infuriating man

Catch Me

THE LAST PROMPT WOOOO!!! 

requested by the lovely @mychakk: #75, “You fainted, straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.” Uni!Lock


Sherlock Holmes was the most infuriating man Molly had ever known. It was bad enough they were lab partners but now, his dorm was right across from hers this year. She was attracted to him, of course, but damn him for being so abrasive at times. He had his good moments, she’d give him that but today, she had decided to put her foot down.

The heatwave was unusual for London. It was early May and there was only a couple weeks left of the school year. Molly had stormed out of the chemistry lab quickly after her typical day of arguing with Sherlock. She hadn’t heard him come after her though. The sun was hot and beating down on her viciously. Unused to the sweltering heat, Molly felt a bit woozy. Before she knew it, she had blacked out and woken up in her dorm an hour later.

“How did I get here?” she breathed heavily, sitting up quickly.

“You fainted, straight into my arms,” Sherlock told her. He stood by her desk. “You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.” His arrogant smirk is what set her off.

“Sherlock Holmes, how dare you pretend to flirt with me,” Molly stood in front of him now. She felt weak again and Sherlock held her close.

“Don’t work yourself up, Molly, you need more water,” he told her as he scooped her up in his arms and set her on the bed again. He grabbed an ice cold water and handed it to her.

“Thank you,” she spoke quietly before gulping half of it down.

“What makes you think I was pretending?” Sherlock asked, sitting down next to her.

“Because it’s what you do when you want something from me,” Molly answered. Her voice betrayed her by breaking on the last word.

“You’re right; I do want something from you, but I’ve been a total git in the way I’ve attempted it,” he admitted. She locked eyes with him, surprised by his words.

“What do you want?” she asked, afraid to know the answer.

“You,” he smiled. “Only you.” She curled into him, allowing his arms to wrap themselves around her. Molly felt his lips press into her hair. “I am sorry, Molly. I’ve done a rubbish job of persuing you.”

“S'okay,” she murmured against his shoulder. “Thank you for taking care of me.” They sat there like that until she fell asleep and he gently laid her down, covering her with the duvet. He kissed her forehead and slipped out of the dorm, happy that Molly knew how he felt.


fanfiction.net | ao3

  • tumblr: the lack of diversity in blockbuster movies infuriates me!!!!!!
  • me: hey man there is this movie called Power Rangers that you let fail at the box office whose protagonists are well written people of color and the blue and yellow rangers are also canonically autistic and lgbt respectively
  • tumblr: anyway, marvel is so white
Just Another Enemy

Summary: You decide to take out your frustrations in the gym after another mission with Bucky Barnes, a man you just can’t seem to get on with, no matter how hard you try. But your work out takes an unexpected turn when Barnes joins you. 

Pairing; Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: annoyed reader, fighting, mentions of hair kink/pain kink, sexual tension, lead up to implied smut, language

A/N: this was inspired from this prompt by @otpprompts

Taking out your frustrations against the punching bag in the gym of the compound was a good release for you, especially after having to spend a mission partnered up with Bucky Barnes.

God, the man was infuriating. Sure, he looked like a complete Adonis and you were convinced he was practically made in the image of a God, but that didn’t stop him from being a complete asshole one hundred percent of the time.

You didn’t really know where it all went wrong, but you and Barnes never got on even from the moment you met 2 years ago. Hell, you tried to befriend him for Steve’s sake but he just derailed you at every chance. He had this whole alpha male vibe going on around you and it didn’t stick well with you. Being ordered around was not on your resume, not in your nature and never would be.

You didn’t understand why Fury still insisted on pairing the two of you on missions together. Alright, you were both extremely skilled and good at your jobs, but teamwork was severely lacking, you spent 90% of the mission arguing across coms with each other, it was a miracle you even get results.

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[7]

I SEE THOSE FLOATY BUBBLES THERE. I SEE YOU BLUSHING KUROGANE. 

I acknowledge that this is probably more likely in response to the fact that they all see him as a capable fighter, but also

also there is nothing ruling out other reasons. 

And me too, Kurogane. Me too. 

*covers his face with a pillow*

*screams*

anonymous asked:

My request: Chocobros having a stable relationship until their S/O starts feeling left behind because of amount of work their boyfriend has. She finds THAT GUY who cheers them up - no cheating, as in sex, involved - but Chocobros notice the sudden change of S/O behaviour. Good thing they do, because oh boy THAT GUY turns out to be obsessed with you. In the end, I just want a scenario with Bros being knights in shining armors saving you from a weirdo with a knife. (inspired by Love Artifact AMV)

OOOH YES! Omg this has so much alpha-male chocobro potential! Ah, I am so excited to write this *starts writing immediately* I wrote Noctis a really long scenario because I realised that I always neglect him in my fills and write his scenarios too short LOL :/

Just to let ya’ll know- if the whole post does not show up, just copy and past the permalink into your browser (for mobile phone users) :D If you have any issues, just DM me and I’ll help you out! :D

Tagging: @the-regalia, @blindbae, @itshaejinju, @airlea-sicarius, @rubyphilomela, @hypaalicious and @the-lucian-archives :D


Noctis: You sit by yourself at lunch for the third week in a row, your chin cupped in your hands and your lips parting continuously to let you tired, sad sighs. You wanted to spend time with your boyfriend, but that was becoming difficult with high school graduation looming in the next month. Noctis was not a normal student, after all, he was the Crown Prince of Lucis. On top of exams and college applications, he was also well into his magic training, his physical combat training and his advanced political science classes. Noctis was a busy young man, and you appreciated that fact- but you did feel a little lonely. It had been over a month since you got to feel Noctis’ lips against yours, and you missed his lazy little smiles and his impromptu naps on you lap in the park. You just missed him so much, but you felt like a whiny girlfriend every time you thought about asking him to meet you in his down time. He was probably tired and needed his rest. So you refrained from contacting him lest you ended up annoying the busy prince- after all, you were nothing but his commoner girlfriend. In the grand scheme of things, you probably didn’t matter too much to Noctis anyways.

Weeks of thinking along those lines led you to conversing with the resident ‘bad-boy’ in your grade. He’s relatively good looking- nothing like the art that is your prince though- and he knows how to hold an intelligent conversation. So on the lead up to your graduation, he spends lunch time with you and the two of you become good friends- or so you think. Resident bad-boy invites you to a party during one of your lunch time chats, and you tell him that you’ll think about it. That night, you scrounge up the courage to call your busy boyfriend, only to be re-directed to his soft-spoken voice mail message. You groan in frustration, disconnect the call, and then dial your new male friend’s number, and tell him you’ll be at the party.

That weekend, you and the bad-boy Tak hit it off, and you’re starting to feel very comfortable with him. You start to feel a little shy and bashful around him and you also find yourself flirting lightly with him. Nothing too serious, just some giggling, some arm touching and some flirty smiles exchanged across the room- but every time he tries to make a serious move, you remind him that you are already spoken for. This tactic seems to work for a while until Noctis is back at school, and sitting with you at lunch for the first time in a very long while.

