send him packing

Red Jamie and the White Lady AU - Part 1

Well, this is the random plot bunny I had earlier today. I really have NO idea where this is going. I’m really intrigued by it though, so we’ll all have to wait and see I suppose. Tell me if you think I should continue on with this or just let it die. Not sure how many parts it should/will have. 

I don’t think I’ve ever written anything with Geillis in it before, so I’m not sure how well it works. Let me know what y’all think!!

Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp was a practical woman - belief in fairy tales, knights in shining armor, and love everlasting just didn’t have a place in her life. Geillis Duncan, her best friend and roommate, was the complete opposite. Claire often wondered to herself how they’d become friends, with so little in common.

“I don’t believe you,” Geillis said one night, tossing her thick, blonde hair over one shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter if you believe me. That has no bearing on the truth.”

Geillis’ green eyes rolled hard and she finished her glass of whiskey.

“How can you not believe in true love?”

“Because it doesn’t exist! Love is just a chemical reaction between two people who find each other visually appealing. Nothing more.”

“You mean to tell me,” Geillis said, sitting forward in her seat. “That you don’t believe your parents didn’t love each other?”

The blood drained from Claire’s naturally pale face.

“That was low and you know it.”

“Just because it still hurts doesn’t mean you should avoid it. They loved each other, didn’t they?”

“I wouldn’t know. I was too young when they both died. You know that, Geillis. Why would you bring it up?”

Her best friend, and often best source of irritation, stared at her curiously.

“There’s something about you, Claire. Always has been. Like you belong somewhere else.”

Claire grabbed Geillis’ bottle of her favorite whiskey and looked at it dramatically.

“Exactly how much was in this when you started drinking?”

“I’m not drunk! But I believe you are the product of true love, and that’s a rare thing. EVEN IF,” she said loudly to interrupt Claire’s protest. “You don’t believe in it, I do. And true love is the most powerful magic in the universe.”

With a sigh, she put the cap back on the whiskey and took her empty glass to the kitchen. They’d had this discussion before, at least a hundred times. But Claire was a practical woman. True love wasn’t practical or useful.

A small part of her, and she’d never admit this to Geillis, also believed no man had yet been worthy of her love - had she any to give. Even the one she was currently seeing was a calculated choice, not an infatuation. Frank was smart, had a successful career as a university professor, and had a good future. Herself newly finished with her medical training, she saw a comfortable future with Frank. Perhaps a child or two, once they got married. He was the practical choice, a good match of intellect and physical attraction. What else was there to look for in a man?

“You talk like you’ve felt this elusive true love before.”

“And what if I have?” Geillis asked from the depths of her room. “Would that change anything for you?”

“I can count on one fist the number of men you’ve loved, Geillis Duncan. We’ve been friends far too long for you to get away with that.”

Geillis returned to the front room dressed in her favorite baggy shirt and trousers, ready for their weekly film date.

“You cannot!”

Claire held up a fist and tried to count her fingers.

“That’s… None. Geillis, you’ve never been in love with anyone.”

“That is not true! I fall in love all the time! I LOVE love!”

“Nooo,” Claire said slowly, walking down to her own room. “You fall in lust. You bring him home, shag the hell out of him, and send him packing before the sheets have cooled.”

As she, too, dressed in her sleeping outfit, she heard Geillis snort.

“Just because I fall in love all the time doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.”

“I long for the day,” Claire said, emerging as Geillis put a DVD into the player. “When you finally meet the man you’re just meant to be with. We’ll see what you say then.”

Those too-green eyes lit and glinted at her.

“You said when. Not if. When. As if you believe it could happen…”

“It could happen to you, perhaps. Not to me. I don’t have any use for those sorts of things.”

Geillis hit play on the DVD remote, but turned to face Claire on their small couch.

“What if I could prove it.”

“Hush, Geillis. The film is starting.”

After making a sound of irritation, she paused the movie and waited for Claire to look at her.

“So? What if I could prove it?”

“You can’t.”

“But if I could?”

Claire shrugged, at a loss. She had no idea what it was Geillis was getting at.

“What if you could? What do you want?”

“I want you to fall in love. That reckless, all-consuming passion. You can’t expect me to believe that beanpole you’re seeing is a good lover.”

Claire’s face, always too easy to read and too pale, flushed deep red. Geillis smiled, smelling victory.

“I’ll have you know Frank is an excellent lover. NOT that it’s any of your business.”

“Would you leave Frank if you knew there was something better out there, waiting for you? If I could prove to you that true love does exist?”

With a sigh, Claire knew they’d never get this movie properly started while Geillis was fixated on something.

If, and that’s a very BIG if, you could prove to me, without a doubt, that true love exists and I have some bloody soul mate waiting for me out there, yes. I’d leave Frank.”

A triumphant smile came to Geillis’ lips and she settled back in her seat, smug. There was no way in hell Claire would leave Frank, though. But she knew Geillis well enough by now to know that the only way to get her to stop was to give her what she wanted.

“Good. Because we’ve an appointment with a powerful psychic tomorrow.”

Claire barely contained her moan of irritation. This wouldn’t be the first time, or the last, that Geillis had dragged her to some psychic’s shop to have her palms read. The only benefit from those trips came in the form of Geillis paying for both their sessions and taking her out to lunch after.

“Besides,” Geillis said, hitting ‘play’ on the remote again. “It’s not as if Frank’s even proposed yet.”


Grudgingly, Claire followed her crazy best friend into a very ordinary looking shop. There were no signs or posters anywhere advertizing it as a psychic’s place of business. It didn’t really look like a shop at all, really. Claire was beginning to wonder if Geillis had set her up on a blind date. Again.

“Geillis, if you’ve-”

She stopped suddenly when she saw a large figure looming in a doorway.

“Morning, ladies. I take it you’re my first appointments?”

“Yes,” Geillis said, popping up from nowhere. “We are. I’m-”

“Please,” his deep, strong voice came. “Don’t tell me anything. It taints the reading.”

He stepped out from the shadows and Claire looked up to meet his eyes. They were a curious shade of blue, seemingly shifting in hue as she looked at them. The hair on his head was short and bright red, with a hint of a curl at the very tips. His eyes narrowed as he looked her over.

“I’ll see you first,” he announced abruptly.

Claire was about to protest and insist that Geillis had the first appointment, but he didn’t wait for her to agree. Instead, he turned and strode off into a back room, clearly expecting Claire to follow.

“Geillis you owe me,” she hissed as she rushed after him.

“Tell me everything!” Geillis called back.

The room was nothing like she expected. No crystal balls on a red velvet tablecloth, no candles or incense burning, no dim lighting or macabre art on the walls. It was quite simply, a plain sitting room. A small table had a teapot and settings for two, biscuits, and two large, comfortable looking chairs.

“Would you like some tea, Miss Beauchamp?”

Her mouth fell open, staring up at him.


“No,” he interrupted. “Geillis didn’t tell me anything about you. I’m not even the one that makes appointments.”

“So what are-”

She cut herself off when he offered her a cup of tea.

“You think I’m a fraud.”

Hiding her face behind the elegant cup, she tried to come up with an answer.

“That wasn’t a question, Miss Beauchamp, but a statement of fact.”


“Not your first time visiting a psychic then?”

Claire’s eyes rolled.


She was in the habit of giving out as little information as possible. That was how the others had worked, sucking information out of you until they could lie enough to convince you to believe it.

“I’m Jamie Fraser. When you’ve finished with your tea, I’ll read the leaves.”

“No crystal balls or seance?”

He shot her a wicked grin and shook his head.

“Well we’re not here to call up the dead, are we? I was given to understand you’re looking for your soulmate.”

Yet again, her mouth fell open.

“I… How did-”

“I’m very good at reading people, Miss Beauchamp. And you are quite an easy read, more so than most.”

“How in the hell do you always know what I’m about to say?!”

“Everything you think is written across your face, plain as day. As for the other things, well… Let’s just call it a family trait. My sister also has the Sight, though not as strong as mine. Her children will likely not inherit the gift, though it could still happen. How about we take a look at those leaves, hm?”

Handing the cup over, Claire fell silent and waited. Jamie got up and pulled an old book from a table in one corner, flipping through it for reference. His brows drew down in puzzlement.

“So tell me, oh seer. Am I to meet a tall, dark stranger and go on an adventure?”

“I’ve never seen leaves like this before,” he said absently, still staring at the table. “No’ in my whole life.”

