it's not fair for them to keep teasing us with mentions of it here and there :(

(Zimbits, AU, 3.7K, click “read more” for the whole fic.)


Thanks. You can put it on the counter in the kitchen.”

That had been Jack’s first mistake.

It wasn’t so much the words he said, but rather the fact that he’d said them in French.

However, to Jack’s credit, he had been in the middle of revising a chapter when he’d heard the knock on his door, and the fact that he hadn’t had any caffeine yet due to the broken coffee maker had thrown off his entire morning.

He had been expecting Georgia, the lady he rented the cabin from, to be standing on his door step. However, instead of the landlord, he got a blond guy with wide, brown eyes staring back at him.

There was a sort of gurgle of surprise and a nervous giggle from the other guy for a moment before he blurted, “Hi, I’m your new housekeeper!”

Jack raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything in his confusion. Francine, Georgia’s wife, usually stopped by once every couple of days to tidy up the place, but neither of the two ladies had mentioned anything about a new hire.

Jack must have been lost in thought for a moment too long because the other guy took this as a sign that Jack didn’t speak English. “Uh, you know, cleaning?” He mimed a sweeping action and then pointed at Jack. “Ummm, je… travaille pour Georgia?” he said in a truly horrendous accent.

Jack gave an impatient nod of his head.

Je m’appelle Eric or you can call me Bitty. Actually, je m’appelle Bitty,” he said proudly with his hand out.

There was something about the other guy’s candidness that made Jack pause, or maybe he had been trapped in a cabin for too long, but he reached out and took the handshake.

It’s nice to meet you,” Jack replied in French.

And that had been his second mistake.

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just another coffee shop AU

So this was part of a not!fic challenge but it ended up as more of a fic than a not!fic, so I’m posting it here. The challenge was to put a trope in my inbox and I’d tell you about the story I’d write. (Honestly, I’m tempted to adapt this and try to do it as orig fic, haha) So enjoy.

It’s harder than you think to get a job in a little podunk town that’s mostly home to fishermen. Dex takes what he can get, and what he can get is a job dishing out lattes and scones at the little pretentious coffee house that vacationing yuppies love to frequent on their way to Maine’s outlet malls. It’s barely a living, but Dex doesn’t need much.

He serves coffee one day to the preppiest of the prep – a luxuriously coiffed writer who tells him that the coffee shop has the perfect atmosphere for inspiration. Dex snorts. This is a guy who wears his stubble purposely rough, to achieve some kind of effect. He probably wears “pre-distressed” clothing (although right now his outfit’s actually really sharp, with this vest over a fuzzy, tight-fitting sweater.)

The writer challenges him. “Come on, you have to have a little poetry in your soul?”

“I sold my soul for a three-dollar latte,” Dex replies.

The man laughs, and goddamn, even his teeth are perfect.

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I think it’s extremely unfair when people blame two actresses of queerbaiting when they show us some support.

There’s a big difference between saying “Oh, you never know what could happen… Keep watching!” and saying “I know where the shippers are coming from. Once you put a scene out there it will be perceived differently by different people and that’s OK. It’s how this works and all the views are valid even though the writers may not have written this way specifically.”

The first one gives hope, false hope. It makes us believe it will happen eventually even though it might not to. It’s just cruel. You keep watching until the very end… to end up in utter disappointment (also, there’s the teasing aspect of it. They keep selling and promoting it, misleading the fans. A cruel move too. And yes, I’m looking to a certain someone from the Riverdale cast. THAT. THAT’S queerbaiting at its finest, my friends. I’ll mention the cast and production of PP too, they mean well, at least I think they do, but teasing us relentless with Bechloe to promote the movie just to let us down later is kinda wrong).

The second one validates our views as one of the many possibilities and states that they’re all fine, sure it gives you a sparkle of hope too, but it’s honest. It’s not deceiving, you know it’s possible it won’t happen.

At the end of the day, it’s not the actresses fault, you see? It’s not even up to them, they don’t write the shows. They could very well ignore us, pretend we and our ship don’t exist *cough* I say J you say Mo *cough* or… they could see us, interact with us and make us feel supported and loved. Make us feel like we belong and what we see is valid and beautiful.

With that in mind, I believe what Katie Mcgrath is doing with Supercorp is great! She’s doing the right thing and I think other actors should follow her example. She’s being honest with her fans, loving, caring and supportive . Sign fanarts, fanfics and other stuff of the ship doesn’t mean she’s saying “Look, it will happen, just wait and see!!!”, no, she’s saying “I see you guys. I think it’s amazing all the love you have for these two characters”. She chose to embrace her Supercorp fans and for them, for me, this means SO much.

So moving on to Lana now. When the whole cast, the writers, production ignored our existence or treated us badly in general, Lana was the only one who acknowledged us and Swan Queen. She was the only one making a real effort to make us feel like we belonged and a little more safe in a fandom full of hatred. I’m relatively new to the fandom and I know she wasn’t always like this, Lana made a lot of mistakes along the way, but she tried to be better and I believe she’s a good ally now. At least she didn’t avoid us like the plague like her co-star did… *cough* Again, I say J you say Mo *cough*

So to sum this all up… Show support and some love to your queer fan base is NOT queerbaiting. It’s not them fooling their fans into believing the ships will become canon eventually. It’s them saying that we matter!!! When you’re surrounded by toxicity and bigotry all around in your life and in fandom, this support, this validation from your favorite actresses? It’s the only thing you have to keep going. It means a lot and they’re such simple gestures really, so don’t blame people like Lana or Katie… Blame the writers that put innuendos and romantic undertones IN ALL THEIR SCENES, make parallels with other canon couples, coordinate their wardrobe, make them FILL PERFECTLY ALL THE DEFINITIONS OF TRUE LOVE THEY SET UP (sorry, I’m still bitter about it. Fuck you Adam and Eddy!). Blame the actors that act like we’re not here or just plainly use us to promote themselves and their shit show. Don’t blame the only ones trying! Especially when one of them it’s a WOC and already has to deal with this racist, misogynistic, homophobic industry. It’s just not fair to do so.

we're electric

Because I heard this song multiple times at work with nothing to distract me.

