off the ground, and pulled out the quill that you carried around, and wrote your name on a paper.

Y/N Y/L/N. You wrote. He looked at the paper, then back up at you.

My apologizes, m… Can you not speak? You nodded, and began writing again.

And I cannot hear you. I am deaf, sir. You wrote, turning the sheet towards him once again. His eyes widened, and he nodded quickly, bowing. You saw Anna appear out of the corner of your eyes, and she waved you over, blood dripping from her hands. You looked back at the man, giving him an apologetic look before running to Anna. You couldn’t see the small smile he gave you when you turned your back to him.


Every single day, the man, you later found out was named Lafayette, walked in and talked with you, which consisted of more of him talking and you writing. Eventually, he asked if you could teach him sign language, and you agreed. Anything was fine, as long as you and him could spend time with each other. You knew you grew to like him, and Anna teased you about it every time he left, making hearts with her hands and winking. You smiled and shook your head at her constantly, but she never stopped teasing you about it.

His other friends, Mulligan, Laurens, and Hamilton sometimes came and visited you. Hamilton was the one who figured out sign without your help (you questioned him on how, but he refused to tell you) and the other two struggled. Mulligan wanted to know if sign would seduce other women, and you grinned at him, knowing that he was joking. Laurens hands constantly shook when he signed, his nerves getting the best of him. You always encouraged him, gratefully that he was trying his best. You knew that you weren’t even an expert at your own language; there were words that you didn’t know either.

One day, while you were disinfecting the utensils, Lafayette walked in, smiling at you. Your heart beat quickened immediately, reminding you of how much you cared for the Frenchman. He moved his hands, signing to you.

Y/N, I’ve been trying to learn how to say this in sign for such a long time. He said, sitting down on one of the beds. You glanced around to make sure Anna wasn’t there to make fun of you, then walked over to him. You sat next to him signing back.

Do you want me to help you? You asked. He nodded, and instead of signing, he began talking to you.

How do you sign, “I have been in love with you this whole time, and it took me this long to realize it.” You froze, staring at him. The pink rose on his cheeks, he rubbed his hangs together in anticipation. You looked down, the smile never leaving your face. Your heart pounded even more at his confession, and you began signing to him.

I have been in love with you this whole time, and I’ve realized it a few weeks ago. Lafayette’s grin could have broken his face, the joy unbelievably expressed. Without thinking, you pressed your lips onto his, quickly, barely touching. It still sent shivers down your spine, and you blushed intensely, quickly avoiding his gaze.

You felt his hand touch yours, your fingers entwining with his. He touched your chin, turning it to him. Your eyes looked at his warm brown ones, and he smile nervously.

Can I kiss you, for real this time? Your eyes closed slowly, nodding. His lips pressed against yours, and you couldn’t remember your life before Lafayette appeared in it.

Pretty Boy

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Request: Can I request a Dean x Reader where Sam runs into the reader, who is an old friend from college who recently joined the “life”. But Dean starts flirting with her and it makes Sam really mad.

Warnings: Language (I think), sexual innuendos.

Word Count: 890

A/N: I know it’s not exactly the request I took a little artist license. That being said I hope you still like it even with the changes.

Originally posted by calicosjack

Slamming your glass down on the bar, you indicated to the barkeeper to keep them coming. Tonight had been a rough one. You had been successful in killing the vamps but not before they killed a teenage girl.

Picking up another shot, you held it up to the light. Looking at the golden brown glow it cast you contemplated how you had got here. You had been on the fast track to an amazing career when your parents had been murdered by vamps. After that you had made it your life mission to protect as many as you could from the supernatural world.

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Wayward Spells

Characters: Sam x Reader, Dean, Castiel, Rowena, Crowley, Mr. Ketch, unnamed witch

Word Count: 4,172

Warnings: None, maybe a little angst but mostly just fluff.

Summary: Witches are bitches, there isn’t an argument there. But when a witch casts a spell on Sam, how do you handle that? 

Author’s Note: Please send in your requests! I like writing for you guys. Also, if you want to be tagged in my future fics, please let me know and I’ll add you. Tagging @ilostmyshoe-79 , @jotink78, @jpadjackles @impala-dreamer for a signal boost! 

Originally posted by savingpeoplehuntingthings1983

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” You asked Sam. You and the Winchesters had just gotten back from an especially long hunt, hunting down a greedy witch who just wouldn’t quit. Of course, a hunt couldn’t end without someone getting hurt, cursed, or worse and that person was Sam. The witch had said some shit in Latin and threw a pink powder at him. She got away before you could kill her. Nothing has happened yet but you weren’t going to stop being concerned for the hazel-eyed Winchester.

“Yes, Y/N, I am fine for the hundredth time.” He walked inside of the Bunker with you and Dean trailing behind him.

“Sorry I keep asking but you know how it is for us. There is always something more to it than meets the eye. I just wanted to make sure my boyfriend was alright.” Sam turned to you and smiled a little, his eyes softening.

“I know and I appreciate it but I am fine. Honestly, I don’t feel any pain or any different from when we left the place.” He tucked some hair behind his ear and you nodded.

“Okay, well, I am going to take a shower and I’ll meet you in our room.” You leaned up and kissed his cheek but he moved his lips to your ear.

“May I join you?” You giggled but heard gagging from the eldest brother.

“I do not need to hear about that.” Dean stalked off to room. You giggled and took Sam’s hand, pulling him to the showers with you. Not every shower you take with Sam, ends with you needing a second one and you were glad that this one wasn’t one of those times.

