she was on the phone for like three hours a while ago to secure this book

Advice for dealing with a creepy patron?

(God I submitted like two or three asks and a submission within the past two months I feel like I’m posting so much here I’m so sorry. D| ) This is gonna be long, and I apologize, but I’ve never dealt with this type of person or situation before and I’m entirely unsure of what to do. tl;dr at the bottom.

I work at a public library. There’s this woman who seems very well put together- dressed fairly well, straight posture, etc., but every single worker here has commented for me to be wary because there’s something “off” about her. I’ll call her M. And it took a while, but boy, did I start to notice it. So far, since I have started at the library, M has…

  • Asked workers and volunteers questions by getting so close you can feel her breath on your face.
  • Gotten angry with the circulation desk workers because we charge $3 for a replacement library card (your first one is free.) because she thought that they could write a new number on the back of her current one (numbers and barcodes are printed directly on the cards). She wanted them to write a new number because her crystals said it wasn’t a good number for her.
  • Sits in one of our armchairs and literally stares at us for at least an hour at a time.
  • Asked my coworker a question. Which was answered, no problem. M started walking to the front doors. Got to the doors. Stopped. Turned around and STORMED back to the reference desk, slammed both her hands on the counter as she leaned in really close, and demanded my coworker tell her exactly “how you got your hair like that!”
  • Tried to come behind the desk to look over our shoulders and see if we were using the right websites to find information for her.
  • We release the printed pages at the desk after people pay for them. They come out face down. M, at the time, had a cast on her arm. She kept looking at the cast and then at us, as if she wanted us to ask what happened. When no one took the bait, she decided to say that we better not look at her printed pages because they’re legal documents about her broken arm and it’s her personal business and she is not legally obligated to show them to anyone and we can be sued for reading them. :|
  • Among various other incidents that weren’t like, “you need to get out of the library” disruptive, but have caused workers to become very uncomfortable.
  • M also likes to try and trap librarians and volunteers into conversations when they are not on the clock.

Incidents that were specific to me include:

  • On Halloween, we are allowed to wear costumes, granted they aren’t skimpy/gory. I wore my unicorn kigurumi to work, and also brought my unicorn head mask in case my boss or our public relations committee wanted pictures for our website (I’m not really a picture person.). I was sitting at the reference/info desk with only the hood to my kigurumi up and we got the same kind of “walk past and then rush back” reaction my coworker got for her hair, only without the slamming of the desk. M asked me if she could take my picture. I said “no.” Had that been the end of it, whatever. But she wouldn’t take no for an answer. I got everything from “you’re so cute though” to “my sister in law likes unicorns and [insert semi-coherent rambling here].” Finally, my coworker flagged one of our security officers and he started heading over and M left.
  • When M had the cast on her arm, I was covering circulation one day. She asked if we had a bag, and I told her that we sell reusable canvas bags ($2). She asked if she could have one, I got the sheet out of the cash drawer to record the purchase, and she asked what I was doing. Then she said I was discriminating against her by charging her for a bag because “I have a broken arm and I shouldn’t be forced to pay.”
  • Some time ago, on a day I wasn’t scheduled to work, I took the bus into town to stop at the local art store and grab some sushi. Our bus terminal is a quite large building with storefront-styled windows all on the front and most of the way down the side. It is a straight shot from one street to the next. Normally, I cut through the bus terminal. However, when I neared the entrance, I saw M sitting inside and reading a book. She hadn’t seen me, but I still didn’t want to risk it, so I went around the building. Note, I’m wearing my giant-ass bright green headphones, and looking at my phone while replying to an email. As I get about half through the walkway to the next street, I catch M in the corner of my eye. Unsure of if she noticed me, I turned to go to the opposite side, and she actually speeds up and makes a beeline for me, catches up to me, taps me on the shoulder, and starts trying to talk to me as if I’d hear her over my music. Not really sure of what to do as the woman already makes me uneasy, I just point to my headphones and cell phone like I’m on a phone call and walk off quickly.
  • Today I had two incidents with her. I was assisting a student with her resources for a paper. She was having trouble finding non-reference books that she would be able to check out on the subject she needed, so I was discussing the online resources we offer with her. I’m a generally soft spoken person and she was right in front of me, so no problem. We’re quietly discussing them and I show her how to access them and then she leaves. Five minutes later, M comes over from her seat well across the main lobby, slams one of our database brochures and our bookmark that looks like the header of our website on the desks, and demands I tell her about the online resources “you told that girl about.” I’m just sitting here wondering how the hell she even HEARD me. There’s no way, unless she was either using a sound amplifier or she was hyperfocused on our conversation.
  • The second incident today was when I was on my dinner break. I left the library because my grandmother had asked me to see if there were any Peeps on clearance, being the day after Easter and all. I get out of work, get to the local Aite Rid, and grab a few packs for her. Right when I come out of the store- BAM, there’s M, sitting on the bench near the exit and staring in the direction of the store’s doors. Again, I’ve got my headphones on (don’t worry! I wear them around my neck in stores and only put them back on after I’m done buying my things!). She notices me and picks her things up like she’s going to get up to come talk to me, and I just go right in the other direction and cut through a department store to get right back to work. Fortunately, I think she’s gone for the day.