AO3

Summary: When you become a Power Ranger, your possible romantic partners become limited.

~~~


“Hear me out” Trini’s pen stilled mid-word over her English homework. Whenever Kimberly used that sentence, trouble was usually not far behind. She had expected a generally low-key study date at her friend’s house since her own was not ideal. 

“Okay, I’m hearing” She carefully lowered her pen to give the pink Ranger her full attention.

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anonymous asked:

Who do you think is responsible for the censorship of sanvers, the writers or the CW? I'm inclined to believe it's the latter. I feel like this is probably standard practice for various networks with "family" shows, but I'm seeing a lot of anger directed towards the writers specifically, and I don't know if it is the most productive thing. Not that the writers shouldn't be criticized for other things.

society?

[this got very long]

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What Are Friends For?

Anon prompt: The reader kisses Archie at a party expecting him to be very cool and chilled about it since he does a lot of kissing but he falls for her and tries to hide his feelings and then Betty and Veronica intervene to get them together somehow but it doesn’t go as planned?

A/N: Oooooooooooooooooooh, Archie out here kissing everyone !!

Word Count: 1.3k

Tags: underage drinking, partying, kissing

-

It was a well-known fact that Cheryl blossom threw the best parties Riverdale High had the pleasure of seeing.
Everyone left drunk and they were talked about for weeks until someone tried, and failed, to throw a better one.

Cheryl answers the door, looking Betty, Veronica, and myself up and down.

“Alcohol is in the kitchen, don’t touch anything that’s valuable.” She doesn’t smile as she pushes the door open wider for us to enter.

We enter and head towards the kitchen, we pass Kevin and Joaquin; Kevin is introducing Joaquin to the Pussycats.
Archie and Jughead are in the kitchen, opening new cans of beer and drinking from them.

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dreamcatchersdaughter  asked:

Oh MY that was Wonderful! I loved your T'Stuckony pregnant verse, its beautiful! This is me totally asking for pregnant sex , for sometime in the future cause that would amazing. I'd love to read that. It would be even cooler if each of them ended up being the father of one pup. I could see Tony's relief, because despite their reassurance his instincts might have worry. Then he sees proof of them fawning over each of the babies and treating them with the same awe and wonder. Proud mama Tony :P

Truth be told there isn’t a lot of porn here. Like at all, but here we go! I added some insecure Tony in here, and some Rhodey/Clint/Sam at the end, too. Hope no one minds!


Continuation of this -

Tony found that, while he absolutely loved his alphas with all his heart, he couldn’t help but want to strangle them every minute of every day for what they had done to him. He was 6 months along in his pregnancy and his stomach looked utterly grotesque. It was oval, poking out from the front, looked deformed and looked disgusting with all the stretch marks and veins sticking out his pale skin.

Logically he knew his alphas weren’t completely responsible, seeing as he was the one who agreed to go through with it, and he couldn’t exactly blame his pups because, well, they were babies and had no say in their cramped mobile home that was Tony’s body. But Tony wasn’t seeing logic. All he was seeing was his once decently toned body looking a shadow of its former self while the three alphas were still fit and gorgeous. It wasn’t fair.

He tried smoothing his large sweatshirt over his stomach, deflating when it did nothing to slim his stomach and creating a mountain on his middle. Lately all he had been wearing were sweaters and jackets and giant shirts and basically anything that could hide his stomach away from innocent eyes. No one needed to see his disfigurement. They didn’t deserve to suffer.

“Sweetheart?”

Tony tensed and instinctively turned his front away and keeping it out of sight. He hadn’t noticed Steve enter their room at all. How long had he been there?

“What are you doing just standing here? Were you looking at how beautiful you are?” Steve gestured to the mirror that Tony had been pointedly ignoring. He didn’t need to see how ugly he looked with his bloated stomach. “We could’ve told you that ourselves.”

Tony mumbled a denial under his breath. These days he was anything but.

“Tony?” The blond alpha pressed his front against Tony’s back, sliding his arms around his expanded belly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“It’s nothing, Steve.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re lying to me?”

“Leave it.” Tony shook the arms off and moved away to stand on the edge of the bed. His back and his legs were aching and all he wanted to do was sit down.

(watch out for the cut mobile users)

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resurrectionofdawn  asked:

"whatever she is, isn't human. It's old, it's powerful, and it hates."

guns & rosaries, Darcy/Loki

Now on AO3.

okay, you didn’t ask for a specific pairing so i just went with whatever worked, which turned out to be Darcy/Loki. So this is tasertricks, and a lot longer than I expected it to be. Hope you like it! :)


Darcy didn’t begin to suspect that anything was wrong until the third day on the job. Hunting monsters had never exactly been easy money, but she and Jane had been doing it for so long that Darcy forgot what it was like when a job went truly sideways.

From the start, it seemed like an average contract—strange and scary things started happening in a small town, townspeople freaked out, townspeople found a (mostly) innocent person to scapegoat—and the guy who hired them was too genuinely nice to be pulling some kind of con. And while Jane may have been too entranced by the guy’s abs to make an unbiased evaluation of the situation, Darcy’s bullshit detector had no equal. To be fair to Jane, though, even Darcy had to admit that Thor’s abs were extremely impressive.

All that aside, his concern that his little brother might be wrongly accused and driven out of their community was so palpable that Jane and Darcy accepted the contract on the spot and booked a flight to Norway the next day.