You took care of each other and made sure that you or Sam didn’t leave a spot untouched. The shower took less than 10 minutes and before you knew it, you were laying in your shared bed in your shared room.

You moved into the Bunker a few months after you met the brothers. You met them while working on the same case. You got there first and ran into them, deciding it was best if you three worked together. A few more months after that, Sam asked you to move into the Buner with him and his brother.

Who were you to deny the 6’4” moose his wishes? So, you did and it was the second best decision you ever made. The first was saying yes to Sam when he finally had enough courage to ask you out on a date. That was when you began your beautiful journey with each other and you couldn’t have been happier than you are now.

Now here you were, a year later, in his arms, content with the silence looming over you. You snuck a glance at Sam and saw he had his eyes closed and you studied his features carefully. His nose was the first thing you noticed because it was so angular and pointy.

His lips were the next thing that your eyes caught. They weren’t as full as his brothers but they were kissable. They were naturally pink and you often teased him for having thin lips but damn, they were skilled.

Your eyes drifted across his face and saw the litter of freckles on his face. He didn’t have as much as Dean had but they were there if you stared at them long enough. He was just a beautiful man and he was all yours.

“You’re staring.” He suddenly said. You blushed and looked down quickly.

“No, it’s called admiring. There’s a difference,” You giggled when you felt the scruff on his face tickle your neck as he nuzzled it. “Sam, that tickles.” You laughed softly. He kissed your neck gently before pulling away and looking at you in the eyes.

“I love you.” He smiled.

“I love you and are you sure you’re okay?” You asked in a small voice. You didn’t want him to be annoyed with you but you wanted to make sure he was okay before you fell asleep.

“I’m sure, I don’t feel anything at all. Maybe she missed me? I don’t know but let’s go to sleep.” You nodded and turned around so your back was facing his chest and that is how you fell asleep: cuddly and warm.

In the morning, you usually got up by the feel of the cold sheets from the side of Sam’s bed. Sam always got up early to go for a run. He tried to get you to go with him and for a couple of times, you did but your body wasn’t used to waking up at the crack of dawn. So, it wasn’t a surprise to see his side of the bed empty.

You got up and grabbed his flannel that he wore yesterday, putting it on. You walked out to the hallway and frowned. It was eerily quiet. Sam was usually back by the time you woke up and Dean was always making noise in the kitchen but you heard nothing.

“Dean? Sam?” You called out, walking into the library. You saw Dean with his back to you, staring at something. You couldn’t see what it was but you didn’t see Sam anywhere.

“Hey where’s Sam and are you okay?” Dean turned around slowly and his eyes were wide.

“We have a problem.”

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thegaypumpingthroughyourveins  asked:





You know what I really don’t want?

I don’t want Graves to hold out. I don’t want his shields to be stronger than Grindelwald was anticipating, stronger than they had any right to be - stronger than any learned legilimens could pierce. I don’t want to think of a younger Graves flicking his eyes up to a younger Queenie when he meets her for the first time, or the slight furrowing of Queenie’s brow when she realises that he’s not running his gaze down her chest and his thoughts aren’t quickened by that hint of what if that every man has when she walks past.

The way his breath catches when his neighbour leans across him to shake Queenie’s hand, the way Graves’ eyes linger for a fraction of a second on the undone top buttons of the man’s shirt. The way Queenie’s face clears with understanding, the confused frown and sudden wide eyed panic as Graves figures out that she knows. The way they drift together after that, loitering around the edges of various social functions. Graves’ scowls drive off the more persistent of Queenie’s admirers and Queenie’s gentle smiles halt the rumours that had begun to circle about Graves.

It takes a while for Graves to twig about the legilimency, and he doesn’t need to be a mind reader to see the faint hint of apprehension on Queenie’s face when she notices. “Biscuit?” he asks innocently, passing her the plate - and is struck by the sudden memory of the way Nadir had looked, shirt thrown to floor and fingers fumbling with the buttons of his trousers. So strange how these things happen, how memories can leap out of the blue like that. So strange.

Queenie pauses, one hand hovering over the biscuit, but only for a second. She takes it in and brushes past him in a smooth movement, murmuring just low enough for him to hear: “Daley from records wants to bend you over his desk and make you scream.”

Graves chokes on his coffee and stares after her, wide eyed and shocked. She adds a jaunty swing to her hips and waves her biscuit at him in thanks, and that’s round one to Queenie.

He learns to stop counting the rounds. Even when he’s managed to get his occlumency to a stage that it takes her a while to get around it, she somehow manages to beat him. It’s easier on his pride not to keep a running tally of exactly how much she outclasses him. But still, it’s good practice and Queenie is not only a natural legilimens she’s a damn sneaky one, and Grindelwald just can’t compare.

The dark lord’s attacks slide off his shields like shadows from a candle flame and Graves bares his teeth in a grin. Round one to Graves.

But Graves… Graves. Queenie never meant to hurt you, Graves. She tested your shields in every way she had, beaming with pride when you strengthened them and smoothed over the weaknesses, but she never meant to hurt you. Grindelwald… does.

Round two digs rotting tendrils into the base of Graves’ shields and detonates them. Round two flings memories like hailstones on a howling wind and Grindelwald laughs as he picks through the broken pieces for the knowledge he needs.

Round two leaves Graves to slump glassy-eyed and pained against the wall as jagged snatches of thought scream into the void of his empty skull.

“How very obliging of you, director,” Grindelwald purrs as he leaves the room. “I’ll be sure to give Miss Goldstein your regards.”