She blinked in shock at the slip of an accent. Was he not an Englishman?

“I’d like to read your palm, if you don’t mind,” he said, sitting up suddenly. “It’ll be a part of your appointment. Won’t charge extra.”

“Oh, um… Alright?”

Holding her hands out, palm up, she offered them to him. He leaned over them, tracing the lines in her skin.

“This is quite unusual indeed.”

“What is?”

“I’ve never seen a lifeline forked like this. As if you’ve a big choice to make. Neither will lead to destruction, but one is clearly the better of the other.”

“Which one? What sort of choice?”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer those. But I can see you’ve a strong will. Always a good thing in a woman.”

His large fingers still traced her hand, warm against hers.

“Miss Beauchamp, would you mind returning later in the week for another reading? I’ve a few things I’d like to research and ask some experts about. You’re quite a mystery and I’d like to get to the bottom of it.”

“I don’t think-”


Meeting those unusually blue eyes, she watched them shift and change.


“Thank you. I’m afraid I’ve taken up yours and Geillis’ appointments and my next client will be here soon.”

Claire sighed.

“Something tells me Geillis won’t mind.”

“Have a lovely day, Miss Beauchamp.”


As soon as the women had left the house, Jamie slipped to the back and went up the stairs. He lived on the floor above where he met clients. Most were what anyone would expect, people seeking to remove the veil of mystery from the future. Few came looking for real answers and fewer still came and didn’t believe any of it.

But this Claire Beauchamp… He was sure they’d never met before, and yet he knew her. Knew her face, the way her tawny eyes evaluated the words he spoke. Somewhere in his mind, he knew the taste of her full lips, knew the feel of her body beneath his. He knew the sounds she made in the throes of passion, or her grunt of irritation when something didn’t work the way she hoped.

There was no other appointment after Geillis and Claire, that had been a lie. But he needed to check something, just to be sure. Throwing open the door to his library, he went straight for a shelf he’d scarcely looked at in five years.

Each leatherbound book had a date on the side. They were his dream journals, or the dreams he was sure had been visions. He hadn’t had a dream like that in some time, not since his father’s passing, but he had a niggling feeling.

Closing his eyes, he opened the book and began turning the pages without looking. He suddenly stopped, feeling that he’d reached the right place. When he looked down, his heart began to beat erratically.

Sketched on one entire page was the woman he’d just met with. Her gaze was piercing, even in a sketch, and he felt as if she was looking right at him. The dark, curling hair was wild around her, not fully contained on the page. Her lips curved with the hint of a smile, like she knew something he didn’t.

Hastily, he turned the page. Only a short passage was written on the back.

I must find her. I have dreamt of her every night for a month, in flashes. I do not know her, but I know she is my very soul. She is the only person I might love. For the White Lady born of True Love could be the only match for Red Jamie. I. Must. Find. Her.

Continue to Part Two

Someday Your Child May Cry

Previous: Question | Preparations | Irrational | Confession | Collateral | Thoughtless | Interrupted | Recovering | Irresponsible | Possibility | Devastation | Confrontation | Generous | Confirmation

15. Understanding

They reach a cease-fire of sorts on their return to the office on Monday, though very few words are exchanged about it. Mulder tries to apologize the moment Scully walks in the door in the morning, but she stops him immediately.

“I’m in no way ready to let this go or move on from it, Mulder,” she says, “but the fact remains that we need to work together, and this building isn’t an appropriate place to discuss this.” He nods meekly. “We’ve gotten the X-Files back, but you and I both know that if we can’t do our jobs, for any reason, this office won’t stay ours for very long.”

He’s tempted to push the matter- he’s been practicing his apology all weekend long- but he’s well aware that he’s on extremely thin ice with her right now. He has some idea that on Friday afternoon she had probably come as close to quitting as she ever has before, and it wouldn’t take more than a few wrong words from him to push her out of the door for good.

So he clams up, helps her finish setting their office back to rights, and even takes the very first case that she suggests, even though he’s not really sure that it qualifies as an X-File- or that it’s a good idea, at the moment, given what the case will require from both of them. By Wednesday, they’re on a plane to California, dressed in unfamiliar clothing, with unfamiliar suitcases stuffed with more of the same, on their way to the sort of neighborhood that Mulder would never, in a million years, want to live in.

He can’t stop fiddling with the wedding band on his left hand. The feel of it is at once familiar and foreign, and he keeps running his fingers over it again and again. He thinks that Scully might tell him to knock it off, that he’s drawing unnecessary attention to it, if it weren’t for the fact that she’s been fast asleep for most of the trip. It’s not unusual for her to sleep in the car, and their flight is early, so he’s not surprised she sleeps on the way to the airport… but she almost never manages to nap during flights, so when she spends both legs of the trip to California snoring, he starts to become a little concerned, especially when she dozes on and off the whole time he’s driving them to the Falls at Arcadia. But when his questions are met with the standard “I’m fine, Mulder,” he lets it drop.

The entire time they’re in Arcadia, Mulder can’t stop putting his hands all over her- at least, not when other people are around. They’ve been so distant from each other for weeks, leaving him starved for her touch, and now, he’s been provided with an innocent reason to seek it out. In fact, touching her is almost a requirement, as the residents of Arcadia will almost certainly notice if they don’t look like a normal, happy couple. He senses, however, that Scully doesn’t appreciate his affections at all, a fact that’s hammered home for him when she kicks him out of “their” bed and sends him downstairs to the couch.

He goes without protest. He knows he’s still on thin ice.


The feel of another presence in the bedroom is what wakes Scully on their last night in the mammoth cookie-cutter house. Even though the case has been resolved, the events of the previous evening have left her jumpy, especially since she’s still sleeping in the bedroom where she’d seen the creature attacking Big Mike. She’d cleaned the room up as best as she could, with Mulder’s help, but still, she’d rather not be sleeping here tonight.

She senses more than sees Mulder sitting on the side of her bed, and immediately, she’s annoyed. She’d made it clear to him that he should keep his distance, so what the hell does he think he’s doing, sneaking in here and watching her sleep? She sits up, ready to tell him off, but he speaks before she gets the chance.

“She wanted to have a child and I didn’t,” he says, his voice soft and sad. “That was what ended us. Or one of the reasons, anyway.” He sighs. “We never should have been together in the first place. Not really.” As tempted as Scully still is to send him packing, it’s the most he’s opened up to her about this so far, and she’s hesitant to stop him. She gets the feeling that he finds it easier to talk about this in the dark, so she doesn’t turn on the light on the nightstand.

“Why didn’t you want to have a baby?” she asks.

“A few reasons,” he says. “I was working under Patterson in VCU back then, profiling, spending all of my time trying to get inside the heads of the absolute worst that society had to offer. Part of me didn’t feel right bringing a child into a world where monsters like that existed. And there was my own childhood, of course… the fear that I guess everyone who grew up unloved has, the fear of turning into my own father.” 

Scully can’t help herself. As angry as she is, she needs to touch him. She reaches out and feels for his shoulder in the dark, running her hand comfortingly along his arm. He reaches up and takes her hand in his own.

“Don’t you still have those fears, Mulder?” she asks. “It’s not like you’ve seen anything to make you think that the world is any safer, since your days in violent crimes.”

“No, I haven’t,” he agrees. “But that was only part of my reason. When it came down to it… it was her I didn’t want to have children with, Scully. We rushed into the marriage- my fault, more than anything, because I was lonely and desperate and wanted to believe that someone cared about me- but if we had waited long enough, I wouldn’t have married her.” In the dim light from the bedroom window, she can see him hanging his head. “Eventually I started to get this feeling about her… this sense of coldness, aloofness, selfishness, a sense of detachment. I started noticing that we never actually compromised, that we always ended up doing things her way, but that she always managed to make me think we were compromising.” He sighs. “I started realizing that none of those things were traits I wanted in someone I would be raising a child with. And eventually… I realized I didn’t want to share my life with someone like that, either. We divorced, she went to Europe, and that was the last I saw of her until last June.”

“If you really felt that way about her, Mulder,” Scully says, “why was it so hard for you to believe me? Why were you so insistent on trusting her?”

“Because I wanted so badly to believe that she still cared for me, Scully,” he says. “Almost everyone in my life has died, left me, or betrayed me. Can you understand why I didn’t want to think that Diana was just one more person who had abandoned me?” He squeezes her hand tighter. “I’m so sorry, Scully. I should have listened. You are the one person in my life who has never, ever let me down. You deserve better from me than what I’ve given you.”