I’m really unsure of what to do. She hasn’t done anything outright ban-worthy in the library. I also don’t want to sound like I’m being an asshole in case she has a mental illness, but she genuinely makes me uncomfortable- especially since I’m unsure of what do do if she approaches me when I’m on the clock. I can’t really say what I wish I could (Which would be: “Please leave me alone, you’re making me uncomfortable.” or something…), and I don’t know if she’s the type to like, come in to the library and try to start something when I AM on the clock. Other workers in both the circulation and reference departments are also creeped out by her and we’re really not sure what to do because she hasn’t done anything that we really needed security for or anything.

Does anyone know how to handle something like this? She seems harmless and all, but you never really know. Anyone can lash out physically. I don’t think she’s targeting me specifically- as other workers have had similar “off the clock” complaints with her.



Patron at my library is massively creepy. Invades personal space WAY too far (we can literally feel her breathing on us if we’re not safely behind a desk), tries to get behind desks, tries to trap us into awkward conversations, approaches us in odd manners when we’re off the clock, has asked to take pictures of me, has also accused me of being discriminatory when I was going to charge her for the bags we sell as one of our ways of funding the library, and various other incidents. I’m unsure of what to do because she legitimately creeps me out and I’m not sure if she would be the type to lash out physically. 

I’m not sure if anyone here would have tips on how to deal with her, other than to stay within sight/earshot of a coworker or even a patron when she’s near. 

Sorry for this being long, but having two incidents with her in one day kind of freaked me out.

sterek au: landlord!derek and tenant!stiles

based loosely on this gif set and tags, prompt by fin. written for sterekfest! wish i could have written something longer, but i hope you enjoy anyway <3


Stiles has a mission. He has a mission and a list – a long list that details with bulleted subpoints all the things wrong with his apartment. Sure, he’s thankful for having a roof over his head (if said roof didn’t leak) and at a fair price (which was really the selling point, let’s be honest). But still, Stiles drops most of his measly paycheck on rent every month, and he’d like a place that wasn’t falling apart. That was only fair.

The building meeting is on the fifth floor. When he arrives, there’s only one other guy there, sitting on a blue couch. Stiles immediately heads over to the large window and starts pacing. “I feel kinda bad for the landlord,” Stiles begins, nervous energy buzzing through his limbs.

“Oh?” the man replies.

“Yeah, I’d hate to be in his shoes, being bombarded with complaints all night. But dude, my water pressure’s terrible, three panes in the window are broken and one has a hole in it, my garbage disposal smells like something died inside of it, and that’s just the top of the list.” Stiles spins around and finally looks at the guy on the couch. He’s never seen him around before, and Stiles guesses he could be considered attractive if you find bearded gym rats hot. Stiles refrains from rolling his eyes because the guy is obviously a douche. Just look at those eyebrows.