Graves doesn’t hear him. His life hovers around him in fragmented shards; he’s six years old, thirty four, nineteen. His mother is scolding him - praising him - holding him close as he cries - he parries a curse - Queenie laughs - the sun is shining on a moonlit room at he runs on his father’s shoulders while his aurors scream his name.

He slots them together as well as he can, but… it isn’t well. He knows this. He’s running blind, trying to group them by people’s ages or guessing which groups of memories go where. He discards a lot of it. Hours spent training, the feel of dredging the last scraps of power from his overtaxed reserves, the ache and burn in his muscles - how can he tell which training session goes where? He presses them into one and pushes them aside, and they melt and fade. He forgets how to recognise when he’s nearing his limit and one day that could cause trouble, but there are more important things to detangle.

He runs gentle fingers over the cracks in his mind and asks himself if he is a man called Graves who goes by Percival or a man called Percival who goes by Graves. He can’t tell. A lady with curly hair smiles at him and he draws the word sister? in the air over her head, but there’s nothing of her as a child so he scrubs it out. He tries lover and that sits ill, so he waves the words away and turns to something else.

There is a memory where he runs away, and he cradles it in his hands for a long time before closing them and snuffing it out. He does not want to be a man who runs away.

It’s only when he looks up that he sees the chain of other memories falling after it, but the moment is gone - when he find the scene where he drags himself back, it means nothing to him.

He reaches next for a man, one with red-gold hair and freckles, one that frowns at him in concern and confusion.

“Mr Graves?” the memory asks. Graves scrawls work contact? in the air above it and pushes it to one side until he has more evidence for where the man fits.

“Mr Graves, can you hear me?” the same memory asks, and Graves adds a note - was there when I was injured; auror maybe? - and picks up a picture of the man he thinks might be his grandfather.

But the man with freckles, the man Graves has started calling English in his mind, he doesn’t go away. It’s as though once Graves has found the first memory of him he’s opened a dam; they’re everywhere. English drinks tea. English leans over him to check his temperature. English turns to someone else and says I can try something else - I think the first potion helped, but Swooping Evil venom is more meant to remove bad memories than fix broken ones. English scribbles notes and chews his lip in concentration. English naps with his head pillowed on his arms. English snuffles in his sleep.

Work contact? gets scrubbed out replaced with friend replaced with family? replaced with partner replaced with husband? because Graves can’t work out how English fits in the timeline. The memories are too similar, and English seems to be the same age, Graves can’t have known him long - but why would Graves have so many memories coming so thick and so fast unless he was important? It doesn’t make sense.

The curly-haired girl - Queenie, Graves found her name and she’s called Queenie and she’s his friend - appears in one of English’s memories. She hands him a steaming mug and a paper bag from some local bakery, and when she leans over she rests her hand on his shoulder and smiles at him. Graves leaps forwards, scribbling notes because Queenie is friend best friend and if Queenie knows English maybe some of her memories will tell him the truth. He flicks through them, searching for any glimpse of English because come on Queenie, give him this, tell him who English is, is he partner doctor love of his life –

Queenie looks up, surprised, her hands flying to her mouth. “Graves?” she asks in a quavering voice, and Graves flings the memory center stage with an expansive gesture. English looks up, dreamy eyes intent (and Graves has spent so long studying those dreamy eyes and trying to find an answer but he’s never seen them sharpen like this.)

“He’s asking who you are,” Queenie says, answering English’ unasked question, and Graves tags this memory with first meeting? in shaky, excited script.

“Oh,” English says. He hesitates, then smiles, and Graves’ breath catches because it’s like the sun. Boyfriend, he labels English hopefully, because if this was the first time he met him then he can see so easily how he’d fallen in love. Queenie hiccoughs a laugh, eyes wide and stunned, and Graves wonders what he’d said in the memory. He can never hear his own voice.

“My name is Newt,” English says. “Nice to meet you, Mr Graves.”

He ducks his head and averts his gaze, and Graves can’t see himself in the memory and he doesn’t fully know who he is, but he thinks he’s the sort of man that would have stepped forward and dropped a kiss to English’s - to Newt’s - knuckles.

In the memory, Newt blushes scarlet, and Graves slots him into his mind with a satisfied smugness. Boyfriend, he captions the bundle of memories, and starts trawling through the remaining fragments to see if he can find any of them dating.

“Mr Graves?” one of the memories says behind him, but Graves pushes it aside.

“He’s gone, honey,” memory-Queenie answers, and Graves flaps an annoyed hand until the memory fades out entirely. He needs to find the memories of Newt. Needs to know what their first date was, what Newt likes, what Newt looks like when Graves takes him home and lays him back on a bed, what sounds Newt makes when Graves undoes him -

The fragments he needs elude him, but he keeps searching. He has a boyfriend, and a best friend, and a family, and he’ll build himself back into a person piece by piece until he’s ready to see them again.

The Thunder Rolls - Part 1

Pairing: Dean × Reader

Word Count: About 2000

Summary: Dean and Sam are on a case in your hometown but the trail is running cold. Dean is hoping to make a move before they leave town and start another case. Based of the Garth Brooks song with the same title.

Warnings: Domestic Violence

Please, if you are or ever find yourself in a situation of domestic violence, *do not hesitate* to reach out for help, support, or just to talk to someone about what is going on. The United States National Hotline (24/7 and Confidential) is 1-800-799-7233. This blog (http://togetherweare-strong.tumblr.com/helpline) also has hotlines for multiple other countries.

This is purely for a hobby and my enjoyment. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I am by no means a writer so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors.