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Lionhearted - Part 1 - Nessian fic

Summary: Modern AU - Nesta and Cassian run into each other frequently due to her sister’s engagement to his best friend, and the encounters never go the way either of them want. Tension boils over at the rehearsal dinner and then the next day at the wedding, where they say and do things they can’t take back.

Notes: Thanks to @blxckbeak and @acourtofstarsanddreams for talking to me about this fic! More specifically, about Nesta. Also I want to tag @christina-dh because she asked for me to tag her in a certain type of fic if I wrote it… which, the thing doesn’t happen until the second part, but I don’t want to spoil it. :) And I hope the anon who sent me this prompt also enjoys it! (The prompt was “the hills are alive with the sound of bullshit”.)

I’ve never written a modern AU, plus it’s nessian, so… let me know what you think!

AO3 linkage

********

Lionhearted (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

The evening before Feyre and Rhysand’s wedding, Nesta prepared for the rehearsal dinner by getting a drink alone. The bar of the hotel had seemed like as good a place as any for an over-priced gin and tonic, especially if it meant she didn’t have to wander alone down the sidewalk and be subjected to the inevitable leering of men who hung out on the city street corners at all hours of the day. She could play nice and support her sister, but she knew she needed something extra to smooth her sharper edges before she showed up at the restaurant. Edges that would inevitably come up against a certain infuriating best man. And combined with the fact that her father would be there… yes, she definitely needed this drink.

Sipping from her glass slowly, she listened to the hum of quiet conversation just outside the bar in the cavernous lobby of her hotel, to the first tentative sounds coming from the instruments of the jazz band that was setting up for the evening. She had chosen a hotel where few of the other guests were staying, a decision that she had explained to her sisters as the result of poor last-minute planning, but really had more to do with not wanting to be surrounded by the sycophants who clamored for her future brother-in-law’s attention. The kind of power that Rhysand’s family wielded would ensure security for her sister - for all of them, really - but Nesta had no intention of being caught up with his crowd.

She was seated at the end of the bar, close to where the bartender was cleaning glasses. There was no use in sitting too far away from the man with the bottle, she figured. Nesta was sure that no one she knew would show up here, at a generic hotel bar. Among the many privileges of being on her own was the fact that she could pretend to be ignorant of the group’s plans of where to meet, when, to think about having to please everyone else first. She was responsible for and answered to no one but herself.

As she drank, she thought about Feyre and Elain, the recent changes to their lives that had them seeing a bit more eye-to-eye. A week ago she had talked to Feyre alone, for the first time in ages. The strain between them had become less and less, lately; in fact, it had been the first time that Nesta had spoken frankly to her sister about their mother, their father, the way that Feyre had had to take responsibility of the household when they were teens. Nesta and Elain had left as soon as they could, Elain moving in with her now-former fiancé as soon as she had graduated college and Nesta just… moving on.

Nesta had told herself that their father, if left to his own devices long enough, would figure out that he was needed. That maybe one day he would get his act together and take care of her younger sisters. By leaving the moment she turned 18, she thought she was washing her hands of her responsibility towards them, forcing him to take it on himself. That didn’t happen, though, and she watched from afar as Feyre struggled to pick up the slack at far too young an age.

She told herself that the anger she reserved was for him, but it had a habit of being aimed at the wrong people.

When she had met Feyre for lunch, Nesta hadn’t expected to rehash the past. But over salads and microbrews, the two had come to a sort of… détente, if not outright understanding. Nesta knew her youngest sister would be fine, had found a life worth living, whether she had Rhys or not. And Feyre knew that Nesta had done what she felt necessary at the time, though it had come from a resentful, scornful place. Growing older had the effect of putting their childhood in perspective, and they were both ready to put aside animosity.

Nesta had asked about Rhysand, about how Feyre had met him - there was an ex, someone Rhys knew, who had had a hard time letting go. Nesta had been… displeased to find that her sister had needed help in that way. That she had experienced something like this without reaching to her sisters for help. Not that she could blame her little sister. But if this Rhys was everything that Feyre claimed, then she could be happy for her. She would give him a chance. Which was why she had flown out here and had even helped her sister with some of the wedding planning.

Checking her phone for the time, Nesta saw that she had planned perfectly. She had enough time for a second drink before leaving for the dinner at a new Italian place that Mor had clued Feyre in on, the kind of place where they cured their own meat. Finishing the last sip of her drink, Nesta asked for another and was waiting patiently when a voice came from behind her, smooth and taunting.

“Nesta, sweetheart.”

Her shoulders stiffened and she closed her eyes, cursing under her breath. Shit shit shit… Of all the hotels in the city, of all the bars… Turning her head while keeping her body facing the bar, she answered him.

“Cassian.”

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anonymous asked:

Can you create a betrothed tag? Preferably where Arya is promised to Gendry?

Creating a betrothed tag would be great! As for the second request we’ll see what we can do!


Creation of the Betrothed!Arya tag. Created March 27, 2017. Number of Recs: 5.


To Forge In Steel by QueenOfTheEyesores | R: NR | W: 50k+ | 20/?

Prince Gendry AU. The Starks travel to King’s Landing to join their House with the ruling Baratheons, but as a young Arya Stark manoeuvres her way around Southron life, and develops a close friendship with the future king, chaos erupts in the capital and destroys the way of life she knew and loved.

Fated by Yourloved | R: NC-17 | W: 25k+ | 9/?

Arya likes her life in Winterfell with only her family and the winter snows around her. But as the royal visit approaches will she find a new friend in the young Prince… Will fate control her or will she make her own fate.

Small Moments Of Great Importance by Apolla | R: T | W: 50k+| 19/?

In which Tobho Mott’s appendix changed the course of history…
Gendry Waters is tasked with taking a commission to the Red Keep, kicking off a chain of events which changes everything, for better or worse or just plain different.

Crash Into Me by UnspokenDefinities | R: NC-17 | W: 50k+ | 17/?

In which Arya Stark meets the most infuriating man in the whole of Westerns.

Northerners Never Forget by BohlkeCarter | R: M | W: 1k+ | 1/1

Robert Baratheon has a son, Eddard Stark has a daughter. The kingdoms are still at bay after a war that happened and to bring peace these two assholes decide its a good idea to force Arya and Gendry to marry. The kids are not happy and it´s a bit of a struggle in this one-shot to actually consummate this holy marriage. Loads of arguing, hatred, angst and of course a little bit of love.

Pleasure [Roy Harper x Reader]

Anon requested: “May I request Roy with a short s/o fighting crime together. Thanks 😘″

Pairing: Roy Harper x Reader

Warnings: A mention of sex

Word Count: 517

[C/C] = Costume Color

Tag: @speedypan 

WANT TO BE TAGGED?

MASTERLIST


Roy Harper.

Oh how that man infuriated you. You didn’t know how you tolerated him or what you saw in the man, but clearly you were out of your mind or some damn villain had brainwashed you because clearly, he was an absolute ass.