The first night was fine. Jane and Darcy were jet lagged as hell but still able to drag themselves to the only inn in town, where they rented two rooms for the duration of the contract (Jane was attempting to hide her desire to get in Thor’s pants as a sudden and unprecedented need for space, but Darcy wasn’t buying it). Darcy barely took the time to unpack her meager toiletries—she left the silver bullets, holy water, and emergency potions securely tucked away in the false bottom of her luggage—before heading out to join Jane and Thor in the pub for dinner.

When she finally collapsed into bed, exhausted, she had horrible, restless dreams all night. She woke up the next morning, drained, with the ghost of a crushing weight on her chest. Rubbing at the spot, feeling as if a bruise was forming, Darcy attributed the strangeness to lingering jet lag and a desperate need for caffeine. She paused only for a moment at the mirror, looking at the deep, dark bruises under her eyes in mild consternation. Should’ve brought more concealer, Darce.

On her way out the door, Darcy’s eyes caught on the items scattered across the vanity. Hmm, that’s strange—she would’ve sworn that they were in a different order when she laid them out the day before. Shaking her head, Darcy wrote it off as a flight of fancy and went on her way.

The second day and night went much like the first; Jane and Darcy split up to subtly investigate suspicious activity in the town, and Darcy became more and more perturbed by what she heard. Apparently, several people had had heart attacks in the middle of the night over the past few months, a few too many to just be coincidence. At least several more had literally disappeared in the middle of the night, with no clue as to where they had gone. The townsfolk were adamant that they hadn’t left voluntarily—cars, clothes, and belongings were all still at home, and entire families had been left behind without warning.

Suspicion and paranoia were percolating, as they often did in situations like these, swelling into a wave of fear and hate that would find some unlucky sod to target. Apparently, in this case that scapegoat was likely to be Thor’s little brother.

Darcy and Jane would have to move quickly, before irreparable damage was done.

As she headed back to the pub to meet Jane and Thor for dinner, Darcy mused that it did indeed sound like some kind of supernatural creature was wreaking havoc on the town. Unfortunately, she was still at a loss for what kind—the vague descriptions she had gathered from the townspeople could fit any number of monsters she and Jane dealt with on a regular basis, not to mention the ones specific to this area of the world. Hopefully Jane had fared better.

Jane had not, in fact, fared any better. That was patently clear from the fact that Darcy’s best friend was currently engaged in a rousing sing-off with her fair-haired beau, which seemed well on its way to…yep, definitely ending in a drunken makeout.

Rolling her eyes fondly at the pair, Darcy moved to claim a table at the edge of the crowd. As she sat, Darcy felt the press of someone’s gaze and sat up to her full (modest) height. Taking her time, she nonchalantly cast her eyes about this room, searching for her unknown spectator.

As soon as her eyes landed on the man lounging in a chair by the fire, Darcy wondered how she ever could have missed him. He certainly wasn’t going out of his way to hide the direction of his gaze, and he smirked at her when their eyes met. With dark hair and a disdainful tilt of his chin, he looked nothing like the rest of the townspeople she had met so far.

Because of the distance and the reflection of the flames dancing in his eyes, she couldn’t tell if they were green or blue. There was no disguising the smug tilt of his mouth, though, especially as it was directed straight at her in a blatant challenge. Darcy allowed herself a smug look in return, and he sat up a bit straighter in his chair in response. She had a moment to wonder if he would abandon the distance between them and approach her, but then Jane was at the table, slightly drunk and glowing.

Swaying as she sat down, Jane leaned too close and shouted, “Thor’s getting us drinks!”

Darcy chuckled and leaned back in her seat, eardrums already aching from Jane’s lack of volume control. “That’s great, Janie, thanks. Did you find out anything good today?”

Jane shakes her head, then nods vigorously, then see-saws her hand in a so-so motion. “Umm—”

Snorting at her best friend, Darcy takes a different approach. Best to keep it simple. “Any word on how Thor’s brother is holding up under all the suspicion?”

Jane looked at her, wide-eyed and puzzled. “You were the one just having intense eye sex with him, Darcy, so you tell me. I thought you’d already ‘met,’ the way you were looking at each other.” She waggled her eyebrows outrageously, drawing a laugh out of Darcy.

“You’re the only one getting any action on this trip, Janie,” Darcy teased. Humming thoughtfully, she added, “I could see why he’d be the one everyone blames around here, though. He doesn’t exactly…fit in.”

Jane nodded sagely in agreement. “It’s always the outsiders who get blamed, isn’t it?” She and Darcy exchanged a glance, empathetic to Loki’s plight; they’d been on the receiving end of townspeople’s misplaced blame more than once in the past, and it was always unpleasant. Darcy turned back to where he was sitting, but Loki was gone.

Thor came back with their mead at that moment and conversation turned to lighter topics. Darcy let go of thoughts about his brother, but every now and then she swore she could feel eyes on her, watching and assessing.

That night passed much like the one before, and Darcy began to suspect that her nightmares possibly had something to do with whatever was haunting the town. She suffered no other effects than lingering exhaustion and a lingering heaviness in her chest, though, so she continued on with her day, planning to look into it later.

In hindsight, perhaps Jane and Darcy should have questioned the details of the supernatural goings-on a bit more extensively before making the trip. That way, Darcy might have been slightly more prepared to wake up to a ghoulish creature perched on her chest in the middle of the night.

As it was, Darcy was not prepared in the least. She woke abruptly, limbs paralyzed and pressed to the bed. Her mouth still worked, though, and she let out an earsplitting shriek, loud enough to bring the inn down around her ears. The vaguely woman-like creature bore down on her, glowing red eyes moving so close they drowned everything else out.

Whatever she was, she wasn’t human. She was old, powerful, and clearly hated Darcy with a fiery passion.