Sam and Dean rolled into town with the all too familiar rumble of the impala. To them it seemed like a straightforward case. Three demons had been causing havoc in the area. Not for any reason in particular, probably just to stir up the dust of the small conservative town. Earlier in the week, they had tracked all three demons to a beach house. They were able to take care of two but the third smoked out. They reckoned the thing was still in town but laying low based on sulfur that was found at several violent thefts.  However, they couldn’t establish a pattern and the trail seemed to turn cold. They discussed back and forth on whether they should head out for bigger and badder things. Dean argued they should stay but Sam saw right through his intentions. The fact that he had been eyeing a bartender every night gave him away, not wanting to leave town before he made a move.

You had been born and bred in this town. Never leaving for more than three days at a time. As everyone did in this town, you married young. Travis would have been a catch in high school and only after a year he swept you off your feet. Travis went straight to work in a factory full time. He was unable to move forward with his life, saying high school was the glory days and the best time of his life, it only went downhill from there.

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Summary: An AU in which your soulmate’s current thoughts about you are written onto your skin, Nico is overtired, and certain meetings are bound by fate.

For @lillyvain - I hope your day starts looking up.

Nico di Angelo has been awake for over thirty hours, and he is beginning to feel like he can hear colors.

His handwriting wasn’t all that great to begin with, honestly, but now the words are starting to bleed across the page, blur and blend and become one giant mess of ink and equations and chemical formulas. Looking at his notes is beginning to feel like hell itself.

(His internal monologue has deteriorated, too, becoming something along the lines of, fuck fuck shit fuck fuck finals fuck them and everything they stand for, fuck that stupid essay I still have to write fuck the three hour chem exam I have to sit for tomorrow. Fuck this. Fuck you. Fuck everything.)

On his arm, his tattoo itches. So that’s another awesome perk. He can’t just be miserable by himself; his stupid soulmate has to be agitated, too.

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Maas University: Part Four


Caius wondered if the dark-haired man was going to be perceptible to his charms as he got him to do what he wanted. Many-a-boys had fallen prey to Caius’s easy sensual smile. He supposed it was one of the perks of being the son of Rhysand Salutis. His father was known for getting his way with just a few smiles…unless it was his mother. She wasn’t as perceptible to his charms.

Caius knocked on the boy’s door before shoving his hands in his pockets. He was aware of Rhoe’s gold-rimmed eyes fleeting between him and the door. He liked the boy’s eyes and the silver pale lashes framing them. They saw everything.

A shirtless boy answered the door, his dark hair messy and crystal blue eyes glittering as he leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. Caius was suddenly struck with how pretty the boy was and the sculpted muscle: Wow.

Caius batted away the thought and dug the surveillance photo out of his pocket and showed it to him. “Looks like you, no?”

The boy took the photo and surveyed it before curling his full lips into a smile. “That could be anyone.”

Next to him Rhoe signed rapidly. Caius took note of how the boy’s slender fingers moved. They were deceptively smooth but he could see the paint beneath his fingernails. The former boy looked at Rhoe beneath furrowed brows before looking at him. “What’s he saying?”

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‘And She Was’ (Simon x OC x Negan, Part 8)

Title: “And She Was”

Characters: Simon (The Walking Dead), Negan (The Walking Dead)

Tags/Warnings: Explicit language, explicit sexual content, canon-typical violence, Negan being Negan

Gif Credit: Gif is not mine/credit to the creator!

NOTES: Amber isn’t all she seems to be. And Savannah is coerced into having dinner with The Sanctuary’s so-called “fearless leader”.

Taglist:  @sppplendiferousfinch @collette04 @backseat-negan @simons-thirst-squad@neganisking @isayweallgetdrunk @kuenie @b-asiacoquum @quartz-draws @laymetorest77 @lady-sloan (if you’d like to be added, just let me know!)

Part one!  Part two!  Part three!  Part Four!  Part five!  Part Six!  Part 7!

“Amber, do any of you have dresses that aren’t black?” I turn away from the walk-in closet, my mouth agape. “How many times do you wear the same colour in a week?”

Amber sighs and leans against the wall. “I don’t know, every day?”

“How do you not kill him?” The ubiquitous ‘him’ once again. I almost feel as if Negan embeds the walls of the Sanctuary itself.

“It’s such an exhausting idea.” She says, with a hint of a smile. “Easier to just lay there until it’s over. I mean, it’s not like it’s unenjoyable.”

“But it’s like hard work?”


“I don’t like guys that are hard work.” I say, and she comes to stand beside me, opening a drawer in the dresser sat in the corner of the room. There’s an assortment of cosmetics – various brands, mostly high-street products but several high-end bottles protruding from the disorganised clutter. I come to take a seat on a black velvet seat – with gold accents, of course, as seemed the palette of the wives’ apartment – and prop my elbows on the vintage dresser. Painted cream, the paint flaking in places. Three oval mirrors fringed with dark spots where the silver has been worn away throw our reflections back at us – Amber with her long blonde hair, waifish stature and large eyes, me with my short fair hair and fierce little features. When I was young, the boys in my class used to tease me about my eyes being far apart and how in the summer I always came out in flourishes of freckles. I never tanned, only burned, but freckles appeared all over my skin.

“It’s weird to, you know… have a mirror for once.” I say, frowning. I haven’t seen my reflection in such clarity in at least several months, and I lean forward and examine how the Georgia sun has brought out fine lines under my eyes.