One may think that after a year of dating him, you would warm up to him but that was incorrect. If possible, you hated this man even more. You didn’t even know why you stayed with him, but you were way out of his league–even when he claimed otherwise–and you could do so much better… but in the end, deep down in your heart, you still had a soft spot for the archer. He definitely had charms that attracted you in the first place, and this hate of yours was derived from your love for him, if that made any real sense.

However, even with his lovely charms, he was pushing to the limit.

With what you ask?

Well, with his damn endless, torturous teasing of your height.

Yes. Your height.

You knew you were shorter than average and your boyfriend towered over you, and he used every excuse to tease you. He would put items on the high shelf, send you ‘short friend’ memes and carry you around like you were a kid. It honestly pissed the shit out of you.

And it wasn’t just restricted to domestic life, it was to your vigilante life was well.

“Hey! Short Arrow!” he exclaimed as you two were on the field. You sent him a glare and shot the arrow meant for the enemy to the wall right beside his head.

“It’s [C/C] Arrow!” you snapped before shooting another arrow to the criminals who were trying to sneak away while you barked at him. He only laughed and reached for his arrows to shoot the enemies behind, not even bothering to tell you to duck. The arrows grazed your head and landed straight into the enemy’s limbs, causing them to cry out in pain. You finished them off by knocking them unconscious.

When Roy came down, you punched him. “Ass! Why didn’t you tell me to dodge it?! What if it hit me?”

Roy frowned then grinned slyly. “Don’t worry babe, I won’t ever hit you!”

“How can you know that?” you asked skeptically.

“Well, you’re short, so I can easily shoot the taller enemies behind you!” he answered, “that’s what makes us a great team.”

You flipped the bird at him. “Fuck you Harper.”

“Maybe later.” he winked, then glanced up at the fire escape of the apartment building. “So, you want me to help you up or…”

You glared at him and crossed your arms. “You take great pleasure in this, don’t you?”

“Oh yes, great pleasure.” he agreed, “more pleasure than kicking ass every night.”

You stared at him with a deadpanned expression. “And apparently also more pleasure than sex, because, congratulations, it has earned you a week of none.”

“Wait what?”

You jumped up and climbed the fire escape.

“Wait–[F/N]! You’re not serious are you? Are you?!”

Speak Now

Dylan O’Brien x Reader

Originally posted by allpeopleareincredible

(NOT MY GIF)

A/N: I wrote this so long ago and now I’m finally creating the courage to publish it here. I hope you all enjoy. And please, let me know. Feedback is everything.

Warnings: a little bit of cursing and lots of fluff. slightly angsty. also, this was based on the song “speak now” by taylor swift. 

Word Count: 1400


“I’m out for five months and when I finally get back, he’s about to get married?” I shrieked, shaking my head in disbelief.

Frustrated with my response, Julia O’Brien sighed, dropping her shoulders in defeat. She had been the one imbued with the responsibility to tell me the news. But I simply couldn’t believe what the girl had told me. I mean, it all happened so fast! There’s no way my poor head would be able to assimilate it. In fact, it never even occurred to me that I’d lose the love of my life. No, no way.

I should explain how my life came to this mess, right? Oh, well, it all began with me having to go away so I could help my sister out; she had just given birth, to a eight pound baby, yes, poor woman, and needed someone to take care of her, mainly because her husband was this huge wanker and refused to his job as a partner. This, alongside my mother’s constant preaching, made me feel bad, which means I ended up accepting it. Of course I didn’t want to leave my life behind, but I refused to be the bitch who wouldn’t lay a hand to her own flesh and blood. 

Do I have to say it was extremely stressful? Fuck, I can swear that I never hated my name more in my entire life. “Y/N, watch out for Jimmy!”, “Y/N, bring me tea!”, “Y/N, Y/N, Y/N!”. I must admit that, for a brief second, I fantasized about killing my sister. Or kill myself. Who knows? It would be a lot faster and I could leave a note blaming my sister for the whole thing.

Alright, I’m done with the acid comments.  

The real problem was, actually, that she lived in a small town far away from London. It was so isolated that I could pretty much say she lived in a farm. And I couldn’t just be travelling all the time, therefore its location forced me to move there. It would only be a few months, so I didn’t see why I shouldn’t do it. Who would have guessed that, in the meantime, my boyfriend, or so I thought he was, whom I loved and trusted deeply, would get engaged and would be about to marry another woman? Oh, God, he is even at the church right now! 

“Y/N, it wasn’t his wish to be marrying her. He loves you more than anything in this world. You know that.” Julia argued, her brown eyes trying to persuade me. "Still, my parents forced him to do it. She’s the daughter of a big ass business man who works with my father and-” 

"Stop it right there!” I quirked a brown, narrowing my eyes, clearly infuriated. “Dylan is grown man, he doesn’t need anyone making his choices for him.”

"Yeah, Y/N, but you have to understand he wasn’t given much of a choice…”

“I don’t want to, and I won’t, understand this, Jules.” My voice was strangled, I could feel the tears welling up on my eyes. “I can’t do this.”

Oh, fuck no!

I would not let my gorgeous pumpkin tie the knot with someone else without at least explaining to me what the hell was this entire thing about. Clumsily standing up from the couch I was sitting on, I ran out of the house, not even giving a word to my former sister-in-law. I needed to act quick, otherwise I would lose him forever.

I’m not a kind of girl

Who should be rudely barging on a white veil occasion

But you are not the kind of boy

Who should be marrying the wrong girl


Julia had said that the church was close to their home, so I didn’t bother to get my car and drive there. It was time to put into practice all my years of jogging. It didn’t take long for me to spot the beautiful arranged place. The same one his parents got married. 

Due to my running, the short sundress I had on was drenched in sweat; not that I cared, though. I could only set my thoughts on the lots of people who were coming in and out of the church. By the looks of it, the ceremony was yet to start. 

I stealthily walked in, watching the guests buzzing around me and trying to recognise them; but they were completely unknown. That was until I found his best friend standing next to the old looking priest. Tyler had a tired expression on his face, like he rather be anywhere else but here. I saw his other friends as well; they were seated on the front row, mirroring Posey’s traits. No one appearing to be happy. Not even her parents, who set it all up.

I sneak in and see your friends

And her snotty little family all dressed in pastels


As I went a little deeper into the church, I heard someone loudly complaining in the back. I quickly recognised the grumpy person as Britt Robertson, Dylan’s ex. He had told me about her a few times and I never really pictured her as the obsessive type. I was obviously wrong. 

Britt was yelling at one of her bridesmaids, clearly quite annoyed by something the poor girl had done prior my arrival. But, as much as I was delighted to hear her in such a bad mood, I still wanted to find Dylan in that sea of people. In my mind, I thought I could convince him to ditch this whole thing and run away with me.  

Nevertheless, before I could find him, the nuptial march started to play in the background, announcing the wedding’s beginning. Despite it being a joyful sound, I started to feel nauseated by it and a few disgusted shivers went down my spine. 