Darcy had just enough time to reflect on the embarrassment of dying in bed in a foreign country, alone, before her ears were filled with a thunderous clanging. The ghoul screamed in pain and frustration and clambered off of her, scrambling to the far corner of the room.

Limbs mobile again, Darcy propped herself up on her elbows just in time to see the creature turn itself to mist. A silver knife flew past, embedding itself directly into the wood where the creature had stood half a second earlier.

Loki stood in the doorway, one hand gripping some kind of bell while the other was still outstretched from throwing the knife.

Darcy blinked, and then he was rushing toward her. He grabbed her hand, dragging her the rest of the way out of bed, and they fled the bedroom at a run.

Well, Darcy thought to herself, this job just got a whole lot more interesting.


Originally posted by modifier-x


send me a prompt!

Sweet Talker

For @svu-stories! Because we all need some Rafael at the end of a long day…

“What’s all this?”

Jingles jumped up first as you struggled in the doorway with a tray of fried chicken. Any love that might have been meant for you disappeared as she stretched up and pawed the tin foil. Your arms ached, your legs felt worse as you pushed the tray towards your husband and stumbled back to the hallway for two white paper bags.

“You could have called from the street,” he said. “I would have helped.”

“Like I was in any position to grab my phone.”

“What about the cabbie?” he asked as he tried to give you a quick kiss.

“That would mean a bigger tip and as it is we’re about to be down an entire income!”

It came out sharper than you intended and you lazily patted his arm as you kicked off your shoes and sank to the couch.

“Do I not want to know?” he asked.

“Just leave me here for five minutes to die.”

“Okay. But if you’re still breathing in five minutes and one second, we are going to have a proper conversation.”

For now, he left you in silence, rummaging through your cursed cargo as Jingles kept circling his feet.

“Sort of makes me wish I hadn’t already eaten,” he mumbled.

“It’s not time yet!” you cried out with one hand over your eyes.

“I was addressing the cat,” he shot back. “And it’s a compliment to the chef.”

“I wouldn’t know what that sounds like.”

Peering through your fingers, you saw his eyebrows stretch towards his hairline as he plopped a lime-flavored potato croquette into his mouth.

“You could eat at a time like this,” you said.

“Far be it from me to turn down a free meal.”

“Perish the thought.”

“Are you going to keep me in suspense or what?” Rafael asked.

“Ninety more seconds.”

“Fair enough.” Rafael pet Jingles as you stared up at the ceiling, sighing heavily as the day you’d rather forget flashed before your eyes in unwanted waves.

“Time’s up,” he said. Looking at him again, you noticed a chicken leg conquered and a piece of sweet corn pudding half gone.

“Were you a competitive eater in another life?” you quipped.

“Well from the sounds of it I am going to need a second job.” He laughed lightly as he sat by your side, bringing your feet to his lap as he massaged them tenderly and waited for you to share the rest of the story.

“We had to audition today.”

“Are you turning actress on me? I can see that. A touch of Bette Davis in her Warner Brothers days.”

“Someone’s been watching TCM when he should be going over his legal briefs.”

“I can multi-task, mi amor,” he said as he kissed your toes. “And you can do anything that you put your mind to.”

“Hardly.” His hands moved up your legs until for your fingers were in his grasp. You liked the look of it, but the image started to blur as your eyes hazed over.

“The client wanted a tasting.”

“You can do that with both hands tied behind your back.”

“Tell that to a certain Wall Street banker… or should I say his fiancée by way of Georgia.

“You less than perfection?” he asked as he nuzzled your neck.

“She criticized every dish we put in front of her.”

His face turned somber as he caressed your ankles, hitching up your black pleated skirt to peck your knees.

“I should call Rollins to see if she has outstanding parking tickets or something,” he teased. His free hand found its way to your hair, stroking the strands that had been your French braid many minutes and blocks ago.

“It wouldn’t matter.”

“What made tonight different?”

“Tonight, there were five other caterers waiting and watching in the mix,” you said. “I felt like was on a fucking reality show.”

“Now if someone has ruined your love for MasterChef forget whatever Rollins might dig up. We’re pressing charges right here in Manhattan.”

He started to rub your back when you hung your head, tears spilling down your cheeks.

“It was horrible,” you sobbed. “Some of them were people that I trained under. Or took passes on. And to have to stand there while that bleached blonde bimbo put me down…”

“No accounting for taste,” he soothed. “But it’s not the end of the world. So you didn’t land one little job.”

“Um… did I mention that I turned my pineapple upside-down cake right side up? In the Southern Belle’s lap?”

“Oh,” he said as he released your hand.

“I know, I know. It was a dumb thing to do. But I was just so angry and…”

“So in between my new career as a competitive eater, I’m going to have to rescue you from an assault conviction.”

“I hope it won’t come to that,” you said as you slipped back to the cushions. “What is current the precedent for attacks by pastry?”

“I don’t know.”

“A legal fact not on the tip of your tongue, darling?”

“I’ll do some research,” he assured you. “Worse comes to worse I bet I can plea you out for a batch of brownies at no charge.”

“You’re not listening. My food is a bust.”

“A little melodramatic, no?” Rafael brushed a lock of hair behind your ears, his lips nearly on yours as you shrugged way from him. Your speech came slowly as your stared at your hands that used to be able to do no wrong, that you had counted on from the instant you learned to boil water and prepare the perfect plate of pasta.

“What if I’ve plateaued?” you finally asked. “What if I’m never going to do anything amazing ever again?”

“Come on now.”

“It might be true. And it’s coming at the worst time. Now that we… that we want to start a…”

You swallowed the word family back and felt your legs trembling.

“Who would give a baby to a screw up like me?”

He turned you to face him, his stare hardening as he fondled your arms.

“One Georgia Peach who should probably stick with the drive thru does not mean that you should throw in the towel.”

“That was mean,” you giggled.

“And bleached blonde bimbo was charitable?” he challenged.

“Point taken.”