It’s that phrase- what he’s given her- that thaws her, because she’s struck, suddenly, with the full realization that he doesn’t know what he’s given her. And she can’t let it stay that way. She moves to sit next to him and takes him in her arms, letting his head fall against her shoulder. She can feel his tears on her neck, feel him relax in relief against her, and she kisses the skin just below his ear before she draws back.

“Mulder,” she says, “I need to tell you something, too.” She takes a deep breath. “I think that this time… it worked.” 

For a moment, he doesn’t understand what she’s saying… but even in the dim light, she can see the moment that the realization dawns, the moment his face is flooded with joy.


“I’m pregnant,” she says, her voice breaking with emotion. “We’ll get the real confirmation at my appointment next week, but….” She smiles tentatively. “I took a test, Mulder, and it was positive. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I told myself I was just waiting until the doctor confirmed it, but really, I was just so angry that I couldn’t make myself-” He cuts her off, there, by seizing her face in his hands and pressing his lips to hers. He kisses her fiercely, passionately, and she can feel his need for her thrumming in every inch of her body.

“Scully,” he says hoarsely, when they finally break apart. “Oh my god. Scully.” He kisses her again… and then laughs ruefully.

“What?” she asks.

“I just realized,” he chuckles. “This is just like before… just like at Christmas. We can’t- I mean, not that I was assuming that we would, but if we wanted to, we can’t… not until after your appointment, right?”

“No, we can’t,” she says, smiling. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t stay here with me tonight, does it?” He grins.

“No, it doesn’t,” he says. Still smiling, Scully tucks herself back under the covers, holding them open in invitation. Mulder climbs in next to her, taking her in his arms and holding her tenderly against his bare chest. She inhales deeply, filling herself with his scent, luxuriating in it.

She’s asleep within minutes.

AO3 - Magnus arrives in a small town. There are pumpkins, a dog, and a very intriguing stranger. (AU, strangers to lovers, a lot of fluff, a bit of angst, hopefully some fun and lots of emotions)

This was requested a very long time ago by the lovely @alexandargideonlightwood, a simple farmer’s market AU. For the longest time I didn’t find any inspiration until it hit me and I fell in love with this au, and it turned into quite the monster, and I hope you can enjoy it. Thanks eternally to my wonderful friends and betas @alyxhavok @sufferwell1013 @hikaru9 who are now harassing me to write a second part, and I just might.


Sometimes you have to find a sanctuary.

Sometimes you don’t have to travel very far to find it.

The scent of apples and pears fills his nose as his lips touch the warm ceramic cup, hot tea slowly pouring into his mouth. He swallows and exhales, the warmth running down his throat, seeping into his body, relaxing him.

He reaches for the last piece of farmhouse bread, the crust thick and crisp, like he hasn’t tasted for a very long time, and chews happily as he watches the rain through the big windows from the old, but terribly comfortable rocking chair in his rented apartment. The moment he stepped inside, he felt an overwhelming sense of coziness. Not fancy, not neat, not expensive or luxurious. Old, but well looked after, quaint, but charming, modest, but comforting. Exactly what he needs.

Just an hour away from the city, and yet he felt like stepping into another world. One he was previously blind to.

At first, coming here, meeting the owners, he’d felt tentative, even a little anxious about how he would be received. He’d dialled down a lot, make-up and clothes wise, but he still wanted to feel like himself - even though, lately, he’d had a hard time remembering who that was.

The moment he was met by the older couple’s warm smiles and genuine words, the tension fell off like a blanket, and the knots in his stomach dissipated. They were friendly, caring and curious, but not intrusive, and they seemed to be able to tell when he didn’t want to answer one of their questions, instantly changing the subject to something else. He could hardly believe he got so lucky. He’ll have to make sure to thank Ragnor abundantly. His prickly, grumpy old friend with a heart of gold, without whom he’d not have found the courage to leave his old life behind and come here to find himself again.

Actually, in his letter from today - Magnus had to leave any and all communication devices behind - Ragnor wrote that he will join him in three-weeks’ time, if Magnus can endure the solitude for that long. It still makes him smile, because he doesn’t feel solitary here, he feels  he can finally breathe freely again, having just realized how he had been suffocating all that time.

Something on his face breaks his musing. He looks up and is forced to blink, sudden sunshine irritating his eyes. The rain stopped and the sun came out, basking the roofs of the buildings and the colorful tops of the trees in a brilliant light. He doesn’t hesitate for long, takes a last sip from his tea, grabs his long, maroon coat and fitting scarf, and slips into his boots. The wooden steps creak in an already familiar way as he heads downstairs, and the wet, fresh autumn air that greets him the moment he steps outside, is like a balm to his lungs. One he can’t get enough of.

It must be the last sunlight before sunset and he wants to savor all of it. A gust of chilly wind sends fine shivers over his face, soothed instantly by the warm sunrays streaming through the houses. He’s only been here for two days, and yet he feels like he never wants to miss it again. The sun feels brighter, the air smells fresher, the food tastes better, people’s smiles are genuine, and the world looks different, nicer and more real. The landscape is incredible from what he’s seen on his drive here, and the short walks he’s taken so far, and he has every intention of exploring it a lot further.

No, my dear friend, I don’t feel lonely, I finally remember what it’s like to feel content and maybe even happy, thanks to you.

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The Costume Party

Summary: Dean x Reader - Dean and the reader go on a hunt at a costume party, where Dean has to deal with his jealousy as the guys can’t seem to keep their eyes off the reader.

Triggers: Jealousy

Word Count: 3671

Y/N = Your name ¦ Y/H/C = Your Hair Colour

I’m trying to write a seasonal story a day up towards Halloween in my “Halloween Bonanza”. This is the next one, and should have been posted yesterday though I ended up falling asleep. Sorry about that!

“Remind me again… Why are we doing this?” You asked under your breath, tugging at your costume before reaching out and ringing the doorbell. Your eyes leaving the door to glance over at Dean. His cowboy hat slightly hid those gorgeous green eyes of his as he adjusted his holsters and smiled wryly.

“It’s our job,” He said as he looked up, tipping the cowboy hat towards you with a crooked smile. The gesture making you roll your eyes as you looked from his cowboy costume and down at your own Poison Ivy choice. Damn it, all the damned leaves were tickling your bare arms and honestly you missed your comfy cotton t-shirt. But, it was a costume party. And to fit in you had to dress up. With a sigh you glanced up at the still closed door, waiting for someone in the house to notice the doorbell over the loud thumping music from inside.

“Our unpaid, thankless job you mean?” You said, the sarcasm dripping from your painted lips akin to the poison that was the weapon of choice of your costume character. You loved what you did, you were a hunter - which meant you saved people. But, hell, normally you didn’t have to wear a green corset to do so. “Oh joy…”

“Yeah…. That one,” Dean chuckled as the two of you shared a wry grin, just as the door opened to reveal a man dressed as a typical Hollywood-esque zombie. Shouting over the music to apologise for not hearing the bell as you twisted your smiles to instead just look happy and maybe slightly tipsy before you entered the door into the Halloween party.

Someone within the house had messed with forces they shouldn’t have. All in the spirit of Halloween. Which might be why you had such a bleak view of the holiday. For some stupid reason there was always someone that thought that old creepy book with incantation would make for good party games or, like in this case, thought that old cursed object would be a perfect halloween decoration.

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bellaregazza11Write #50 on the prompt list? 

Of course @bellaregazza11 ! Prompt 50 is : “Oh god, I need a drink” 

Hope you like :)


Katniss Everdeen was sweating. She could feel the drop of water falling down her spine, tracing a line under the silk of her blouse.

Katniss Everdeen never sweated.

Yet, here she was, in her pencil skirt and silk blouse, moving along with the rhythm of the music played by the band on the makeshift scene, in her favorite bar, Abernathy’s.

And it had nothing to do with the blonde piano player or the way his long and agile fingers were flying on the keyboard.

Nothing at all.

She wasn’t for one second thinking about how these fingers would feel on her skin, was she?

Or trying to picture how his blonde curls would look in the morning, after a night of sleep.

She felt the heat creeping up her cheeks at the mere thought of the activities she’d like to engage with the piano player.

With him preferably naked.