From behind a curtain, I watched her slowly walk inside the church, so full of herself, looking like a freaking model. My mind screamed that I should be the one in her shoes. Wearing a white gown, moving happily towards the man I loved, not her. Not someone who treated him like a prize. 

And the organ starts to play

A song that sounds like a death march

And I am hiding in the curtains

It seems that I was uninvited

By your lovely bride to be

She floats down the aisle like

A pageant queen


When she got there, everyone sat down and I was finally able to see him. Dylan was standing next to the priest, looking handsome as ever in a black tuxedo. His brown hair messy, his pink lips in a straight line and a ghost of the scruff I loved so much against my legs were there, brightening him. Everything seemed to be unchanged. Except for his eyes. The beautiful whiskey coloured eyes I fell for had lost the sparkling beam I saw every time he looked at me. They seemed tired. Sad. Which should make me happy, but instead, I was saddened, a sinking feeling reaching my stomach as if I had been punched. 

Fear crept through my form completely, making my hands shake and making me forget what I was supposed to say. Should I really disrupt this marriage? Would I be this kind of girl? The answer was clear in my head: Yes, I would. Despite being selfish, I needed Dylan in my life. I could not afford to lose him. 

I bit my bottom lip, sitting down and deciding to wait for a while. It wasn’t the time to speak up. No, I’d wait for the priest’s words, then I would act. Yes, it sounds like a good plan.

Do not say yes, let’s run away now,

I’ll meet you in the aisle of the church by the back door

Do not wait, or say a single vow,

You need to hear me out,

And they said speak now


The minute I heard him say “speak now or forever hold your peace”, I knew I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to stop this bloody joke right now. So I rushed to the church’s entrance, walking down the red carpet until I was in front of the couple. In front of him. He seemed surprised when our gazes mingled together, but it swiftly faded away, being replaced by tenderness. Only then his lips curled into a smile. Plus, in that moment, I didn’t care how crazy this was, I just went and linked our mouths together, fully aware of the horrified looks everyone was shooting at us. I couldn’t care less, though. 

I pulled away, locking my gaze on Dylan’s. Suddenly, it all felt right again, despite my awful bad timing. He gave me a reassuring look, squeezing my hand and making me feel unique, like he always did. Oh, damn you, O’Brien!

“Don’t this to me please.” I quietly begged, not bothering to understand Britt’s angry squeals. “I love you so much, Dyl.”

“And I love you, Y/N.” He then looked at everyone inside the church, his eyes apologetic. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t marry. Not when I love her. This was a huge mistake.”    

I hear the preacher say

‘Speak now or forever hold your peace’

There’s a silence, there’s my last chance,

I stand up with shaky hands

All eyes on me,

Horrified looks from everyone in the room

But I’m only looking at you

I never really believed in fairytales or happy endings. It just wasn’t my thing. However, from time to time, they do happen. And as I firmly intertwined Dylan’s slim fingers on mine, running far away from that dreadful scene, I was sure that I would never again doubt that true love existed. 

Not ever. 

And you’ll say” let’s run away now,

I’ll meet in the aisle in my tux by the back door

Baby, I did not see myself,

I’m glad you were around

When they said speak now

drabble series: b.a.p | bullets

title: bullets
fandom: b.a.p
member/reader: daehyun, female
genre/warning(s): smut, gang!AU
summary: [request] Omg please can you do a smut for my hot mess Daehyun? Gang au? PROMPT: A keeps using all the bullets in B’s guns and never reloads them
part 1 | part 2

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See Me

Summary: Modern AU Professor Tom creates a worry-free evening for his elementary school teacher wife after a long week at work.

Genre: Romance/Fluff

Rating/Warning: M - Possibly me being overly cautious.  Perhaps not everyone’s cup of tea.  Contains use of “Daddy” and things of that nature.  Non-explicit shenanigans.  You have been warned.  

Author’s Notes:  This is for @i-wanna-be-toms-body-pillow so blame her.  <3

He met her at the door.

It had been such a difficult week.

A week of assessments and stress and suits in state offices deciding what “standards” meant.

A week of runny noses and tears and little hands that always needed something.

A week of never ending reports and meetings and late nights.

But now she was home.

Now she was in his arms.

Now she could rest.

Now she could cry.

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A brief history of the word “nigger.”

The history of the word nigger is often traced to the Latin word niger, meaning Black. This word became the noun, Negro (Black person) in English, and simply the color Black in Spanish and Portuguese. In early modern French, niger became negre and, later, negress (Black woman) was unmistakably a part of language history. One can compare to negre the derogatory nigger and earlier English substitutes such as negar, neegar, neger, and niggor that developed into its lexico-semantic true version in English. It is probable that nigger is a phonetic spelling of the White Southern mispronunciation of Negro.

No matter what its origins, by the early 1800s, it was firmly established as a derogative name. In the 21st century, it remains a principal term of White racism, regardless of who is using it. Social scientists agree that words like nigger, kike, spic, and wetback come from three categories: disparaging nicknames (chink, dago, nigger); explicit group devaluations (“Jew him down” or “niggering the land”); and irrelevant ethnic names used as a mild disparagement (“jewbird” for cuckoos having prominent beaks or “Irish confetti” for bricks thrown in a fight.)

Over time, racial slurs have victimized all racial and ethnic groups; but no American group has endured as many racial nicknames as Blacks: coon, tom, savage, pickaninny, mammy, buck, samba, jigaboo, and buckwheat are some. Many of these slurs became fully traditional pseudo-scientific, literary, cinematic, and everyday distortions of African Americans. These caricatures, whether spoken, written, or reproduced in media and material objects, reflect the extent, the vast network, of anti-Black prejudice.

The word, nigger, carries with it much of the hatred and disgust directed toward Black Africans and African Americans. Historically, nigger defined, limited, made fun of, and ridiculed all Blacks. It was a term of exclusion, a verbal reason for discrimination. Whether used as a noun, verb, or adjective, it strengthened the stereotype of the lazy, stupid, dirty, worthless nobody. No other American surname carries as much purposeful cruelty. The following shortlist is important information on the word’s use and meaning:

Naggers: Acting in a lazy and irresponsible manner.
Niggerlipping: wetting the end of a cigarette while smoking it.
Niggerlover: Derogatory term aimed at Whites lacking in the necessary loathing of Blacks.
Nigger luck: Exceptionally, but undeserved good luck.
Nigger-flicker: A small knife or razor with one side heavily taped to preserve the user’s fingers.
Nigger heaven: Designated places, usually the balcony, where Blacks were forced to sit, for example, in an integrated movie theater or church.
Nigger knocker: Axe handle or weapon made from an axe handle.
Nigger rich: Deeply in debt but flamboyant.
Nigger shooter: A slingshot.
Nigger steak: A slice of liver or a cheap piece of meat.
Nigger stick: Police officer’s baton.
Nigger tip: Leaving a small tip or no tip in a restaurant.
Nigger in the woodpile: A concealed motive or unknown factor affecting a situation in an adverse way.
Nigger work: Demeaning, menial tasks.