“I know. I remember when I came here, I’d forgotten what I even looked like.” Amber says, sitting on the floor and pooling several bottles of foundation into her lap. “I looked into a mirror and saw a stranger – I thought, who the hell is this person?” A pause. “Honestly, I still do. Every morning.” My chest tightens in empathy, and she tilts my chin up towards the light coming through the window and swatches some of the foundations on my skin.

“Do you do this often?” I giggle, feeling shy to have someone study my face in such detail.

“It’s boring as fuck here – I’ve gotten very into make-up.” She grins, and I realise her front teeth are a fraction crooked. I feel somehow closer to her after finding human fault in her otherwise angelic face. “I studied it in college before, actually – but I didn’t know if I wanted it as a career. Wait, I think I have some MAC somewhere-”


“One of the few perks of this lifestyle choice.” She says. “I wrote Negan a note one morning – in the beginning, I think, when I was pretty idealistic – that if he found any makeup with ‘MAC’ written on it, he had to get it.” She exchanges a glance with me. “I know what you’re thinking – bratty of me, right? But I couldn’t resist. I figured, if I had to live like this, I’d take everything I could get out of him. And he’s always got me everything I asked for.” She searches for a moment and picks up the aforementioned bottle. “Almost everything.”

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Flour Fight

(A/N): Sorry it’s been a while… it’s finals week and it’s kicking my ass.

Pairings: NatashaXReader

Summary: (Y/N) is a really good cook and Natasha knows this.

Warnings: Shitty writing?

Tags: @sxph-t @iamwarrenspeace @bigfootsiddhartamama

If there was one thing Natasha loved about (Y/N) it was their cooking. They had a talent for being able to make anything by just tasting a sample of a food which made them the honorary cook of the team. The whole team would practically beg (Y/N) to cook for them and they would simply smile and agree before running off to make some delicious concoction and Tony kept the place stocked with food because of it.

But Natasha had advantage over the whole team, (Y/N) always made sure she ate whether it was breakfast, lunch, dinner or just a simple snack. They would always be cutting up fruits for her or making them a sandwich for lunch or soup for dinner. She tried to tell them it was unnecessary but they simply shrugged their shoulders telling her she needed to stay healthy before running off again. She couldn’t stop them from doing it, so soon enough she just accepted it.

The whole team became jealous of Natasha’s little meals and would try to steal them, wanting (Y/N)’s food, but soon realized Natasha would fight for it. There was one time Sam thought it would be a good idea to take a yogurt (Y/N) made for her and a few minutes later was seen running down the hallway with Natasha right on his tail. After that, no one dared touching any of Natasha’s food. It was something special she could enjoy and she would especially love the little notes they would leave with them. It was a small pleasure that only they could give her.

One morning, Natasha wakes up and feels the space next to her only to be met with cold sheets. She grunts with disapproval realizing (Y/N) isn’t next to her but her mind clears when she smells bacon and something else coming from down the hall. She smiles, knowing they got up early on her day off to cook her something special and she quickly gets up and slips out the door. She walks quietly down the hallway until the kitchen comes into view and she instantly smiles.

Natasha watches as (Y/N) has soft music playing while dancing around the kitchen as they watch the food on the stove. She can hear them humming to the music as they turn in circles, jumping and swaying their body to the beat. Natasha waits a few moments more, enjoying their dancing before making herself known. “Hey cutie.” (Y/N) freezes, spatula in the air before turning to Natasha, face bright red. They casually bring their hands down, scratching the back of their neck subconsciously as they chuckle nervously.

“Hey, Nat… h-how long have been you standing there?” Natasha smiles before coming over, wrapping her arms around their frame, pulling them close.

“Long enough.” She chuckles out with a grin and (Y/N)’s cheeks turn a light shade of pink before they look down embarrassed. Natasha brings her hand up, uses her finger to push their chin up so they are looking at her green orbs. “Hey, it was cute besides it’s just me. So, what’s cooking, good looking? Can I help with anything?”

(Y/N) laughs and shakes her head before gently pulling away from her embrace, checking on the pancakes and bacon. “As much as I love you. Leave me to the food, you nearly poisoned Clint last time.” Natasha’s jaw falls open and she can’t believe what they just said.

“I did not! It was perfectly fine! It was just him.” She defends crossing her arms and (Y/N) raises an eyebrow with a small smirk.

“You managed to burn vegetables on the bottom of a pan, you over peppered the chicken and you somehow managed to burn the cookies I gave specific instructions on how long to cook. You are an amazing assassin, my love, but you are not a cook.” (Y/N) teases proceeding to flip a pancake and Natasha can’t help but be offended. (Y/N) smiles to herself, knowing Natasha is probably standing behind her with a dumbstruck face and they laugh internally at all the cooking mistakes she’s done. It’s interrupted when they feel a soft ‘thump’ on their back, and a cloud of white powder fills the air around them. (Y/N) coughs as they inhale the flour floating and they turn seeing Natasha with a huge smile on her face, hands covered in white. They go to argue with her when another wave of flour hits their face, getting in their hair eyes, mouth and nose and they give a glare as Natasha almost falls over from laughing at their powdered covered face.

“Oh, it’s on.” (Y/N) grabs a handful of flour and chucks it at her and hits her square in the face and white freckles her red hair. They both stop before rushing to the flour and throwing it at each other, causing a shower of white to float in the air. Natasha proceeds to grab the flour bag and dump it on (Y/N)’s head and they stand shocked as it runs down their shirt and over their entire body. Natasha laughs but before she can run they grab her into a hug causing more flour to get on her face and clothes but she can’t bring herself to be mad. They lean back with an adoring smile.