“Oh, god, I need a drink”

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an-axe-for-the-sea-within  asked:

Hey there, I really, really want to re-read a fic that I was stupid enough not to bookmark, so I have no idea what it's called or who it was written by, so I thought - maybe someone recognizes the one I mean? There's an alternate reality/universe, and another Stiles magics himself over because in his reality, Derek died, and he just wants him back, and in the end the pack send him back to his reality, and it leads to happy endings for both Stereks involved. Does this sound familiar to anyone?

We think you’re probably looking for In Some Way, I’m There With You by TroubleIWant!

Scott slows to a jog as he sees Derek upright and moving, but Stiles keeps running hard. He slides to his knees on the dirt and moss next to Derek and grabs at his shirt.

“Der?” he asks, over-loud and panicky. He’s oblivious to the gore around them, even though he’s kneeling in it. His hands flutter over Derek’s shoulder where the bite is already healing, patting his chest and face like touch is the only thing that will assure him Derek’s truly in one piece. “Derek, are you okay? Talk to me, say something, please.”

Derek’s not sure what to do with all this unexpected attention, and fights the urge to brush the probing hands away. He’s taken worse in fights before, which Stiles must know. Though, he supposes, they’re something different to each other now.


After years of assuming Stiles would never want more than his friendship, Derek is pleasantly surprised to be drawn into an intense relationship with him. Being with Stiles is good, great even. But then why, exactly, does it feel like they’re more distant than ever?

A Supernaturally Stucky Halloween - Part 4

Pairing: Stucky X Reader (Eventual)

Summary: Hunters, their lives are never easy. What happens when you literally stumble into the world of the supernatural?

Word Count: 916

Warnings: Angst again, mild violence slash abuse mentions. 

Parts: One / two / three / four / five /

Natasha had been called in to help with some of the lore, and the acquisition of the tree bark for the time being. You kept your head down, trying to find something to confirm or deny what you had already found.

“So, how did the demon get your body?” Bucky asks, for what feels like the thirtieth time. You shake your head.

“I already told you. I barely had time to clock the crow before the thing was behind me.” It was the same lie that you had already told him at least sixteen times. What really happened is that the lying sociopath had tricked you with a yes or no question. Which was all the consent that had been needed. Then to top it all off, the demon had had access to your brain while you were stuck in a corner. Forced to watch as Raum used your memories to torment the boys.

“It just. If Lucifer needs consent to enter a body, shouldn’t the higher-ups under him, too?” Bucky asks it’s a question that he’d been pondering since he realized the demon had control of your body.

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I’ll Be Your Family

Written for: November with Dean Quickie Challenge

Prompt: Picture collage created by the lovely Kari!

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Words: 3307

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Language, Canon Divergent 6x01

A/N: All errors are my own, gifs/photos found through google, and as always thank you so much for reading!

Summary: The reader is just a small town girl living and working with her Mom when a handsome stranger rolls into town with sadness in his wake. The reader isn’t much for love at first sight but when did she ever stand a chance against a man like Dean Winchester.


    You massaged your shoulders as your friend Dana pulled in front of your Mom’s diner. A last-minute camping trip by the lake before the weather grew too cold had been a colossal mistake. It had rained earlier in the day giving off a dampness all night and when was sleeping on the ground ever a good idea. Not to mention the fact Dana had brought her latest squeeze with her and there were just some things you wished she didn’t share with you.

     “I’m too old for camping,” you groan as Dana chuckles. She’s always been the more outdoors type, but it’s just not a thing for you.

     “You’re what twenty-five, Y/N?”

     “I feel fifty and I can’t even find my glasses,” you shuffle through your bag once more to no avail.

     “I’m heading back to the camp I’ll double check for them but I don’t remember you having them on at all last night.”

     “Okay, thanks, Dana. Enjoy camping with Dave,” you wiggle your eyebrows seductively as she slaps your arm.  

     “Nothing happened last night.”

     “It was a tent Dana,” you accuse throwing open the door climbing out. “I heard everything, you kinky minx!”

     “Go to work you ass,” she laughs as you slam the door making your way through the back entrance to the diner. You toss your jacket and purse in the office before pulling your hair up into a ponytail as your Mom rounds the corner holding out your apron.

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anonymous asked:

rhodey is off on his first deployment. tony makes it his mission to send him helpful and creative care packages.

The first one was actually pretty thoughtful. Rhodey’s mom had sent him a care package, a huge box full of home made cookies and granola bars, bottles of sunscreen, magazines, hard candies and decks of playing cards. It must have cost her a fortune to put together and mail and the guys in Rhodey’s unit are suitably appreciative. Packed inside the box is a smaller one, with his name written in Tony’s familiar block letters. Rhodey saves that one for last and opens it in the relative privacy of his bunk just before lights out. It’s a pile of comics and four little hand-held electronic games. They have the SI logo on the back, but Rhodey’s never seen them before, which makes him suspect Tony had sent them from his own collection of prototypes.

Wherever they came from, they’re a hit with the guys. Not that Rhodey lets anyone play until he’s beaten each one.

They pop up here and there. A box full of condoms and lube (not sent as part of his mother’s care package, thank God) one month, the next Tony sends him a hundred teddy bears to hand out to the local kids. Sometimes it’s porn, quality stuff that Rhodey’s squad is a little too eager to get their hands on. Sometimes it’s five hundred back issues of Batman. Rhodey never really knows what Tony’s going to do from one month to the next, but there’s always another package waiting for him.

Sometimes they pile up. Sometimes he’s not in a place where he can get mail, or at least not where anyone outside the military is allowed to find  him. When he gets back, there’s always the appropriate number of packages waiting for him. He can tell how worried Tony is about him by how sentimental the most recent package is. One time, after he’d been incommunicado for weeks, Tony sent their MIT year book and he’d written hundreds of little notes throughout, all of them reminders about some class they had shared or some person they had known or some trouble they had gotten into. “Remember this?” Tony had scrawled across Tiberius Stone’s smirking face. “He tried to have you expelled for cheating so I threatened to report him for corrupting a minor and he tried to beat me up so you showed up with the entire Air ROTC and they chased him halfway across campus.”

He’d gotten a hold of a satellite phone that night and spoke to Tony in person for the first time in months.

As Tony gets older, the packages get a little more mature. He starts sending video game consoles and blu-ray players, boxes full of DVDs and ipods. Sometimes hundreds of clean socks and underwear and - after Rhodey had pointed out that there were women in his unit too, by the way - women’s cotton briefs and hundreds of packages of tampons. 

Body armor. Stark Industries had always made weapons, but the body armor that starts coming in Rhodey’s care packages is top of the line, highest quality stuff and it has the SI logo on it. Other units start wearing it years after Rhodey’s does. 

Tony sends him boxes packed with dry ice and gelato. Boxes with an entire season of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine on VHS, each one labelled in Tony’s precise handwriting.

Sometimes he just sends hundreds of letters, some of them just little notes scrawled on cocktail napkins, some of them dozens of pages long, all of them addressed to Honey Bear or Golden Graham or Turtle Dove.

And then one day Tony disappears after an insurgent attack. The soldiers assigned to guard him have been gunned down and a blood splattered suit jacket is balled up by the side of the road.

Three months go by without a package. Rhodey checks - he fucking checks because if Tony could get free, or give some sign that he’s okay, that might be how he does it - but there’s nothing. Rhodey himself barely leaves the dessert, burns every favor he’s ever been owed, begs a dozen more from every commanding officer he’s ever known, and they let him stay to lead the search for three long desperate months until even Rhodey is starting to think that this is less of a search and rescue, and more of a recovery mission.

And then Tony is back, a goddamn mirage in the middle of the desert. He’s half-dead and twenty pounds lighter than the last time Rhodey saw him, but he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“How was the fun-vee?” Rhodey says because anything more serious sticks in his throat. “Next time you ride with me.”

Tony is smiling at him, soot smearing with the blood on his face. He’s burnt red from the sun and it’ll hurt like hell soon. But he’s smiling like Rhodey’s the best thing he’s ever seen. “I realized I forgot your care package,” he says as he slumps against Rhodey’s shoulder, his hands gripping the back of Rhodey’s uniform so tight that he’s half-convinced he can hear the fabric ripping. “Thought I should come deliver it in person.”

“You’re all the care package I need.” Rhodey lays one hand flat against the side of Tony’s head and presses a fierce kiss to one of his temples. “Jesus, you dumb fuck. I thought you were dead." He starts to laugh, just a little, nerves and tension easing for the first time in months. "You are the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in my entire life, man.”