Nigger (as a word) is also used to describe a dark shade of color (nigger-brown, nigger-Black), the status of Whites that mix together with Blacks (nigger-breaker, dealer, driver, killer, stealer, worshipper, and looking), and anything belonging to or linked to African Americans (nigger-baby, boy, girl, mouth, feet, preacher, job, love, culture, college, music, etc). Nigger is the ultimate American insult; it is used to offend other ethnic groups. Jews are called White-niggers; Arabs, sand-niggers; Japanese, yellow-niggers. Americans created a racial hierarchy with Whites at the top and Blacks at the bottom.

In biology, heredity refers to the transference of biological characteristics from a parent organism to offspring. The word, nigger, speaks to the human heredity of Black people. Defining which characteristics of a person are due to heredity and which are due to environmental influences is often a controversial discussion (the nature versus nurture debate), especially regarding intelligence and race.

The hierarchy was set up by an ideology that justified the use of deceit, exploitation, and intimidation to keep Blacks “in their place.” Every major societal establishment offered legitimacy to the racial hierarchy. Ministers preached that God was White and had condemned Blacks to be servants. Scientists measured Black skulls, brains, faces, and genitalia, seeking to prove that Whites were genetically superior to Blacks. White teachers, teaching only White students, taught that Blacks were less evolved cognitively, psychologically, and socially. The entertainment media, from vaudeville to television and film, portrayed Blacks as docile servants, happy-go-lucky idiots, and dangerous thugs, and they still do this today. The criminal justice system sanctioned a double standard of justice, including its unspoken approval of mob violence against Blacks and there is still a similar double standard today. Both American slavery and the Jim Crow laws which followed were saturated by anti-Black laws and images. The negative portrayals of Blacks were both reflected in and shaped by everyday material objects: toys, postcards, ashtrays, detergent boxes, fishing lures, and children’s books. These items, and countless others, portrayed Blacks with bulging, darting eyes, fire-red oversized lips, jet-Black skin, and either naked or poorly clothed.

In 1874, the McLoughlin Brothers of New York produced a puzzle game called “Chopped Up Niggers.” Beginning in 1878, the B. Leidersdory Company of Milwaukee, WI., produced NiggerHair Smoking Tobacco. Decades later, the name was changed to BiggerHair Smoking Tobacco. A 1916 magazine ad, copyrighted by Morris & Bendien, showed a Black child drinking ink. The caption read, “Nigger Milk” (shown). In 1917, the American Tobacco Company had a NiggerHair redemption promotion. NiggerHair coupons were redeemable for “cash, tobacco, S&H Green stamps, or presents.” The J. Millhoff Company of England produced a series of cards in the 1930s which were widely distributed in the United States. One of the cards shows ten small Black dogs with the caption: “Ten Little Nigger Boys Went Out To Dine.”

This is the first line from a popular children’s story called, “The Ten Little Niggers.” it reads like this.
Ten Little Nigger Boys went out to dine;
One choked his little self, and then there were nine.
Nine Little Nigger Boys sat up very late; one overslept, and then there were eight. Eight Little Nigger Boys traveling in Devon; one said he’d stay there, and then there were seven.
Seven Little Nigger Boys chopping up sticks; one chopped himself in halves, and then there were six.
Six Little Nigger Boys playing with a hive; a Bumblebee stung one, and then there were five.
Five Little Nigger Boys going in for Law; one got in Chancery, and then there were four.
Four Little Nigger Boys going out to Sea; A Red Herring swallowed one, and then there were three.
Three Little Nigger Boys walking in the Zoo; the big Bear hugged one, and then there were two;
Two Little Nigger Boys sitting in the Sun; one got frizzled up, and then there was one.
One Little Nigger Boy living all alone; He got married, and then there were none.

In 1939, writer Agatha Christie published a book called Ten Little Niggers. Later editions sometimes changed the name to Ten Little Indians, or And Then There Were None, but as late as 1978, copies of the book with the original title were being produced. It was not rare for sheet music produced in the first half of the 20th century to use the word nigger on the cover. The Howley, Haviland Company of New York produced sheet music for the songs “Hesitate Mr. Nigger, Hesitate,” and “You'se Just A Little Nigger, Still You'se Mine, All Mine.” This last example was promoted as a children’s lullaby. Some small towns used nigger in their names, for example, Nigger Run Fork, Virginia. Nigger was a common name for darkly colored pets, especially dogs, cats, and horses. So-called “Jolly Nigger Banks,” first made in the 1800s, were widely distributed as late as the 1960s. Another common piece with many variations, produced on posters, postcards, and prints is a picture of a dozen Black children rushing for a swimming hole. The caption reads, “Last One In’s A Nigger.”

The civil rights movement, Supreme Court decisions, the Black empowerment movement, broad civil rights legislation, and a general embracing of democracy by many American citizens have worn down America’s racial pecking order from slavery moving into Jim Crow period and today’s institutional racism. Yet, the word nigger has not left and its relationship with anti-Black prejudice remains symbiotic, interrelated, and interconnected. Ironically, it is co-dependent because a racist society created nigger and continues to feed and sustain it. But, the word no longer needs racism, or brutal and obvious forms, to survive. The word nigger today has its own existence.

Another interesting and confusing experience in American speech is the use of nigger by African Americans. Poetry by Blacks is instructive; one can often find the word nigger used in Black writings. Major and minor poets alike have used it with startling results: Imamu Amiri Baraka, contemporary poet, uses nigger in one of his angriest poems, “I Don’t Love You,” and what was the world to the words of slick nigger fathers too depressed to explain why they could not appear to be men. One wonders how readers are supposed to understand “nigger fathers.” Baraka’s use of this imagery, regardless of his purpose, reinforces the stereotype of the worthless, pleasure-seeking “coon” caricature. Ted Joans’s use of nigger in "The Nice Colored Man” is an example of explainable expression. Joans said he was asked to give a reading in London because he was a “nice colored man.” Infuriated by the labels “nice” and “colored,” Joan’s wrote a quintessential rebellious poem. While the poem should be read in its entirety, a few lines will do:
Smart Black Nigger Smart Black Nigger Smart Black Nigger Smart Black Nigger Knife Carrying Nigger Gun Toting Nigger Military Nigger Clock Watching Nigger Poisoning Nigger Disgusting Nigger Black Ass Nigger.
This piece uses adjective upon adjective attached to the word nigger.

The reality is that many of these uses can be heard in present-day African-American society. Herein lies part of the difficulty: The word, nigger, endures because it is used over and over again, even by the people it insults. Writer Devorah Major said, "It’s hard for me to say what someone can or can’t say, because I work with language all the time, and I don’t want to be limited.” Poet and professor Opal Palmer Adisa claims that the use of nigger or nigga is “the same as young people’s obsession with swearing. A lot of their use of such language is an internalization of negativity about themselves.” Rappers, themselves poets, rap about niggers before mostly White audiences, some of whom see themselves as wiggers (White niggers) and refer to one another as “my niggah.” Snoop Doggy Dogg’s single, “You Thought,” raps, “Wanna grab a skinny nigga like Snoop Dogg/Cause you like it tall/and work it baby doll.” Tupac Shakur’s “Crooked Ass Nigga” lyrics included, “Now I could be a crooked nigga too/When I’m rollin’ with my crew.” Also rap lyrics that degrade women and glamorize violence reinforce the historical Brute Caricature.