“Who burnt the food now?” Natasha teases as she smells the burnt pancake on the stove and (Y/N) playfully hits her.

“It’s because your dumb ass decided to start a flour fight.” They giggle out as they attempt to wipe the flour from their face and Natasha smiles, bringing her hand up to help. She keeps her hands on their face admiring how cute they look and she can’t help but lean down and kiss them playfully on the nose. They scrunch up their face but giggle. “Stop being a dork and help me clean up.”

Natasha smiles as she picks up a broom, cleaning up the big mess, thinking it was worth causing a flour fight with (Y/N).

Wow… This is bad

okay so i tried my hand at writing for the first time in Years and idk if it’s any good?? idk its just Neil being introspective more that anything, mostly about andrew,, idk,, pls be nice to me it been so long since ive written 

In his 19 years of life Neil Josten had concerned himself with one thing: survival. He knew the concept like he knew every ugly blemish that marred his torso, like he knew the insistent need to get out of there perpetually lodged in his throat, like he knew the feel of cold steel against warm flesh again again again. That is to say he knew what it meant to survive intimately so. Neil knew how to shoot a man to make him bleed out without fatality and he knew how to kill a man without leaving a trace. The snik of a lock successfully picked, the consuming smoke and fire in his lungs, in his throat, on his tongue, the ricochet of a bullet and the resounding finality of the resultant echo were all sensations Neil had familiarised himself with over the years. Fear was something that had woven itself between Neil’s fingertips, burned behind eyes and weighted down his tongue. Intimacy meant feeling his mother’s heartbeat roaring in his ears on those nights it was too close, it was the back of his mother’s hand and the side of his face when he looked too long, it was Lola’s breath on his neck, hot and heavy.

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"You Look Really Good Today!”

A/N: Hello there! So I wrote this and had it sitting in the Notes on my phone weeks before I ever posted any of my writing here on Tumblr, but I rather enjoyed this and even though it didn’t fit into the other plot line as smoothly as I would have hoped, I still thought it needed to see the light of day, so I decided to post it all on its lonesome as a one shot. I didn’t tag anyone unless you explicitly requested I do so, but if you want me to add you to my “forever tag” list for any of my future fics I post, just let me know! I hope you enjoy! 😁❤️

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Fic Rec #1

Fic Rec #2

Fic Rec #3

Stow Away Captains by xairylle (2k) Rated M complete Law/Luffy

Yes. So fun, the initial second-hand embarrassment (on behalf of our darling Law) almost scared me off cause I’m squeamish like that don’t judge, but I was just so intrigued let me tell you, I was making these funny faces, y'know, the ones where you’re reading something you probably shouldn’t be and there are those cursed others around (I get these horrible faces when I’m drawing and writing too ha) why must the world be populated so? Go read go.

them’s the breaks by coffindoors (1k) Rated M complete Law/Luffy

That summary though. I think Luffy is one of the hardest characters to portray, and can I say, oddly enough, even though the author admits an abundance of ooc-ness, I actually had no problems going along with this like it was great. Very smexy, extremely smexy. All hail the smexy.

Corrupt Confessions by grayclouds (2k) Rated M complete Law/Luffy

Can you guess? Demon Luffy and priestly Law, let the battle begin. Mortal Combat voiceover dude: K.O. Brief but sinful, just how I like my coffee.

Soul Searching by grayclouds (1k) Rated G complete Law/Luffy

You like this random little dollop of rated G between the sandwich of Lawlu porn? That’s my mentality when reading, all over the fucking place. So, kinda angsty (also, just noticed that a tag implies an open ending interpretation for this one, which is interesting since my mind immediately took to the depressing ending without ever knowing the other was an option so yeah, today I learned a little about myself).

Youthful Years by grayclouds (6k) Rated M complete Law/Luffy

HOGWARTS. That’ll get me to read anything. It could be Miss Bagel meets Mr. Donut but oh no they’re in different houses and I’d still read it. This one was a while ago for me so I can’t remember it well, but I remember this one scene that convinced me to rec it cause I thought it was perfect and great and wait yes it’s all coming back to me it was good.

The Snake by Guk (12k) Rated M complete Kid/Law

So there’s this snake, and it pretty much has an existential crisis and turns into jewelry- or not (heehaw). But seriously, Kid and Law bond over this cute little slip of green that hides under Law’s clothes and everything is just great. Read this one twice. You should too.

Forbidden Fruits by Reiki (135k holy shit I didn’t know) Rated T complete Kid/Law, Marco/Ace

So. I think I read this on ff.net, I could be wrong, but I think I did (and honestly I hate trudging through the slush there, not insulting anyone, just that there’s so much on ff.net that it takes forever to find one you’re genuinely interested in). HOWEVER, I liked this one so much that I had to rec it here and so I looked to see if it was on AO3 (my preferred choice of poison) and wala, it is. At first I was like eh. Then I was like ah. Then I was like OH. The development in this, the mental and emotional progress, astounding. It says T but I remember it getting pretty damn near M? If you want something long and chaptered and complete, here ya go. It’s a beaut.

How Many Times Will These Boys Fall in Love (spoiler: everytime) by Guk (28k) Rated M incomplete Kid/Law

Maybe you can guess by the title, maybe you can’t, but it’s one of those Tumblr prompt things with 16 chapters and going, so if you’re out on a long ride and want to just binge Kidlaw then here you go. They’re pretty diverse in theme with side-action from sub-bosses like Doffy and Killer. My favorites are: My Boyfriend’s a Pirate, Bring Law Next Time (with some Doffy action). Surprise You’re Married, and Law Has a Scheme (some Killer action woohoo).