“What about you? Please don’t tell me your apartment is perfect, but knowing my luck and probably yours, everything works perfectly for you like it always has and I got the shit apartment.” The guy just stares at him and says nothing. Stiles rolls his eyes as he turns back towards the window, mumbling under his breath, “Typical.”

“What’s typical?”

Stiles spins around again, mouth open in exaggerated shock. “Oh, you mean you’re actually going to talk to me? Words finally making sense to you now?”

The man’s mouth pulls down into a scowl. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Look, I know it pains guys like you to talk to guys like me because it lowers your cool quotient or you only waste your breath on people as hot as you or something, but we do live in the same building. We’re neighbors. I was trying to be neighborly.”

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you outshine the morning sun, my son

obligatory bit of captain cobra while cleaning out cs wips folder. obligatory hamilton reference. obligatory baby jones. i couldn’t stop myself.

Henry Mills, to be honest, was tired of the crying.

Yes, he was a fifteen-year-old who was just now experiencing the pain of a baby sibling—Roland didn’t count; the child was walking and talking completely normally by the time they met—but he was still terribly annoyed.

Liam was adorable. According to his moms, he looked like Henry himself as a baby. Henry didn’t really see it; Liam looked exactly like Killian except with hair of a lighter brown, more like his. According to Regina, Liam was a much better baby than Henry—she said it with a reminiscent smile just tinged with pain and remembrance.

But good heavens, Liam cried so much.

He spent as much time over at Regina’s as he could, but really he needed to see Emma too. So every now and then he suffered through a night or two of a screaming six pounds of young infant.

He read to the kid as much as he could, since Killian claimed that the boy sometimes actually slept a few hours at night after said story. Therefore, Henry tried to be decent and take Liam off Emma and Killian’s hands for a while so they could get a modicum of sleep. He held the kid in one arm—after Killian showing him how to not drop the wiggling child—and flipped the pages in the book.

He could have sworn that Liam preferred the tale of Charles and Leia without being told that the two were his parents.

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Styles & Co. - part 3

I stand outside Styles & Co, unable to get through the glass doors. Foolish me forgot that at such a terrible hour the tower is locked down and only Harry has access. I should have stayed up in the penthouse but my stubborn nature doesn’t like sleeping alone in his penthouse. The thing I hate about the penthouse is that it’s so closed off that without Harry’s keys, I can only exit through the back. I can’t get to the office floors or even to the other business suits that are kept for clients of Harry’s.

I pull my phone out and text him.

“Can you let me in? I’m outside your tower. It’s bloody cold.”

“What the hell? Hold on, Anastasia will let you in. X
CEO. Styles.& Co -Harry”

“Who the hell is Anastasia?”

I get no response but the lobby lights flicker on and a young lady dressed in a pair of leggings and a hoodie emerges. “Hello, Elise?” She wears a smile sweetly, allowing me in,
“Hi.” I greet, sceptical as to who she is. Why the hell is she here with Harry at four in the morning?
“It’s nice to meet you.” She courteously engages in conversation, keeping it simple but short as we near the elevator.

“What are you doing here? Is everything alright? Why aren’t you upstairs in the penthouse?” Harry straightway stands from his leather chair,

“Everything’s fine. You know I hate sleeping there alone.” I enlighten him, falling into his warm embrace, feeling calmer as he wraps his arms around me.

“It’s four in the morning, why are you here?” He questions again, pulling back to focus his eyes on mine.

“I couldn’t sleep, so I came here since you left me naked in the penthouse and deprived of sex,” I respond, walking around his desk and peering out the window; my eyes gazing down at the delightful city view.

“I have no comment.” He bites his lip, “I’m working, love. You need to get to sleep.” Harry heaves a sigh, not seeming too keen on the idea of me being in his office at four in the morning, even if he did have to hurry away after sex. I ignore his comment, my eyes continuing to focus on the view.