“Aww, Honey bunch,” Toney says, and that’s when the rest of the team catches up with them. 

Exactly a month later a small box arrives with the base mail. It has Tony’s writing, as familiar as Rhodey’s own, across the front. 

Inside are photos, hundreds of them. And each one is of Tony.

Dear Pumpkin, the letter reads, since I am the most beautiful thing in your life, it seems wrong to force you to go for months at a time without basking in my beauty. PS: the nudes are toward the bottom, I know how nosy your squad is

Two of Rhodey’s men are already digging through the box, hoping for Tony’s usual treats. Rhodey figures they deserve what they’re about to find.

anonymous asked:

drunk paladin headcanons?

Pidge: Pidge gets very defensive of their right to drink. Everyone reminds Pidge that they’re underage, but Pidge is convinced they can hold their liquor. They, in reality, can not, at all. So usually they end up passed out first, but they’re tiny, so one of the other Paladins will put them to bed, make sure they’re on their side and let them sleep it off. They are the only lucky Paladin who doesn’t get hangovers, and everyone else is jealous. 

Hunk: Hunk gets clingy. He’ll hang onto anyone who will let them and kitty paws onto their arm for as long as they’ll let him. The only one who’ll let him do this for more than a minute or so is Shiro, who’s too nice to tell him to stop. Hunk can hold his booze the best, something between his sheer size and muscle mass allows him to last the longest even when drinking hard liquor. 

Lance: Lance’s flirting skills somehow get better when he gets drunk, like normally he’s all cringe-y pick-up lines and fake grins, but the moment he’s tipsy his lines all click together and he’s far more flattering. Allura’ll still send him packing fast, but Lance has managed to even make Shiro blush a few times. After getting hit a few times by both of them, he spends more of his time with Keith who gets flustered at as little as Lance leaning into his space. 

Keith: Keith’s a bit of an angsty drunk. He has his fun, but then he’ll start to slow down the more drunk he gets and retract in on himself. It’s uncommon for him to be face first on the table sobbing when he’s had too much, so now all the Paladins make it a habit to cut him off at five so he stays that nice happy buzz. It won’t happen if someone starts flirting with him though, he’ll be too flustered and stuttery to think about sad things. Plus he gets all wide eyed and soft looking, which lance likes a lot. 

Shiro: Shiro gets dad drunk. Not in the, taking care of everyone way, but in the vaguely harassing everyone for the shit they’ve put him through kind of way. He’s generally happy, but all of his jokes suddenly become “remember when I had to bail you out of jail”-esque, especially with Keith and Lance, because they’re the ones he’s had to babysit the most. He’s also completely willing to cling to someone if they’ll let him, but mostly at the end of the night, so he ends up crawling into bed with people sometimes. 


Allura: Allura gets all quiet and giggly, just smiling a lot and enjoying everyone around her so much. If you get her talking, she’ll start gushing about how lucky she is to have or have had such great people in her life. 

Here you are anon! I hope you enjoyed!! I honestly really think they’d have a lot of fun all drinking together, maybe after they defeat Zarkon!

thisbirdhadflown  asked:

Eggsy and Roxy for the RA amd illegal cat prompt

“Ah! This time Unwin, I’ve got you and not even Professor Hart can save you!”

Eggsy bites his lip in order not to swear, hoping that somehow, he’ll find a convincing lie to tell Charlie. It’s doubtful of course, especially considering Charlie hates him and has been trying to get him expelled since day one, but so far he’s been lucky. Mostly because Professor Hart is looking after him as a favor to his dead father and, he hopes, out of friendship too.

Unfortunately, Professor Hart isn’t here right now and even if he was, there is very little he could do if Charlie finds the kitten he’s been hiding in his room. The rules at the dorms are very strict after all and Chester King, the dean, would only be all too happy to send him packing.

“Any pets in the dorm are prohibited and-”

“Meow~ … Oh hey Charlie! Hey Eggsy!” Roxy, his best mate and dorm neighbour gets out of her room, leaning against the door-frame casually. “What up?”

Charlie, who had looked so victorious not a second ago, now seems a bit uncertain. “Did you… Did you just meowed?”

She looks a bit embarrassed, right before tilting her chin up, as if daring him to say anything. “Yeah, I’ve been doing it for the past hour. It’s for a drama class.”

Charlie narrows his eyes at her with suspicion, but he must remember just who exactly her fathers are because he grunts angrily before storming off, leaving Eggsy alone to stare at Roxy with adoration.

“I can’t believe that worked!”

“I can’t believe it did either! What an idiot!” She starts chuckling and soon, they’re both laughing like lunatics, the wall the only thing holding them up. It’s a long time before they calm down again, garnering them quite a few funny looks from their other neighbours as they come and go in the hallway, but really, neither of them gives a fuck.

“Wanna see the kitty?” Eggsy asks finally, between uncontrollable giggles, having to fight another burst of laughter when Roxy nods enthusiastically, looking like a kid on Christmas morning.

The Princess and the Pirate [Pt. 5] (Harry Hook x Reader)

Words: 2,580

Warnings: Voodoo stuff, nightmares

A/N: hi! I’m so sorry that it took so long to get this posted! I kept going back and forth between approaches, and then when I finally settled on one, I couldn’t seem to find a whole lot of time to write and edit! anywho! I really hope you guys are enjoying the series! I’m working on other requests as well! so thank you all for your patience! I hope you all have lovely days!! <3

Harry was awoken by a loud crash of thunder. The house shook as the sound rolled across the sky, waking bolts of lightning that lunged for the ground. The noise settled and eventually died away before beginning all over again.

Harry groaned as the second clap of thunder sounded. He was never bothered by storms. In fact, he liked them quite a lot. However, he didn’t like the fact that it had woken him up. Though his fever had vanished a few hours earlier, he still didn’t feel his best. The pounding of the rain outside only worsened the pounding in his head.

He almost didn’t see his door crack open. Y/n stepped softly into his room, dressed in sweatpants and an old t-shirt. She turned and scanned the dark hallway before closing the door behind her as softly as she could.

Harry, not wanting to give away that fact that he was awake, laid perfectly still and deepened his breathing. Doing so caused his eyes to grow heavy, but he willed himself to stay awake.

Y/n crept across the room and to the window seat. The storm was growing louder and more violent, but she found herself drawn to the glass. She sat down and brought her legs up to her chest. She rested her chin on her knees and stared out the window, pulling the curtains back a bit so that she might see the lightning and rain more clearly. She glanced over at Harry, making sure that she wasn’t disturbing him. After a few moments, she concluded that she wasn’t interrupting his sleep and leaned back against a small pillow that was propped against the wall. She smiled as a soft roll of thunder passed over her house.

“Havin’ fun?” Harry mumbled against his pillow. He poked his head up for a second to catch her reaction.

Y/n squealed and almost fell off of the seat. In a mad scramble for balance, she whacked her hand against the window. Y/n grabbed a nearby pillow and yelled into it. Harry didn’t catch all of what she said, but they were certainly not words that she would be allowed to use at school.

With a smirk, he rested his head against the pillow again. “Did ye hurt yerself?”

“You, Harry Hook, are a terrible person.” Y/n set the pillow back down.

The only reason that she had snuck into his room was because of her nightmare. In her dream, she was surrounded by shadowy figures, all of them reaching out to grab her. She had called for help and, after a moment, Harry appeared. Except, he hadn’t been himself. This Harry had gleaming purple eyes and a crooked, bloody smile. He snarled as he approached the terrified y/n, snapping and laughing at her. He reached out for her with, to y/n’s horror, a hook hand. She had only woken up when she had spotted Drew, sitting up high on a throne of shadows, smiling down at the scene.

Harry immediately recognized that something was wrong. Though he hadn’t known her for a long time, he felt like y/n and himself had a special connection. He noticed the slight crack in her voice and, after a moment, patted the spot next to him on the bed.

Y/n shuffled across the floor and laid down next to Harry’s hand. She scooped his hand up in hers and played with his fingers, fighting the tears that were demanding to be released.

“What’s wrong?” He raised his head so he could watch y/n’s face. The hand that y/n had been playing with moved to the small of her back and pulled her closer.

Y/n stayed in his arms for a while, just breathing him in, making sure that he was real. She matched her breathing to his and listened to his heartbeat.

“Nightmare.” She admitted, her voice tight. It was clear that she didn’t want to talk about it, so Harry just held her tighter.

“I won’t let anyone hurt ye,” Harry whispered. He pushed her hair away from her face. “I promise.”