Bloodred by Enziroth (5k) Rated M incomplete Kid/Law

This author just suddenly spits out a bunch of stories and I’m intrigued. This one caught my little eye with the sassy summary. Law’s a bloodsucker that only likes redheads. Kid’s a redhead (who also hunts darling creatures like Law so, y'know, interest piqued). Not usually into the whole vampire thing, so that certainly says something don’t it.

Black and White by Enziroth (4k) Rated M incomplete Kid/Law

So y'know how I was saying this author just kinda like appeared on my radar out of nowhere like a Pokemon pops out of the shrubbery? (a wild Enziroth appears, has a ring to it) Well, this is one of those fics. I got me a weakness for anything resembling a prison au, there just ain’t enough of them. Do be warned, non-consensual content (I mean, it’s prison so).

Unintended Consequence by itsmylifekay (7k) Rated T complete Zoro/Sanji

Ventured into the T section by mistake, don’t regret it one bit. Sanji gets Zoro a little friendship bracelet out of misplaced spite, and our darling swordsman actually wears it. The cutest thing, truly.

Shredded Letters and Telltale Expressions by tuna (fancy2na) (13k) Rated M incomplete Zoro/Sanji

Really curious where this is headed. We got two unlikely compadres (namely Nami and Zoro) bonding over the pains of loving someone who might never love them back. I love supporting characters that actually support the characters in a literal sense, if you know what I mean. Definitely on the look-out for further development. Also, apparently Nami can outdrink Zoro, who knew.

Not Just About You by sabershadowcat (6k) Rated M complete Zoro/Sanji

I really don’t want to mention the fact that it’s in 2nd person POV, cause I know that’s immediately gonna turn some people off, hell, I don’t even read 2nd POV, I don’t even know why I did, but I’m glad I did because I have this nasty habit of silently appreciating and stalking stories without ever showing my appreciation, and I actually commented on this one, that’s how stunned I was by this.

Blurry Face by barahands (6k) Rated M complete Marco/Ace

Marco and Ace. Ace and Marco. Haa. I had a hard time for a while reading anything about our freckled beauty because I mean, you-know-why. But this author be so smexy with their writing that I actually found the next rec by association. Pretty hot, give it a whirl.

Trust by barahands (5k) Rated M complete Marco/Ace

Sex done right like give me a fan and a cushion so I can faint Victorian style oohlala. There’s one line in here that killed me like yes please. I’m shameful I’ve read this twice now. Maybe I’ll go read it again, you can’t judge me. I mean, you can tell by most of these recs that I like my mature dose of naked butts right? So trust me on this, trust me on everything. Just don’t trust your life with me cause I don’t know what to do with those things.

I’ll Be Your Man by neverlandlumos (2k) Rated M complete Basil/Kid

Not a common ship. To be honest, not sure how I wound up here. Like I faintly recall thinking Basil’s hair would look good pinned up and then I read some porn? Not sure, but holy hell did this one take me for a ride. Sub Eustass done right like I’m not sure I’ve ever seen it done so right.

NOTE: I’ve got my own smattering of fics I’ve been working on, just click on the link on my smancy blog.

Also if you’ve got a rec send me a message I’m always in the mood for some good shit, like, even if it’s a totally under-the-boat pairing (kinda wondering about DrakexBasil lately no reason just)

Helpless to Hopeless (Eliza x Female Reader)

Word count: 1502

Note: This is short and terrible but I had the idea so why not. Also I live for revolutionary era lesbians, thank you very much

Warnings: angst, homophobia

Tags: @secretschuylersister @queerenbian @steiiarrs (read it and weep)

“You know, I am not going to enjoy this party,” you said, looking your father in the eye. You knew that you would never get it of attending, but it was worth a try.

“You rarely ever enjoy such things, Y/N. I’m well aware.”

“Does that mean-”

“No,” he said quickly, knowing what your next question would be. “It does not mean that you can get out of this.”

“Father, I have never enjoyed such things, it’s always been a bother,” you pointed out. “Your political stance makes me the point of unwanted suitors, and it’s always-”

“Enough of this,” he snapped. “You are going to this party, and that is that, Y/N.”


“Don’t,” he said. “I have to go, there’s a cabinet meeting within the hour.” He kissed your cheek, and left through the front door. You loved through father, but his job always put you in uncomfortable positions. He did not get along with Hamilton, and was always siding with Jefferson and Madison, which increased the tense atmosphere you were all too aware of. His disagreements with Hamilton always put you in an awkward position; Alexander was the only member of the cabinet that you could tolerate, and even hold a civil discussion with.

Elizabeth Schuyler, or Eiza, as she preferred, was the only saving grace. She was brilliant and witty, as well as exuberantly kind. Hopefully, she would be there to save you from this party.

“Y/N, please play nice with Thomas tonight,” you father said, as you approached Washington’s house, where the party was to be held. “I know you’ve never quite gotten along, but if you were to become closer-”

“I will try, father.” You didn’t need to hear your fathers many reasons as to why he would prefer you to get along with Jefferson. “I’m sure underneath all the hatred and bad qualities, there’s something redeeming.”


“I’m joking,” you said with a laugh, though truthfully, you were completely serious. “I’m sure he’s lovely.” That seemed to please your father, and he muttered something before walking you into the party.

“I’m going to speak with Mr Washington,” your father said. “Behave yourself.”