“And you forget,” he continued. “You’re going to be the most amazing mother the world has ever known. So no more talk about being past your prime or whatever this is. Mi amor, you are about set the gold standard for the second time.”

“When was the first?” you asked.

“When you made a short lawyer with a big mouth the luckiest man in the world.”

He folded you into his arms. Any and all lingering tension melted away in his embrace, and you took a deep breath as you looked into his eyes.

“Better?” he asked.

“That big mouth of yours… when I need it most….”

“I can keep it up all night,” he said with a wink.

“Such a sweet talker. But I think there’s a much better use for said mouth.”

He smiled knowingly as he lifted you into his arms. You squealed as he started to carry you towards the bedroom when a rustle from the counter claimed your attention.

“Oh no!”

Jingles was there, picking at the fried chicken. You disentangled yourself from Rafael’s hold to put the kibosh on her unexpected feast.

“It’ll make you sick, sweetheart,” you gently scolded. The anguish was writ large on her feline face as she sulked back to her tiny pink bowl, her dinner gone as she batted the ceramic before flopping on the floor.

“Sometimes she’s so fresh,” you muttered as you started to load the refrigerator, only to look back to see Rafael polishing off the corn pudding and feeding Jingles by hand.

“Seriously?” you asked with your hands on your hips.

“What? If it makes her happy. And I think I need to work up an appetite for… what you have in mind.”

You sighed as you kissed his beautiful mouth, his taste sweet and sure as you winded your arm in his.

“Guess I’m going to have to be the disciplinarian in the family,” you teased, the word coming out easier as he hugged you close.

“Want to start practicing with me?”

“Not another audition,” you moaned.

“Please. You already have the part. Your hands alone are worthy of awards.”

“Either you’re psychic or I’m in love,” you said.

“Let it be the latter,” he whispered.

“You’ll soon find out.”

You led him to the sheets, adoring the idea of everything you would do to him… how marvelous he had already… how he always made you feel…

““I love the way you never give up, mi amor.” 

…and the way he always said the right thing.

Rose Garden (Ruby X Oscar): A Question

Post series, post Salem, post main story line. Rated F for fluff.

___________________________________________

“Keep them closed. We’re almost there” The elevator doors slowly slid open, and Ruby stepped forward hesitantly as Oscar kept his hands over her eyes as they walked.

“I hope so” she giggled “Walking around this much without seeing anything makes me nervous.”

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She’s Leaving, Dean

Originally posted by hunterchesters

Pairing: SamxReader
Word count: 19,511 (holy fuck)
Warnings: Swearing, angry Sam, smut
Authors: Both of us
A/N: So, this is us just screwing around. We’re winging it. It’s making my computer laggy by sitting in drafts, so here’s the first part. Also, we tried to keep things as close to their personalities as possible, and if a power isn’t in the show…just go with it haha- Brittiny

“Sammy?” You called out, walking in the door. You’d been out on a solo hunt for a few days, and missed your best friend. You adored him, and would have jumped at the chance to be with him…but you didn’t think he felt the same way. Dean knew about your crush. It wasn’t like you did a good job of hiding it. 

Figuring that he was in his room, you dropped your bag off on your bed before walking to his. You debated on knocking or not. Normally it didn’t matter, so you shrugged it off. Opening the door, you hadn’t expected to see another person with him.

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Ever After

“You must be, like, crazy smart”. Her tone is just a shade too peppy, and he’s ninety percent sure she just wants him to write her essay for her because there’s no way she’s actually flirting with him. 

He remembers when he was excited for college. To go to a place where no one knew him, where he could start over, make a new Danny.  Of course, Tucker and Sam had insisted on going to the same college as him, but they weren’t around all the time. Campus was large and it was times like this when he could meet new people, make new friends… Except it didn’t exactly work out the way he’d imagined.

He smiles, though, and laughs, shrugging. “Not really. I’m eighteen. Just small.”

“Oh, sorry…” There’s an awkward silence as she tries to subtly give him a once over, like it’ll change her first impression, but, nope, he’s still short, still small.
Still fourteen.

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First Love

Summary: Primrose Everdeen makes a friend in new neighbor Peeta Mellark and looks forward to spending her summer days with him at the creek. But when he finally meets her sister, Katniss, Prim finds she has some competition for Peeta’s time… and affections. Loosely based on the film The Man in the Moon.

A/N -This is part 1 of 2; the second half will be posted soon.

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Christmas Movies

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 1,107

A/N: This is a part of mine and @marvelingatthewonder‘s Christmas Drabble Party. The request was Bucky Barnes + Christmas Movies. I hope you enjoy this one @lifeislikeatimebomb !

@avengerstories - I adore you and your editing assistance with all my heart.

Originally posted by bucky-plums-barnes

“You’re back!”

“I’m back,” you repeat with much less enthusiasm than Bucky. After spending all day shopping at the mall, you’re exhausted. Buying presents for friends and family has never been an easy task, but it’s a cakewalk in comparison to buying gifts for the Avengers. What do you buy people who save the world on a daily basis and are funded by a billionaire that willingly throws money around like it’s nothing?

Bucky helps you unload all the bags from your arms and places them on the kitchen counter. Once they’re gone, you plop down in the seat closest to you and cradle your head in your hands. All you can think about is changing into your pajamas and -

“Are you ready?”

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Incessant Infatuation

Synopsis: Fareeha has a crush on super cool big-kid Angela, and she goes to McCree of all people for help.


The midday sun cast its rays upon the desert field, sending shadows directly underneath the figures that owned them. Small reptiles crawled out of their hiding spots to bask in the sunlight, while many of the mammals refuge from the blazing heat in their burrows and holes. A small woodpecker started to cut out a hole in a thick Saguaro, hoping to create a shelter to reside in.