Y/n looked up at Harry. She felt a rush of admiration for him. He had grown to be her closest friend in the short time that they had known each other. His icy blue eyes scanned her face and lingered on her lips for just a second longer than necessary.



“I like you.”

Harry smirked. “I like you, too.” He glanced at her lips once again. “Very much.”

A clap of thunder sounded, shaking the house. Harry winced and groaned, turning away.

“Um, y/n? Do ye have anything for headaches that make me want ta hook myself?”

Y/n laughed, sliding off of the bed. “Be right back.”

Harry buried his face in his pillow as y/n left the room. “Idiot.” He scolded himself. His heart raced and his face flushed. He had just admitted that he liked y/n. To her face. He wasn’t even sure if he did like her. He had never had feelings like these before.

Idiot, he thought to himself. Stupid, selfish idiot. She’s got a lot going on right now, you shouldn’t have done that. She thinks you’re a monster from the Isle, just like everyone else.

Harry snarled into the pillow. He hadn’t mentioned it to y/n, but she wasn’t the only one being picked on you. Transferring from the Isle wasn’t easy. People looked at Harry like he was going to lunge for their throats as soon as he had the opportunity. They either gave him dirty looks or didn’t look at him at all. He couldn’t decide which was worse. He wanted to be respected, sure. But feared? That was his dad’s thing. Harry just wanted to be accepted for who he was. The more people looked at him like a monster, the more he felt like one. He thought y/n deserved better. She needed a prince, not a pirate.

Harry shook his head. It wasn’t the time to throw a pity party. He rolled out of bed and closed the door. He pulled the pen and paper from under his pillow and hurriedly wrote on it before setting it on the bedside table. He grabbed his coat, which y/n had returned, and slung it over his shoulder. As he opened the window, he looked back at the door. Nothing but a sliver of light was visible. He sighed, knowing that y/n would worry about him. He knew that he had to do it though, he had to deal with Drew once and for all. He was about to leap out of the window when a twinkle caught his eye.

He backed up, stepping softly back inside of the room. He moved towards the cabinet where he had seen the light. He stumbled back when he opened the drawer. There, partially wrapped, was his hook. Next to it was a note, written by Tiana.

I found this in the woods after your little excursion with my daughter. I hope you won’t need it, but if you do, please be safe.  - Tiana

Harry dropped the note and unwrapped his hook. It had been polished and sharpened. He stared, awestruck, at the way that it shone when he put it in the moonlight. He gripped the handle tightly before turning back towards the window. Before he left, he doubled back and scooped up the note that Tiana had left him. With a grin, he read the back.

P.S. If you hurt my daughter, I will not hesitate to kill you with your own hook. I’m trusting you, Harry. Keep her safe.

As he landed on the soft grass below his window, he looked back at the house.

“Don’t worry, Tiana. I’ll die before I let anyone hurt her.”

“Harry? I got you the medicine you asked for. I thought you had said that Drew’s curse had worn…Harry?” Y/n stood in the middle of the empty room, the pills feeling too heavy in her hand. She spun around, searching desperately for him.

“Harry? I’m sorry if I scared you off! I-I knew it was a bad idea to tell you.” She yelled to no one. Her eyes fell onto the letter, scrawled out in his handwriting on the bedside table. She scrambled over to it, yanking it open and reading at lightning speed.

I’ve gone out for a bit. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be okay. I meant everything I said. Every word. I’m keeping my promise.
Yours only,
Harry Hook

Frozen, y/n clutched the letter to her chest. She was going to follow him, but she was going to need help. She needed Uma, and she needed her now.

A harsh knock on her door woke Uma up from her fitful slumber. Her dorm room, decorated with blues and whites and black, reminded her that she was supposed to be a well-behaved student. However, that was easier said than done when someone was pounding on her door at two in the morning. She clambered out of bed and yanked the door open, mouth dropping open as she saw a muddy and drenched y/n standing there.

“Harry is gone. I need your help to find him.”

The desperation in y/n’s eyes was enough for Uma to slam the door in her face, get changed at the speed of light, grab her sword, and finally drag y/n outside.

“He’s gone?” Uma growled, walking toward the forest, which, y/n had noticed, was much more terrifying at night.

“He left a note. He said that he was going to keep his promise to-”

“Protect you. Yeah, I know. What I don’t understand is why he didn’t follow the plan.”

“Plan?” Y/n asked. The closer they got to the forest, the more uneasy she felt.

With a sigh, Uma turned to y/n. She gave her an apologetic look before walking into the forest. “Well, here’s the thing…”

The branches of trees reached out to Harry like shadowed hands. They scratched and bruised him as he marched further into the forest. The moon, while high in the sky, didn’t give him much light to navigate by.

He was going to wait for Uma, but after learning that Drew had threatened y/n, he lost his cool. He was going to deal with the shadowy twerp that night. The plan was still patchy, but he understood the general idea. Find Drew, beat him up, send him packing. Simple enough.

Harry tightly grasped his hook, using it to pull branches away from his face. He didn’t know exactly where he was going, but he knew that Drew didn’t stay in the dorms. Apparently, he had his own little shack out in the woods so he could get away with all of his voodoo. With a smirk, Harry burst through a particularly nasty thorn bush and stumbled into a clearing.

The clearing was an almost perfect circle of open space. No shade from the trees blocked out the light of the moon, which looked to be hovering right above a rickety looking hut. Smoke rose into the air from the top of the hut, creating a ghastly, shadowy effect.

Harry snickered. “Dramatic, much?”

The flaps of the hut fluttered in the wind before going still. Harry froze in place. A moment later, Dr. Facilier’s son stepped out from his cozy little home.

Drew scanned the clearing, stopping once he saw Harry. He glanced over the disheveled pirate. He rose an eyebrow at the hook in his hand, but other than that, he seemed completely unfazed by Harry’s being there.

Harry couldn’t stop glaring daggers at Drew. The shadow man’s son looked perfectly put together despite it being so late at night. His hair was perfectly groomed, his shirt was tucked into his perfectly pressed pants. He had been expecting Harry.

“Captain, please do join me in my cozy little nest.” Drew turned and walked back towards the hut, holding open the violet cloth for Harry.

Harry stayed put. “I’m not here for a friendly chat,” he growled, turning his hook so that it caught the moonlight. “I’m here to tell you to back off.”

Drew kept his eyes on the hook. “And…if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll be sure you get sent back to your shack on the Isle.” Harry took a step forward. Drew, getting that Harry wasn’t going to join him inside of his hut, dropped the cloth with a sigh.

“Really, I was hoping to drag this out for at least another month or two, but I suppose father wouldn’t appreciate the delay.”

The light that had shone down on the clearing vanished in an instant and was replaced with curling and coiling fingers and hands of shadow.

Drew’s eyes glowed a bright, menacing purple. “Did you honestly think that you could just waltz in here and win the day? Save your precious y/n?” Drew spat y/n’s name out like it was a curse.

His words hit their mark. Harry staggered back at the mention of her. He quickly regained his composure and charged towards Drew, lunging for him with his hook.

“Oh, did I hit a nerve?” Drew sidestepped the attack. He reached his hand out to the pirate and a volley of shadows collapsed in towards Harry.

Harry ducked and rolled out of the shadows’ path just before they could hit him. With a sneer, he stood. “That the best you’ve got?”

“Oh, not at all.”

Another volley of shadows lunged for Harry. This time, they grabbed him. Harry struggled in vain to get closer to Drew, to wipe that stupid smirk off his face. The shadows wrapped around his arms, his legs, his neck. Harry’s eyes widened in panic as he realized what was happening.

“Haven’t you noticed that I don’t have any dolls in my collection?” Drew circled Harry, watching with hungry eyes as he fought against the shadows that were holding him down.

“My father was a powerful man, but he was ignorant. Why use dolls at puppets when you could use people?”

The shadows moved closer to Harry’s mouth, inching their way up his neck.

“Yes, you’re correct in thinking that that’s what I’m doing to you. What could be worse than losing y/n to me?” Drew grinned.

“Losing y/n by your own hand.”

“He was going to protect me?” Y/n asked as she and Uma plowed through the trees.

“I thought I made that perfectly clear,” Uma grumbled.

With a frustrated sigh. Y/n stopped walking. “Are we even going the right way?”

A shout pierced through the quiet of the forest.

Uma shot y/n a look. “I would have to say yes.”