Erdman Palmore researched lexicons and said, The number of offensive words used correlates positively with the amount of out-group prejudice; and these express and support negative stereotypes about the most visible racial and cultural differences. When used by Blacks, nigger refers to, among other things, all Blacks (“A nigger can’t even get a break.”); Black men (“Sisters want niggers to work all day long.”); Blacks who behave in a stereotypical, and sometimes legendary, manner (“He’s a lazy, good-for-nothing nigger.”); things (“This piece-of-shit car is such a nigger.”); enemies (“I’m sick and tired of those niggers bothering me!”); and friends (“Me and my niggers are tight.”). This final habit, as a kind word, is particularly challenging. “Zup Niggah” has become an almost universal greeting among young urban Blacks. When asked, Blacks who use nigger or its variants argue that it has to be understood in its situation; repeated use of the word by Blacks will make it less offensive. It’s not really the same word because Whites are saying nigger (and niggers) but Blacks are saying niggah (and niggaz). Also it is just a word and Blacks should not be prisoners of the past or the ugly words that originated in the past.

These arguments may not be true to the real world. Brother (Brotha) and Sister (Sistha or Sista) are terms of endearment. Nigger was and still is a word of disrespect. More to the point, the artificial dichotomy between Blacks or African Americans (respectable and middle-class) and niggers (disrespectable and lower class) ought to be challenged. Black is a nigger, regardless of behavior, earnings, goals, clothing, skills, ethics, or skin color. Finally, if continued use of the word lessened its damage, then nigger would not hurt or cause pain now. Blacks, from slavery until today, have internalized many negative images that White society cultivated and broadcast about Black skin and Black people. This is mirrored in cycles of self- and same-race hatred. The use of the word,nigger by Blacks reflects this hatred, even when the user is unaware of the psychological forces involved. Nigger is the ultimate expression of White racism and White superiority no matter how it is pronounced. It is linguistic corruption, an attack on civility.

To a smaller scale, words other than Nigger also remain accepted public banter in White America. In 1988, on Martin Luther King’s birthday, sports commentator Jimmy “The Greek” Snyder said (on national television) that Black people were better at sports because of slave plantation breeding techniques. “During the slave period, the slave owner would breed his Black with his big woman so that he would have a big Black-kid. That’s were it all started.” Another sports announcer, Billy Packer, referred to pro-basketball player, Allan Iverson, as a “tough monkey.” Another announcer, Howard Cosell, referred to Alvin Garrett, a pro football player with the Washington Redskins as “little monkey” during a Monday Night Football game. The comments made by Cosell and Packer did not go without any punitive consequences.

Nigger is one of the most notorious words in American culture. Some words carry more weight than others. But without trying to exaggerate, is genocide just another word? Pedophilia? Clearly, no and neither is nigger.

After a period of relative dormancy, the word nigger has been reborn in popular culture. It is hard-edged, streetwise, and it has crossed over into movies like Pulp Fiction (1994) and Jackie Brown (1997), where it became a symbol of “street authenticity” and hipness. Denzel Washington’s character in Training Day (2001) uses nigger frequently and harshly. Richard Pryor long ago rejected the use of the word in his comedy act, but Chris Rock, Chris Tucker, and other Black male comedy kings use nigger regularly and not affectionately. Justin Driver, a social critic, makes a case that both Rock and Tucker are modern minstrels shucking, jiving, and grinning, in the tradition of Step ‘n Fetchit. White supremacists have found the Internet an indispensable tool for spreading their message of hate. An Internet search of nigger using Netscape or Alta Vista locates many anti-Black web pages: Niggers Must Die, Hang A Nigger for America, Nigger Joke Central, and many others. Web searchers find what most Blacks know from personal experience, that nigger is an expression of anti-Black hostility. Without question, nigger is the most commonly used racist slur during hate crimes.

No American minority group has been caricatured as often or in as many ways as Black people. These misrepresentations feature distorted physical descriptions and negative cultural and behavior stereotypes. The Coon caricature, for example, was a tall, skinny, loose-jointed, dark-skinned male, often bald, with oversized, ruby-red lips. His clothing was either ragged and dirty or extremely gaudy. His slow, exaggerated walk suggested laziness. He was a pauper, lacking ambition and the skills necessary for upward social mobility. He was a buffoon. When frightened, the Coon’s eyes bulged and darted. His speech was slurred, halted, and stuffed with malapropisms. His piercing, high-pitched voice made Whites laugh. The Coon caricature dehumanized Blacks, and served to justify social, economic, and political discrimination. Nigger may be viewed as an umbrella term, a way of saying that Blacks have the negative characteristics of the Coon, Buck, Tom, Mammy, Sambo, Pickaninny, and other anti-Black caricatures.

In 2003, the fight to correct the shameful availability of this word had positive results. Recently Kweisi Mfume, president and CEO of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP), gave a speech at Virginia Tech. There everyone was informed that a landmark decision was made with the people at Merriam-Webster Dictionary. Recognizing their error, beginning with the next edition, the word nigger will no longer be synonymous with African Americans in their publication.

Nigger, like the false impressions it incorporates and means, puts down Blacks, and rationalizes their abuse. The use of the word or its alternatives by Blacks has not lessened its hurt. This is not surprising in a racial hierarchy four centuries old, shaping the historical relationship between European Americans and African Americans. Anti-Black attitudes, motives, values, and behavior continue. Historically, nigger, more than any other word, captures the personal hatred and institutionalized racism directed toward Blacks. In 2013, incidences such as Atlanta born restaurant entrepreneur Paula Dean and Oklahoma football player Reilly Cooper’s comfortable reference to the word against Blacks shows that it is alive in the white vocabulary and it still does great harm.

Source: Phil Middleton and David Pilgrim, Department of Sociology,
Ferris State University 

via:  Dr. Ray Winbush

The Unimaginable

George Washington x Reader

Words: 1882

Warnings: Angst, injury, character death, REALLY SAD STUFF YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

A/N: I’ve managed to muster enough courage to post this fic that I’ve written long ago! I hope you all like it! Please tell me what you think, and please feel free to drop me a message! My inbox is open and I don’t bite~! Enjoy! =D 

Originally posted by alexanderhxmiltrash


“Shh, I know. You did everything just right.”


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“Did you decide?” Sheldon asked.  This had been the longest two hours of his life, and the coming hours didn’t seem to like they would be any shorter.