Crack.

The percussive noise reverberated along the sand, echoing off rocks, being sent in every direction.

Another crack.

Jesse McCree looked down range at his target, and walked out towards the paper cutout for closer inspection. While two shots were fired, only one hole seemed to be made. It was not until the paper was in Jesse’s hands was the imperfection shown. A small crescent deviated from the original circumference, another circle offset by millimeters, with barely any paper to puncture. Jesse smirked and flicked the paper with his finger, letting out a puff of his cigar. “Not too bad for warming up” he said to himself, making his way back towards the shooting station. He set the paper target aside on the small wooden table beside him, and he picked up six fresh victims to set out in the range.

When all the cutouts were put on their posts, he situated himself at the station. He clicked the release mechanism to his revolver, flicking the cylinder open. As he tilted the revolver upwards, two casings dropped to the gravel below, smoke still gently rising from their entry points. This time, Jesse readied six rounds to be fired, carefully placing each one in its proper slot. With a smooth motion, he flipped the cylinder back up into the revolver, the locking mechanism snapping in place with a click.

He glanced down at his wrist before checking his surroundings to make sure he was alone. Seeing nobody nearby, he smirked and placed his revolver in his holster, keeping it unlatched. He bent his right arm, hand hovering over the pistol, his left arm in front, ready for rapid fire.

“It’s high noon” he let out in a low drawl.

The low wind picked up, sending a lone tumbleweed across the horizon. McCree lined up each target in his sights, composing himself. With a sudden motion, Jesse drew the weapon from its holster. “Draw!” He shot each target along the horizon in a swift motion, his left hand cocking the hammer in between each sequential fire. When it was done, Jesse flipped the revolver about his finger before swiftly placing it back in the holster. He surveyed the scene, all targets had a sizzling hole right through the skull. He tucked his thumbs in his belt loops, “Heh, not so bad”

His reverie was cut short.

“Ugh, Jesse. So lame” A giggle came from behind. McCree snapped around on his heel, and saw little Fareeha jump down from her perch. He suddenly became quite flustered, especially now that Fareeha had seen him. She always liked to give him grief for his self-indulgent grandeur, not to mention the BAMF buckle he liked to keep fastened around his waist.

“Fareeha! What are you doing here? You know your Mom would kill you if she found out you were at the gun range” McCree said, emptying the casings just as before, and swiveled the pistol back into its holster.                    

“Mmm is the ‘BAMF’ scared of momma?” Fareeha said with a sly smile, “It is just you and me after all, she doesn’t need to find out. Besides, I wanted to ask you something.”

Jesse sighed, knowing he wouldn’t be able to shake her loose until he paid the ransom. “Alright, what is it then?”

“You’re good with the ladies, right Jesse?”

McCree tugged at his collar awkwardly. No beating around the bush with this one. “I wouldn’t say the ladies per se.”

“Okay, fine. But you know how to sweet-talk them, right? I know you use that silver-tongue of yours to kiss mother’s ass, God help her.”

McCree rolled his eyes. “I guess if you put it that way. To be honest, though, this line of work doesn’t lend many opportunities to speak with many people outside of those in Overwatch. The only women I really know well besides my own mother are your Ma and Angela.”

At the latter’s name, Fareeha started shifted the sand around her feet, looking down the entire time. “What if I were to say that I wasn’t talking about anybody off-base?” Fareeha asked nervously.

Realization began to dawn on McCree, the corner of his lips turned upwards into a sly grin. “Heh heh, does little Fareeha Amari have her eyes set on a certain someone?”

Fareeha didn’t look up to meet McCree’s cheeky expression.

“A certain German lady, by chance?”

“Ugh, Jesse, she’s Swiss!” Uh oh. Now the cat was out of the bag. “I mean… no?” she said, trying to backpedal out of her previous statement, tapping the tips of her index fingers together.

McCree slapped his knee and let out a bought of laughter. He gave her a few teasing nudges with his elbow, while Fareeha tried to bat him away.

“Hah! A crush on Miss Angela Ziegler. I gotta say, kid, you have a mighty fine taste in women.” He said, not trying to fight down the grin that seemed to get broader and broader.

“…Shut up” Fareeha pleaded sheepishly, with heat rising to her cheeks.

“Heh” McCree grunted as his laughter started to subside. “So have you tried working the ol’ Amari charm?”

Fareeha shuffled her feet over one another. “I wouldn’t say that”

“Looks like we’ll need to fix that, then!” Jesse stood up and rotated his hat slightly. “Here, I got a few tricks up my sleeve…”

Angela nervously chewed on the cap to her pen, her foot bobbing up and down as her crossed legs moved about. She had already spent five hours tucked away in her cramped living quarters, trying to work on an article she had been drafting that dealt with the preliminary research in the usage of microscopic machines and how they could be used in the medical field. Juggling that and her responsibilities on base was proving to be a challenge, but it was something she found she could solve by holing herself up in her room. Not many people had access to Angela when she was busy with her workload, which to be fair was nearly every moment of her day. Being an unusually young age for her work, Angela was denied permission by Commander Morrison to look after her own patients. To keep herself busy in the times she wasn’t assisting the current medical director of Overwatch, she had taken to pouring through multitudes of published academic literature and research papers, hoping to gain some insight into the developing field of the nanobiology.

She heard the door creak, but she paid no mind to it. She was intent to carry on with her research, and didn’t want to get bogged down in any distractions.

“Hey Angela” a small voice came from behind, one that could only come from Fareeha.

“Hey Far” Angela said without turning around, still trying to focus on doing her work.

Angela was about to ask how Fareeha’s day was going, but she was interrupted by prying fingers at the collar of her turtleneck. “Fareeha?” She continued to try to turn the collar inside out. “Fareeha what are you doing?” She turned to face Fareeha.