The trees were menacing at night. Y/n tried not to pay attention, but the branches stuck out like hands, trying to grab her and hold her there. As they burst through the clearing, y/n saw a very happy looking Drew standing in front of a hut.

It wasn’t until Harry stepped out from behind it that the terror seized her. He was the same Harry from her dream, he was bruised, scratched, and covered in mud. The rain dripped down his hair and into his eyes, which had shifted from their normal ocean blue to a glowing purple. They held her gaze from across the field. His hook hand reached out to her as he stepped closer. It grazed her cheek, lingering on her jawline as he stared at her neck.

His eyes snapped up and met y/n’s. “Hello, darlin’.”

MORE of the things POTs say when they’re trying so hard not to pay!  (Part II)(Updates: 3/11/16, 9/8/16)

This is a follow up to my post on The things POTs say when they’re trying so hard not to pay!

 In that post, I identified eight types of “POTs” who are bad news.  It was a list of “POTs” that will NEVER treat you fairly and want only to deceive you and take advantage of you.  They are con men.   Nothing but trouble.  Radioactive. To be avoided at all costs! By identifying their tactics you can learn how to avoid them entirely and spend your time focusing on real POTs who can turn into real SDs.  That initial list consisted of the following:

The “Scientist” POT – the guy looking for “chemistry” and “compatibility” before “commitment”

The “Romantic” POT the guy who does not want an arrangement to be transactional

The “Puritan” POT – the guy who does not want to pay for sex because he’s not a John and you shouldn’t be an escort

The “Boyfriend” POT – He wants to “spoil” you, as long as that is cheaper than paying you

The “Doubting” POT – He wants to know what “he’s getting for his money”

The “Race Car Driver” POT – The “test drive” is all he’s after

The “Cautious Shopper” POT – He wants to “see the goods” first and wastes your time shamelessly, never wants to pay for the goods or your time

The “Penny Pincher” POT – The classic salt

When I finished that list, I knew that my work was not done.  I knew that I had not covered all of the “bad actors” who pollute the Sugar Bowl and hurt so many SBs.  Over the next couple of days, I continued to think about it and I am proud to provide you with a supplement to that list – four five six additional categories of men that are predators on the hunt.  And, I am also delighted that I had help with a two three four of the categories and I have provided the appropriate shout out to my collaborators!

The “Scammer” POT

The scammer is real scum. He plays to the SBs who let money cloud their judgment by making totally outlandish promises.  The naïve SB takes everything that this “older gentleman” says as the truth, and, to get that big hunk of sugar, she will literally do anything he wants.  He epitomizes the phrase “if it is too good to be true then it probably is”.  Signs to watch for:  

In his initial message, he says some shit like, “I am willing to pay 5k per month to start” or “I am willing to pay the right girl an allowance of 5k a month”.    Yeah, right!  No legitimate SD phrases an initial offer like that; that “language” is crafted by a man who has no money, but thinks he knows what you want to hear. And a lot of SBs fall for this nonsense because they let money cloud their judgment and they have on rose colored glasses, so they hear what they want to hear and see what they want to see. If you get a substantial offer like that out of the blue, carefully read the language.  Forget about how badly you want it to be true!  Analyze the message critically.  Notice the grammar, the sentence structure and ask yourself, “would a gentleman who is truly schooled in “high finance” or business say something like this?  And if your conclusion is no, drop the guy!  If you ignore him for a bit, watch how he reacts!  He’ll show his true colors soon enough!

He promises to send you 10k via wire transfer and he coyly asks for some nudes or other initial tokens of your appreciation, and in your excitement, you are too happy to comply. Off go the nudes to him, but the money never comes in to you!  Or, along the same line, he meets you in person and gives you this song and dance about all his companies, all his money, all his houses and boats and how all of it can be yours!  Before you know it, you’re drunk from the wine and his sweet words, and you agree to his suggestion that you head back to his place to “celebrate” the huge allowance that is coming your way tomorrow.  The fact that his hotel is a 2-½ star joint kinda registers in the back of your head as being an odd place for such a rich man to stay, but, by then, it’s too late!  After a good fucking (for him), he sends you packing, and you never see a dime.  

Finally, there is a sinister scammer as well.  He is the guy who is typically located in another city and flies you to him.  He promises you 10k or more for a three day weekend.  You pack your stuff, get on that plane and fly off to him.  After he picks you up at the airport and whisks you to the hotel, you realize that you are his prisoner for the next couple of days and he gets his money’s worth out of you, but you get nothing from him.  

The “Employer” POT

@blondeblogginbeeyotch is the author of this category, and I thank her for coming up with this!.  Her description of the “Employer” POT is spot on and perfect and is quoted here in full:

“There is also the POT who says he will offer you a legitimate job as their ‘Personal or Executive Assistant’. They will have you uproot yourself and move to their city and state where you know no one and have no support systems in place. They will offer you an Employment Letter guaranteeing your compensation but the trick is they will never officially sign it for you. Once you are moved in and thoroughly out of your element THAT is when they will break out their perverted real predator mask and if you refuse to do their bidding - they will ‘fire ’ you and refuse to pay you your salary aka 'allowance’.

I think this is technically sexual trafficking across state lines? This particular guy should be in prison.”

The “Inquisitor” POT

My “inspiration” for this category comes from something I saw posted by @omgwtfmia recently, and, after I read her post, I realized I had to include this in my list!   So, the “Inquisitor” is super annoying, gross and creepy.  From your first exchange, all he can do is talk about sex and he asks you endless questions about the types of sex you “are into” and will engage in with him. He wants to talk details, I mean TMI details!  And, what makes it so … gross, unpleasant and distasteful .. is that you have never met the guy and, already, he is talking in such intimate, graphic, dirty, non-sexy terms that it is making you wish that you didn’t have a vagina!  The guy is real loquacious when it comes to talking about his kinks and fantasies and how he wants to “lick your clit till you explode”, or make you choke on his huge cock etc etc ad nauseum, but he gets real quiet and unresponsive if you can keep from barfing long enough to ask him what he intends to pay as an allowance for this freak show.  Do yourself a favor, block the Inquisitor as soon as he starts with his shit!

The “Browbeater” POT

This guy is just mean, rude and nasty.  From the get-go he is pushing you around, whether it is in his messages or at the initial meet and greet.  He is domineering, aggressive, demanding and obnoxious.  If he doesn’t like your response to his text he is like immediately in your face, demanding an explanation, an apology, a retraction. He argues endlessly.  He is possessive and jealous and accusatory. Dealing with him is like dealing with an abusive boyfriend or significant other.  He gets passive aggressive.  He uses money like he uses his dick:  as a weapon.  The shocking thing to me is that this guy does get laid!  So, please, when a Browbeater darkens your computer screen with an aggressive message, get out of his sight!

The “Ghost” POT

@soflasugar contributed this addition to the list.  She dubbed the guy as the “Ghost” POT, a type of POT that ends up being a real time-waster.  Here is her description:  “This is the man who leads you along and may give you small amounts of money but when it comes time for your full allowance he totally disappears. He won’t answer calls, texts, or emails. Frustrating and annoying.”

The “Prince Charming” POT

This category was inspired by an anon in What do you make of a POT who literally says "I am a good looking guy” in his About Me section? He says more but that simple sentence makes me feel like he’s just a douche waiting for his next free fuck…

This guy fancies himself to be a “Real Looker”; I mean, he believes that he is just so damn handsome and sexy that you will want to have sex with him just to be able to say, “yeah, I fucked this really hot guy!”  Forget about allowance!  The sheer enjoyment of fucking “a pretty boy” is payment enough!  

Before you meet him or see his photographs, he will tell you that he is a “good looking guy” and soon enough he will tell you that girls are always so attracted to him that he never has to pay for sex.  He’s a real “Lady’s Man”; when you meet him in person, he will turn on the charm, flatter you, give you his patented “disarming smile” and ask if you want to feel his muscles, lol.  He’ll be a lot of fun on a date.  The words that he says are almost as pretty as his face!  

However, his pretty words never include the topic of money; he never talks about allowance and artfully dodges the question when it is raised.  Instead,  he will work hard to charm the pants off of you!  And, if and when he succeeds, you’ll find that, unlike the real Prince Charming, this guy turns into a toad AFTER you kiss him!  He’ll be happy to hang out with you as often as you like as long as he gets to fuck for free!