Amy ignored him.  Not because she was being mean, but because he had asked the question at least four dozen times already.  He was the most infuriating and frustrating man in the world.  He was also sweet, funny, brilliant, and an excellent lover.  She loved him more than she had loved anyone in the world.  She wasn’t sure why she didn’t just say yes.

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Big Bright Beautiful World (Part 1) - Bruce Wayne x Reader

Here’s a series nobody asked for that I’m super excited about! I’d tell you what inspired it but I’m afraid you wouldn’t want to read if I did lol

Tagging: @memento-scribet @hey-haylee

Words: 833


With a small sigh you set the story book you’d been reading on the table beside your bed. You run your hand across the cover, taking in the familiar ridges on the cover and outlining the title with your fingertips. Rapunzel. How many times had you read this story? Or any of the stories in your room for that matter?

There was no way of counting anymore. All you know is that they bring you comfort. They had their troubling parts, but as a whole, they bring you hope. Hope that one day, you’ll be able to leave this suffocating place. The League of Assassins have been holding you captive for more than twenty years, ever since your parents, the King and Queen of Luma, had made a poor political policy. The League took you as payment for their mistake, and held you captive in a secluded tower, dangling your life over your parents’ heads as motivation for their decisions.

Though you weren’t the most important pawn in the League’s game of chess, they still watched everything you did. They allowed you story books, writing utensils, and a few sad instruments to entertain yourself with, but most of your life had been spent in solitude.

And you longed for more.

You missed your family.

You dreamed of freedom.

There was once a time when you weren’t in this particular tower. About ten years ago, Luma had been involved in a severe conflict, and Ra’s decided to bring you to the heart of the league for “observation.” Or at least that’s what they told you.

It didn’t take much eavesdropping to figure out that Ra’s was fully prepared to fulfil his promise of killing you should your parents move a single toe out of line. And it’s difficult to kill a captive princess when she’s hundreds if not thousands of miles away.

It had been a very dark six months for you, never knowing if each day would be your last. They didn’t permit you to speak to anyone but your immediate guards, lest you manage to con your way out of captivity. But that didn’t stop you from finding other ways of distracting yourself.

Every day you watched from your bedroom balcony as the assassin initiates sparred with one another. It was exciting, hearing the sharp cling of metal against metal as swords collided. One initiate in particular showed impressive potential. He was an excellent fighter with both the sword and the hand. But where others gave their all, he showed restraint.

You never learned the young man’s name, but you heard others speak of him. Apparently he was a wealthy man from a city in America, and he was one of the best initiates the League had ever seen. The fact that he held back in combat all but infuriated Ra’s, but the man didn’t care. He had his own code of honor. Why he sought out the League, you never knew, as the gossip among guards and servants often proved to be faulty.

Eventually you managed to steal glances at him while your guards escorted you from place to place. Sometimes he would meet your gaze, and his piercing blue eyes seemed to stop your heart and hold your breath. Why did he affect you this way? Was it because he was the only person in ten years who showed any form of kindness to you? Or was it just because he was a handsome face who gave you a glimmer of attention?

Either way, you doubted that he would remember you at this point. Ten years is a long time for a nameless face to stay in memory. He wouldn’t know that sometimes you still think about his gaze, or how you saw a softness within his hardened expression. That sometimes thinking about him gave you just a little bit of hope. He stood against Ra’s. So could you.

You shake your head as if it will cause the man’s face to disappear from your mind. You slowly make your way to the only window in your room listening as each step echoes across the cold, stone walls. The rock framing the window is warm from the sunlight, and you press your hand against the rough surface in the hopes that the warmth will somehow brighten your mind. For a moment it does. For a moment you feel hope that one day you will be free. But the warmth is only on the surface. Underneath that initial happiness is a cold stone that will never be shaken.

You want to be hopeful, you really do. But with each passing day, the sun seems to shine a little less.

Perhaps that’s why you read the same stories over and over again. You want the promises they give you.

Your hope.

Your family.

Your White Knight.

As you stare at the vast mountains surrounding your prison, you can’t help but wonder and dream about the day that you finally find your freedom.

Badass But Broken

Castiel x Angel!Reader

A/N: I’m not good at song fics, so I didn’t really include the song, I apologise. I’m also sorry if this one seems a bit messy and all over the place, I’m pretty distracted and had to force myself to write today.

Request:  How about a fic where the reader is a fallen angel and is super kickass and super confident in what she does and she’s just got These HUUUUUUUGE black wings and (wurk it girl) she meets the boys + Castiel on a hunt and for Cas it’s just love at first sight and they all see her as confident and cocky but on the inside she’s just breaking? Maybe to the song of Caribbean Blue by Enya? (Beautiful song you should really check it out.) Thanks so much darling!❤️

Warnings: blood, fluff

Word count: 2252

Originally posted by weeklyspn

Stretching out your wings, you groaned at the sore muscle you had pulled during your fight with a demon. The black eyed bastard better not have lied to you about Crowley’s location. The old abandoned asylum definitely looked like a place the king of hell would station himself, but he was pretty good at deceiving people.

Your wings folded against your back once again as you walked to the entrance of the asylum, your angel blade clutched in your right hand. You froze in spot once your hand touched the metal door. There was something strong inside. You could feel Crowley’s presence, but that wasn’t all.

Opening the door carefully, you stepped inside of the large building, looking down at the abundance of dead bodies on the ground. There were some with stab wounds others had their eyes completely burned out, which only meant there was an angel in here somewhere.

Your fingers wrapped around the hilt of the blade to the point they were turning white. You continued walking down the hall, doing your best to avoid all of the bodies. You had only managed to reach halfway down the hallway before somebody emerged from one of the side rooms, a demon blade clutched in his hand tightly. 

“Who are you?” He said, his voice loud and stable. You narrowed your eyes at him, noting to yourself that he was in fact human, most likely a hunter. 

“I’m not here for you.” You sighed, shaking your head. You made an unspoken promise to yourself that you don’t hurt humans, unless you really needed to, and you weren’t in the mood to deal with this guy right now. You needed to get to Crowley.

He huffed a breath and inched closer to you. “Well I’m the only one here, Princess.” 

“You’re not as good as a liar as you think you are.” 

“I ain’t lying.”

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Learning to breathe

This is a short missing scene story written for @xfspeechie who wanted to know what it would be like for Mulder to attend a Lamaze class with Scully. A bit on the angsty side.

She watched him for a while. Watched the vein in his temple flex. Watched his lips move as his eyes skimmed the pages. Watched his fingers drum against the chair handle. A metronomic tapping that perhaps kept him contained, safe from whatever monsters he fought in his mind. He was secure in this new world he had created since his return. A closed-off world where he kept his thoughts to himself, his fears locked away, his memories buried, his emotions bottled.

Ironic that she, of all people, should be so furious with him for being this way now. Fox Mulder, believer; who leapt in feet first, who wondered and dreamed and demanded the truth. The same Fox Mulder who had opened her eyes to possibilities and miracles, who had shown her life beyond edges and horizons and had shaken her faith in science on a weekly basis. She still mourned him, that Mulder, the one she had buried. He might be returned in a physical sense but he was far from home.