“I’m uhh.. I’m umm..” Fareeha paused as if trying to remember something. “I’m trying to find the tag that says ‘Made in Heaven.’”

Angela paused for a moment, but realization spread across her face. Laughter came forth in droves. “Where did you get that one from?”

Fareeha was a little taken back, and her face flushed with embarrassment. She still wanted to continue, and she looked down at the piece of paper in her hand. Fumbling with the words she was trying to say, she stuttered out the next line “d-do you have a camera?”

Angela was taken aback at the strange request. “Um yes but I don-”

“So I can show my friends proof angels exist.”

Angela let out another fit of giggles before reigning herself back in. “You know you are just adorable, right? Did Jesse put you up to this to annoy me?” She said with a giggle.

Fareeha felt like she wanted to die of embarrassment at that moment. She couldn’t help but stare at her shoes. “Right… to annoy you” she said, defeated.

“Hmm! Typical. I’m going to go knock some sense into that troublemaker.”

Angela sauntered out the door, and Fareeha crumpled the piece of paper in her hand, throwing it out as she sulked back to her room.

~~Twenty years later~~

With a loud hissing noise, the carrier’s ramp opened and lowered itself onto the platform below, forming a rudimentary walkway for the passengers exiting the aircraft. Fareeha slung the duffel bag she was carrying over her shoulder, and stepped out into the midday sun. Looking around, the revitalized Watchpoint looked just like had twenty years ago. The atmosphere felt very similar to how she remembered it. She brought her gaze forward, locking on to the man who was approaching her, clipboard in hand.

“Captain Amari! It is good to meet you. I do hope your flight over was okay.” Not being one for idle conversation, Fareeha smiled and gave a small nod in recognition.

“If you would follow me, I will show you to your living quarters.”

The attendant ducked his head to enter the doorway to one of the entrances. Fareeha followed suit, smiling as she remembered the countless times Jack Morrison had hit his head there, too busy with paperwork to pay attention.

“Winston informed me to tell you to meet him in the officer’s quarters at 0400. Am I correct in assuming you know where that is?”

Fareeha returned her attention to the man beside her, coming out of her small trip down memory lane. “Yes, I do. Thank you.” She glanced down at her watch, just past noon.

Looks like I will have time to explore more around the Watchpoint, and see if anything has changed in the past two decades.

The man lead her to her room, a plaque was placed on the center of the door reading ‘Capt. Fareeha Amari.’

“So this is where you’ll be staying. If you want to request any additions or changes you can contact me and I’ll see what I can do.” He turned to give her space, but then added one last thing, “Oh, and Captain? Welcome to Overwatch.” Fareeha nodded, and he went on his way.

Less than an half hour later, Fareeha had her things set out and tucked away. She was not one to pack heavy, for all she needed were her different military uniforms, her workout clothing, and the other bare essentials. Much of the structured, militaristic attitude she had developed during her time in the Egyptian armed forces carried over through her time working for HSI and to the present. It made things easy for her to stay mobile, not being tied down to any location with mementos of home, but it would be untrue to say Fareeha did not secretly wish to possess said trinkets.

Feeling curious, Fareeha left the comfort of her bed to explore the corridors of the Watchpoint.

Many happy memories were made here, even in the short time her mother had been stationed at this Watchpoint. Whether it was hearing stories about the ‘Good ol’ days’ from Reinhardt, pestering Gabriel to play with her, or just hanging out with Angela while she worked on her computer, Fareeha had definitely made this place her home, even if it wasn’t for as long as she hoped.

As she walked down the corridor, a cracked door caught her attention, a faint pale blue light emanated from the cracks. A sudden giddiness filled her body as she read the owner of the room. She silently opened the door, and was greeted by the figure hunched over the desk, typing something at a furious pace. Fareeha leaned against the doorframe.

“Hmm, I really wish I had brought my camera with me” Angela swiveled around to face the unfamiliar voice, “So I can show my friends proof angels exist.”

Angela’s mouth crept up into a smile. “Fareeha,” she said fondly, “it has been far to long.” She picked her self out of the chair and walked towards Fareeha, bringing her into an embrace.

“It’s good to see that some habits never change” Fareeha said with a smirk, motioning her head towards the numerous papers strewn about her desk, byproducts of becoming a part of so many different research groups.

“It’s not work if you love doing it. And I can’t believe you remembered that horrible line,” she gave Fareeha a teasing slap on the chest, “I still remember the first you said it to me. It was so adorable!”

Fareeha rubbed the back of her neck. “To be fair, Angela, you wouldn’t let me live it down.”

Angela lightly touched Fareeha’s forearm, and the giggle she let out made Fareeha’s heart jump. “And I don’t think I ever will.” She let her giggling pause for a moment, and she looked into the deep brown eyes looking down to her. “It’s really good to see you.” She gave Fareeha a quick once-over. “You’ve gotten so tall too! It looks like the army really beefed you up as well, eh?” Now that she was thinking about it, Fareeha had changed drastically. Gone was the frail little Fareeha who bounced around wearing bright dresses her mother bought for her (much to Fareeha’s chagrin). The woman that stood before her had an aura of dignity, enforced by the muscular biceps put on display with her tank top. Angela allowed herself to glance over her frame, and she was impressed at how well she seemed to take care of herself and her body. Uh oh. Angela caught herself. She’s hot.

“You know,” Angela brought her eyes back up, and met Fareeha’s sea of deep brown, “Jesse never put me up to it. Quite the opposite.”

Angela’s face made an ‘O’ at the realization, and she slapped her forehead. “Oh my god. I laughed in your face! Oh my Fareeha I apologize for that.”

Fareeha softly laughed, “It is no matter, Doctor. It was twenty years ago. However…” a smirk crept on her face. “You can make it up to me by giving a tour around the Watchpoint. I have a few hours before I need to report to anyone, and I wanted to explore and see what has changed.”