I really think that this list, now consisting of 12 13 14 “personality” types represents a fairly comprehensive list! Let me know if you have encountered some ugly demon that I have not identified!  I will continue to update this list and will post a separate “Update Notice” to give all of you a “heads up” when something is added!

Update History:

03/11/16:  added “Ghost” POT

09/08/16: added “Prince Charming” POT

My own take on a Great Comet college AU

The first thing you need to know is that I am college AU trash.

Natasha and Sonya are freshmen; Pierre, Mary, Anatole, and Dolokhov are juniors; Helene is a senior. Marya Dmitryevna is one of those RAs who’s so good at being an RA that the school keeps offering to pay for more classes if she stays for one more year (she’s gonna have like three bachelors by the time she graduates). Andrei’s doing his last year of military service before he goes to college on the Army’s dime.

Natasha is a music major with an emphasis on composition, Sonya is in the School of Social Work, Pierre is a philosophy/history double major (so he’s reading all the time), Mary is a religious studies major, Anatole is a theatre student, Dolokhov has to be majoring in something but no one really knows what it is or how he has time for it because he’s also on the wrestling, boxing, and fencing teams. Helene is a psych major who uses her powers for manipulation rather than for good. Marya D. studies languages and grew up bilingual so she can swear fluently in like five differently languages and passably in three more.

Natasha and Andrei have been dating (more or less) since she was a junior in high school. Because he’s always been away at school and she’s always been a minor, it’s been mostly about holding hands and light kisses and going on dates when he’s home on break, but they’re both totally happy with that and everyone (including Natasha and Andrei) are convinced that they’re gonna get married.

And then Natasha goes off to college AND THIS ASSHOLE (Anatole) SHOWS UP. Natasha and Sonya went to all-girls high school, so Natasha has very little experience with guys apart from Andrei and Pierre (who she’s barely seen since he went away to college). Anatole’s got all that sex appeal that Natasha’s never really encountered or even thought about, and he’s also chock full of charisma.

So even though Andrei promised he could come join Natasha in a year (just one more year, you’ll be so busy with school you’ll hardly notice) Natasha breaks up with him to be with Anatole (you don’t even have to do that, Helene tells her, but she could never do that to Andrei).

Marya D. has heard plenty of stories about Anatole Kuragin and doesn’t trust him near any of her residents, so when Sonya tells her that Anatole’s going away with Natasha over mid-semester break, Marya sends him packing and calls Pierre, who has heretofore been having a depressive episode and only leaving his room to get blackout drunk at parties.

Pierre knows EXACTLY what Anatole’s about and is absolutely correct in his supposition that Natasha has given her heart to this boy while Anatole’s just here to fuck around.

And no one fucks with Natalya Rostova on Pierre Bezukhov’s watch. No one.

So Pierre Has Words with Anatole and he keeps away from Natasha after that. Natasha spends the rest of the semester crying in her dorm room, hating herself for breaking Andrei’s heart. Andrei comes home over Thanksgiving, talks to Pierre, gives back all the things Natasha has given him over the years.

Natasha doesn’t go home over Thanksgiving; she doesn’t want her family to see her like this. Marya and Sonya stay with her. Pierre comes back to school a few days early and comes to see her.

She always feels better after she talks to Pierre.

(And then eventually Pierre brings himself to end his terrible relationship with Helene and he and Natasha start dating and they are the literal cutest things and now that Mary Bolkonsky is away from her horrible father she gets happier and starts dating Natasha’s brother AND THEY ALL LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER.)

Have a Jerome x Reader teaser

not the Jerome thing I was intending to work on today but I have been dawdling on this one a long freaking time maybe sharing a teaser will kick my ass in gear on it.

tagging : @multi-villain-imagines  @bidennisreynolds  @queencobblefreezestuff  @aya-fay  @dv8n666ways  @moaningvaleska  in case they are interested

Warnings for profanity, mild choking, possible jealousy, afraid for life, discussions of previous sexual activities, implied future death, Daddy Kink?, if I forgot something let me know

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New Year, New Surprises

Summary: You meet a charming stranger named Steve at a New Year’s party and try to make it until midnight.

Request: So, it’s not that I don’t love all the Christmas stuff going around, but are you planning on writing something New Years. Like two people get REALLY DRUNK and end up together then wake up the next morning like “um…. well… happy new years?”

Warnings: swearing, allusion to smut (no actual smut, just lots of sexual tension and kissing)

Word Count: 2696

Author’s Note: Ok! I wanted to mix it up so I made a Steve x reader story! Eeeeep! It’s my first one really, so feedback very much appreciated.

Originally posted by lookprettyliveclassyplaydirty

As far as you’re concerned this year can kiss your ass, personally, professionally, globally. Truly. Which is why you had RSVPed yes to this New Year’s party weeks ago fully intending to spend the last minutes of 2016 in complete and utter alcohol-induced oblivion.

You’re well on your way to executing that plan, lifting your third Manhattan to your lips and taking a careful sip. Leaning on your elbows on the bar, shoulders hunched, you’ve dryly dismissed every overly cheery advance, every ostentatious proposition and slick offer of another drink.

You’re quite pleasantly buzzed when you roll your head, attempting to iron out the stress that’s settled in your neck and shoulders. Your thoughts are interrupted by a clear, deep voice. “Wow. That ready for next year, huh?”

A bitter laugh ripples through your throat, “You have no idea.”

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In A Moment

Summary (One Shot)

Kara is grieving over the loss of her fiance, Mon-El. She reminisces the life she had with him, while questioning whether she will ever be able to move on.

Posted On:  AO3   &   FFN 

The clock read 1:41.  

Kara flipped to the other side of the bed where the clock could no longer taunt her. She tightly clutched a plaid shirt in her hand, the dampness increasing as another tear streaked down her face. Each sob that racked her body was caught in the shirt. Her fierce grip made it impossible to determine where the shirt began and where she ended.

She constricted her body into a fetal position with one simple goal: to achieve numbness. Alas, her Kryptonian physiology and the yellow sun would prevent a cool wave from washing over her. She simply wished to stop the constant pain that surged in her body. However, the numbness never came and the grief continued to suffocate her. Each heartbeat reminded her of what she lost, who she lost: her friend, her companion, her lover, her partner, her fiancé. Mon-El.

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anonymous asked:

Why do you think that Mr. Tilney is often overlooked? Do you know if has a bad habit? (like mister Darcy and his pride)

I think Tilney is probably overlooked in comparison to more romanticized adaptations simply because Northanger Abbey doesn’t get the same treatment in media as, say, Pride and Prejudice, or even Sense and Sensibility or Emma. Catherine is the youngest heroine, a teenager, and her story is more a coming-of-age plot mixed in with literature meta-snark, and the vibe with Tilney is significantly less tortured and dramatic than what we often see with the stormy Elizabeth Bennet/Mr. Darcy dynamic or the angsty parting between Marianne/Willoughby or Elinor/Edward. (Until Catherine gets tossed out by General Tilney in the middle of the night but the whole point is that her expectations about overwrought romanticism are wrong and while hearts can still be broken the business of life is on the whole a lot more caught up in the little practical hum-drum things and the human experience just kind of goes along with all of that.) Bearing in mind that Catherine is a teenager and Northanger Abbey a lesser-known novel (comparatively speaking,) its adaptations are on the lighter side of things, with more comedy and restraint.

Cathy doesn’t rage at Tilney and send him packing after a disastrous proposal, nor does she make herself deathly ill when Tilney abandons her–the stakes are much, much lower (superficially) for Catherine Morland and Henry Tilney. Sure there’s still the risk at the end that they’ve been parted forever and Catherine has only just realized her folly and how much she cares for him and things look pretty bleak for her on an emotional level, but everyone keeps it together pretty pragmatically. I think the story’s focus on Cathy’s personal growth and the light comedy lowering the overall stakes makes it less emphatic in adaptations, including any portrayal of Henry Tilney. It’s just nowhere near as easy to nudge the characters into the Torrid Sex Appeal category (by modern day standards Cathy is a minor so anyone writing that portrayal of her character should be keeping an eye on that while justifying the differences between our time and Austen’s,) and Henry Tilney is a clergyman. Their romance is gentle, funny, playful. They’re both very young, friendly, pretty well-adjusted. The barriers to their happiness are miscommunications and the mild meddling of self-centred, worldly people. It’s pretty understated, on the whole, so I think that whole tone is why Northanger Abbey is less popular than some of the other books, and, consequently, Tilney is less popular than Darcy.