‘Scully, how long have you been standing there?’ That other Mulder would have smiled or flirted. Made a wisecrack about eavesdropping.

This one just asked.

‘Not long. Just came to see how you were.’

‘Oh, you know, I’m loving every minute of my enforced retirement. Catching up on some reading. Shooting hoops. Hanging with the boys. I can’t believe I didn’t do this earlier.’

She sat on his couch, rubbing her hands over swollen belly. ‘You did tell me just before you…that maybe the FBI was right, that there really is so much more…’

‘To life?’ He stared at her belly.

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

He blew out a sharp breath through his nose, leant forward, elbows on his knees.  He closed his eyes, steepled his hands against his mouth. Scully recognised the pattern, remembered the way he would deliberate over his choice of words when he had something weighty to tell her, something that might challenge her. She held her breath, listening to the filter in the fish tank, the murmur of traffic on the street below.

Mulder turned around in his chair, turned on the PC. She saw the tension set in his shoulders. Mulder was back in his safe place again.

She reached the door before he called out her name. She held the door handle, gripping the cool metal.

           ‘Scully, don’t go.’

           ‘I’m late, Mulder.’

           ‘For what?’

           She turned then. He stood before her, in the middle of his apartment, a man who’d faced mutants and monsters and vile humans, a man who’d infuriated her, teased her, saved her, loved her. A man who’d been abducted and returned but who hadn’t yet come back.

He was lost.

           ‘For Lamaze class,’ she said, stepping towards him. ‘Did you want to come?’

           His eyes lowered to her belly again.

           ‘I’d love you to be there, Mulder.’

The room was airy and bright. The other couples were young and bright. The atmosphere was fizzing with energy and hope. Mulder hung back, reading the posters on the wall, hands in pockets.

           ‘If you don’t feel comfortable, you don’t have to stay,’ she said, taking a chance and grazing his elbow.

He flinched at her touch but offered her a brief smile. ‘I’m fine, Scully.’

Her fingers flattened around his forearm, slipping down to his hand and she held his gaze as he closed his fingers around hers. ‘We can do this, Mulder. Together.’

He nodded.

The instructor’s voice floated over her as she closed her eyes and leant back into Mulder.

           ‘Relax and breathe out, breathe out slowly.’

He linked his hands under her bump and he gasped. She twisted her face up towards him. She could feel him trembling.

‘Are you okay, Mulder?’

‘It’s…I’ve never touched…I can’t…’

She felt him shift, ready to spring up, but she placed her hands on his knees, splayed either side of her. ‘It’s fine, you’re fine. You just need to learn to breathe again.’

He let out a tiny whimper and his face fell into her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Scully. I can’t do this,’ he whispered.

‘You can, Mulder. Everything is going to be all right.’

His tears left a hot trail trickling down her neck.

‘Relax and breathe out, breathe out slowly.’ She lifted one hand up against his cheek and with her other she covered his hand against her side.

The baby kicked and rolled and he half-gasped, half-giggled into her neck. ‘It’s real, Scully. It’s really real.’

‘Yes, Mulder. This is the truth, right here.’ She patted her tummy and the baby obliged with another kick.

He shuddered out a sigh.

‘Breathe, Mulder. Relax and breathe with me.’

unmotivated-trashcan  asked:

If you're still taking requests for song based captain swan fanfictions... I'd like to request the song Beneath Your Beautiful by Emeli Sande (if that's how you spell her name). And maybe specifically the line, " you built your walls so high, that no one could climb it, but I'm gonna try..." Thanks

//Set in neverland after the first kiss….for science…. and very sorry this took so long.

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Emma stood staring at the pirate who stood before her as they took shelter. His black hair was like spilt ink, soaked from the rain that had pelted them from the sky out of no where while they were retrieving fire wood. The water emphasized the flawless structure of his features, down to the scar that accentuated his cheek. Emma’s own blond locks were mated to her neck and back, the grey top she wore had turned a darker shade and clung to her curves.

She shivered as a hard gust of wind blew, crossing her arms more tightly against her chest.

“Here, luv,” Hook said already shrugging out of his heavy pirate coat and slinging the leather around her shoulders. “We can’t have the savior catching a cold now, can we?”


Even though it had been soaked, the coat radiated the pirates heat, the smell of rum and sandalwood enveloped her like the embrace of a lover.


“I don’t need it,” she protested.


Killian stayed her hands from removing the cost, his piercing blue eyes boring into hers’.


“Now is not the time for your damnable pride to rear its head, Swan.”


Emma released an indignant snort. “My pride? Who was it again who said they knew a short cut?”


“I’ll admit my faults but I couldn’t have foretold a bloody hurricane would befall us,” the pirate huffed.


Emma rolled her eyes but kept the jacket about her shoulders. “You think it’s-”


“No. Pan has many powers but controlling the weather isn’t one.”


Emma sighed as she plopped down on the stone floor. “We’re wasting our time. One thing after another stops us from getting to Henry.”


“If he is anything like you or his father, the lad is a survivor. Your lot is made of resilient stock.”


Emma frowned at him. “What lot is that? Orphans?”


“Nay, heroes. You’re more than a lost girl, luv.”


Emma borrowed her eyes at the man, her demeanor turning cold. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. We’ve spent what-a few days together and suddenly you think you know me?”


“I’d never presume to know you. But I understand you.”


“Like hell you do,” she growled.


“There you go again,” he grinned running his hand through his sodden hair.


“With what?”


“Your walls,” he explained.


“I don’t-”


“I might not be a savior nor do I have your affinity with knowing a lie, but you can’t deny it. When the conversation or situation turns a way that displeases you; you run,” Killian swiped a thumb across his bottom lip. “Just as with our kiss.”


“That-” Emma struggled to form words, her anger that was rising in her chest immobilizing her tongue. “That was a one time thing.”


“You might wish to believe that but I do not. I’m not going any where, Emma. I am a very patient man. I have 300 years to prove it so.”


Emma could only stare at the infuriating man. She clamped her lips together and simply stared at her boots.


“Why do you even care,” she found herself asking.


“That, luv, is your own doing. I was just fine focusing on my revenge until you came along,” Killian answered, his voice raw. “My heart was dead to the world. It’s a black vile thing, all the light fled with Milah. But then … I can’t be sure when it happened. Perhaps it was when we faced the giant, or maybe even the very first time I saw you.”


Killian knelt before her, his hand gently touched her chin, forcing Emma’s emerald eyes to meet his.


“Perhaps it’s the savior in you. You chased the darkness from my life. Your kiss brought my heart back. 300 years of being stuck in the dark … And now seeing the light, feeling things I thought were lost to me … It’s almost painful.”


Emma was shaking now and it wasn’t from the cold as Killian’s thumb stroked her chin.


“I’ll not run from the light again, Swan. So I will wait for the day when your walls crumble down.”


He rose and returned to the mouth of the cave. The storm raged on, the thunder and pounding of rain the only sound that filled the cave.