“Of course.” He walked away, and you turned, immediately spotting Alexander in conversation with a member of the cabinet that you didn’t know the name of. You looked more, and spotted Eliza with her sisters, immersed in conversations with the other two girls.

Angelica spotted you, waving you over. You gladly joined them, and joked the whole night, your mind for once being pulled away from the thoughts of politics and the insufferable people your father sided with. Soon enough, Angelica and Peggy had excused themselves from the conversation, leaving you and Eliza alone.

“Care to take a walk?” She suggested, tilting her head to the side. You nodded, and Eliza lead you outside.

“I practically grew up out here, playing with my sisters, causing mischief,” she reminisced, looking at the gardens and smiling.

“I spent time here, as well. That’s how I met you lot,” you added in, and laughed with her.

“Let me braid your hair,” Eliza suddenly suggested, and you nodded. You sat down on a bench, letting Eliza sit behind you and weave your hair into a braid. She picked some of the purple flowers growing by the bench, entwining them in your long hair.

“You’re done!” She exclaimed, and you reached back to feel the braid. Your hand collided with Eliza’s, and you turned around.

The setting sun framed her profile with golden and pink light, catching in her hair, making it look as though someone had found a way to freeze sunlight.

“Y/N, you’re staring.”

“So are you.” She had been staring, and only in this moment did you notice the close proximity between you two. You were close enough to Eliza to count the freckles scattered on her nose and cheekbones.

“Just kiss me already,” she whispered, and you did, closing the space between you with a simple movement. You let your hands tangle into her silly hair, as hers tightened around your waist. Here you were, in the dark, properly kissing Eliza Schuyler outside of George Washington’s house.

Eliza broke away, exhaling excitedly. “That was nice,” she commented, pressing her forehead against yours.

“It was,” you agreed. “We can’t tell my father.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But maybe you can kiss me again, one last time?”


“Father, I’m home!” You announced. Since the party two weeks ago, you had been visiting the Schuyler estate nearly everyday, and Eliza had been sending you letters– love letters, to be exact.

“Father?” He hadn’t responded, and you mounted the stairs, climbing them cautiously. You pushed open the door to his study, and found it empty. With an escalating worry, you rushed to the door of your bedroom. It was unlikely that he was in there when you had vacated it, but it was the nearest door. You opened the door, finding him sitting at your desk, sorting through some papers.

Instantly, you stiffened. Those papers were the letters from Eliza. Oh no.

“Y/N…” he began, standing up and grabbing a two of the papers in his hands. “What are these?”

“They’re letters. Personal letters.”

“I realize that– but these are written as though by a lover,” he spat. “But they are from Elizabeth Schuyler.”


“No, do not try to make up excuses,” he snapped. “You cannot be married to a woman.”


“Do you understand?”

“No, I-”

“Do. You. Understand?” He didn’t even make an attempt to disguise his contempt.

“Eliza is the ever-favourite object of my heart, and I-”

“Enough!” He shouted. “I forbid you from ever seeing her again!” In a singular movement, he ripped the letters in his hand in two, and you let out a shout of protest. You made for the letters still on the desk, but your father was bigger and faster. He seized the remaining letters, ripping them in half, and tossing them into the fire in the hearth.

“No!” You fell to your knees, but you stopped yourself from reaching into the flames. Instead, you watched them as they devoured the papers with Eliza’s words, as if you were hypnotized.

“This is ridiculous, Y/N,” you father said. “Get up.” You felt one of his hands wrap around your arm, and he pulled you to your feet.

“I never want to see or hear of you spending time with Elizabeth Schuyler, ever again,” he said, releasing your arm. “Understand?”

You nodded, almost automatically. You had been pulled out of your mind, and barely registered your father leaving and closing the door.

You spent the following week locked away in your room, staring at the ceiling. You let in only one person, your nursemaid, Tessa. Tessa had been the only one you had trusted to tell of the letters, and you know in your heart of hearts that she had not told your father.

“Y/N, my dear, you must get up,” you heard Tessa say, but processed none of her words. “Your father has asked me to make it known that you are required to make an appearance at a party hosted by George Washington tonight, dear.” You groaned, passing a hand over your face. As much as you wished to remain in bed, you knew that the only way to possibly gain back your father’s trust was through doing what he asked of you.

You dressed in the gown Tessa had chosen for you, and begrudgingly agreed to accompany your father to the party. You had conversations sparingly, and spent most of your time searching in vain for Eliza. Finally, your father approached you again. “Y/N, I’d like you to talk with Mr Jefferson,” he said, pulling you in the direction of the man.

“Y/N, what a pleasure it is.” He took your hand, kissing you knuckles.

“Indeed,” you said stiffly, pulling your hand from his grasp at the first opportunity. You still had a small hope that Eliza would show up, but as you looked around the room, the hope thinned.

“I would hope that you two shall be able to get along, especially considering your situation,” your father interjected, a slight blush staining his cheeks.

“Our… situation?” You hesitantly asked, gripping your skirt in your hands.

“Ah, I had forgot to make notice of it beforehand,” you father admitted, clasping his hands together. “Mr Jefferson and I have worked out an arrangement.”

“What kind of arrangement would that be?” You asked, a fear blossoming in your chest that nearly overtook the hope.

“I have arranged for you to marry Mr Jefferson, in wake of everything that had happened recently.” You felt as though you could pass out, and his words hit you like punches. The hope in your chest fizzled out, and you took a deep breath, saying nothing for fear of opening your mouth and screaming.

For you and Eliza, the beginning of the end came too quickly.