“Well then, I guess it is only fair,” they both headed for the door. “After you.”

Fareeha gave her a thankful smile, which when straight to Angela’s heart, the beat picking up.

I wonder if she still kept her crush? Angela blushed at the wistful thought as they walked side by side, just as they had done so decades ago as best friends.

Author’s Note: So in other news I’ve recently converted to the lord and savior Scrivener. It’s just so useful. And I can get it on my phone too oh my god. Google drive we had a good run.

I also forgot to think of a title when I first posted it. Oops.

Mixed Drinks, Mixed Feelings

Genre: fluff and a little bit of angst

Summary: Going out drinking with Dan always ended the same way: with Phil pinned against the wall and Dan’s lips on his own. When sober they don’t mention it. But now that Phil is catching feelings, he isn’t so sure he can keep it up. 

Word Count: 1.9k

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Pilot

In 2001, after September 11th, I was trying to build a decorative wooden box/cabinet thing, using just hand tools. I’d started it several days before the events, and I was determined to finish, regardless. Predictably, it was a disaster; the box had no structural integrity, and the slip of a chisel left me with a deep wound (now a scar) at the base of my left palm. Weeks later, a good friend and I were commiserating about our general incompetence, right in that aftermath, and he said, “That’s the public art, the memorial we need: just a huge pile of things people were trying to do.” In that spirit, here’s a piece I started a week or so prior to last Tuesday. It was intended to be short and ultimately sweet (similar in feel to Hotel). But like that futile box, it has no structural integrity; you’ll no doubt get an idea of how it’s meant to work, but it just doesn’t. It lurches around, overwritten, underwritten… I decided to finish it (or “finish” it) anyway, because: here is what I was trying to do. I haven’t forgotten about other stories, but it seemed better to take it out on this instead. Three parts: this today, second tomorrow, third on Wednesday. P.S. This story, despite its being about a pilot, has nothing to do with Sept. 11. I’m just marking a similarity in my own emotional state.

Pilot

“Double whiskey and soda.”

The words are clipped and low. Helena Wells is not surprised by that drink order, for the person issuing it is a pilot. That the whiskey-and-soda pilot is in this case a woman is slightly unusual, but most people, Helena has noted in her relatively short career thus far as a bartender, do drink according to position, not gender. She places an ice cube in a tumbler, fills the tumbler with the bar’s well bourbon, adds a brief spray of soda, and places it in front of the pilot, whose eyes have followed Helena as she assembled the drink. Her gaze now meets Helena’s in cool appraisal.

Helena has not seen this pilot before. She’s seen this look, however; all pilots seem to know it and use it. Flight attendants do not. Flight attendants deploy smiles that do not reach their eyes.

Helena is becoming familiar with the looks proffered by flight attendants and pilots because the establishment whose bar she began to tend not long ago is located near both an airport and a hotel where flight crews are customarily housed. The hotel does not have a bar of its own, a fact for which Helena is grateful: she is also becoming familiar with the fact that people who travel for a living tend to tip well.

This pilot bears out that tendency: she finishes her drink, drops a ten and two fives on the bar. The ice cube remains, largely unmelted, in the glass. She says, “Thanks.” Then she stands and walks away, away and out, nodding to a flight attendant as she leaves.

She’s tall, this pilot.

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here’s what happens after the dust settles

It’s late, Emma knows, but there’s still a light on in Regina’s bedroom so Emma idles the Bug for a few minutes before shutting off the engine. She pulls the keys from the ignition hastily and gets out of the car before she changes her mind and drives right on home, to Hook, to… whatever it is her life in that oversized (and ill-begotten, she doesn’t fail to remember) house with him is meant to be. She still hasn’t figured that out quite yet.

Before she knows it, she’s up the path and at the door, hand curled in a fist to knock, but she never gets a chance — as if by magic (ha! well, yes, probably magic), Regina is pulling open the door before she can, silk robe the color of a starless night wrapped around her small frame. Emma exhales, tries to twist at least one corner of her mouth into a crooked smile.

“Emma, are you okay? What’s wrong?” The concern in Regina’s voice, on her face, is palpable. It’s been a long time since her son’s other mother showed up on her porch after midnight, but the sight isn’t unwelcome. On the contrary, it feels like the first time she’s seen the blonde in weeks, and it’s strange to feel such sweet relief to find her standing there, whole and accounted for… at least physically speaking. Regina fights the urge to grab hold of her.

“I’m fine, I just… can I?”

Without another word, Regina pulls the door open wider and Emma steps in so she can close it behind her and then they’re there, silent in the dark foyer and Emma is wringing her hands and Regina is watching her, waiting for whatever’s coming next. She finds she’s scared of what exactly it will be.

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I don’t know where this came from but have some scheming Liam and jealous Killian.


It isn’t often that Killian Jones is jealous of his older brother. Siblings they might be, but Liam is unerringly fair and almost painfully honourable. Killian admires him, but he’s not jealous.

At least, not usually.

But it’s suddenly very difficult when Liam announces, “I’ve decided to ask Emma out.”

Killian was focused on the video game he’s playing, but any concern about capturing this Imperial command post disappears like stormtroopers under rocket fire. “What?”

Liam flops down into the armchair at the head of the coffee table, lounging back with a smile on his face. “I’m going to ask Emma to accompany me to the summer dance.”

The screen explodes with blasterfire and flashes red before switching to the respawn screen, and Killian finally remembers to pause the game. “Emma Swan?”

“Aye.”

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