The city never sleeps, and it’s a clear indication since the city is still vibrantly illuminated. I hear Harry yawn as he sits back down in his leather chair. I turn around and step closer to him, his body swirling the chair to face me.

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Sweetest of Dreams

Late-night television is a gamble. Sometimes there’s not much other than infomercials and outdated reruns of talk shows. Every now and then, she finds something worth watching. This is one of the latter nights, and an old Audrey Hepburn flick is playing on one of the channels. She’s sitting on the couch of her apartment, with a bowl of popcorn and a cup of chamomile tea, settled in to watch Sabrina.

Halfway through, as she is humming along to “Yes! We Have No Bananas” with Audrey and Humphrey Bogart, when her phone rings. Glancing over at it, she sees his name appear on the screen, and scrambles to answer it.

“Spencer? Is everything okay?”

“Oh, I – I didn’t think you would pick up,” he says. “Did I wake you?”

It’s nearly three AM, but she doesn’t want to worry him. “Not at all. I was up late finishing something for work. What’s wrong?”

On the other end of the phone, she hears him hesitate. “Just… just a bad dream, that’s all. I thought maybe having somebody to talk to would help, but…”

The television is muted, and she gives him her full attention. “If you want to talk about it, I’m right here. And if you don’t want to, then we can talk about something else.”

Work is a sensitive subject for him, and there are things he keeps from her in order to protect her. If it would make things easier on him, she would gladly hear his every story, but he insists there are some things she doesn’t need to know. “Tobias Hankel,” he says quietly. “That was the nightmare. I was back in that shed, and I couldn’t escape, and I just – it feels so real sometimes.”

The name is one she recognizes, from a case he’s told her only a little bit about. Almost ten years ago he was abducted and held hostage by a delusional serial killer for two days before his team finally found him. Most of the details he left out, but whatever happened in those 48 hours, it has continued to haunt him to this day. “I’m sorry,” she tells him. “What can I do to help you?”

“Just… just talk. Please?”

And so she does. Talks about everything, and nothing. What her day was like, what she’s thinking about, why Life is Beautiful is her favorite movie. Talks until he’s no longer responding, and she can hear only quiet, rhythmic breathing on his end. He’s asleep. Relieved that one of them is resting easier, she hangs up the phone. Spencer needs the sleep, needs to be alert and awake for the demands of his job. The late hours are something she can manage, or at least, she tries to. Characters jump to life onscreen when she unpauses the movie, losing herself in a good film and a lukewarm cup of tea.

In the end, she gets only four hours of sleep. Four isn’t the best, but it’s certainly not the worst. Standing under a cold shower helps to shake some of the fatigue, and a large cup of coffee – two shots of espresso – helps with the rest. In a strange way, her unconventional sleep schedule makes their relationship easier. There is never any adjusting when he’s away for work and calls her at odd hours. It’s easier for her to relate to his exhaustion. And when he needs her most, she’s there. Awake. Ready to listen.

Small victories, she decides. Where there are silver linings, she must seize them. It is not a silver lining, but an opportunity that falls her way that evening however. Spencer asks if he can come over, stay the night. Sometimes it’s harder being at home for him. The same place where after every case he has ended up, processing things alone. Pain, fear, guilt, regret. All those emotions have lived in the same four walls he inhabits.

Her apartment, at times, feels like a sanctuary for him. Full of good things, better things, than his room has housed. Never one to turn down a chance to spend time with him, she assures him it’s perfectly fine if he wants to come over. In truth, she’s all too happy to have him there. Spencer shows up at six, greeting her with a kiss. When his lips are on hers, there’s no need for caffeine. His touch, his very presence, has a way of waking her up.

“I prefer this much more to phone calls,” she says, and he laughs; a wonderful sound.

“There certainly are advantages to in-person interactions.”

“Like this.” She kisses him once more, slowly, savoring the sensation. They are interrupted by the ding of the oven timer. “And dinner.”

“Mm, yes. Both are good.” Spencer can’t cook to save his life, but is always happy when she does. Not that she minds, recipes always make much more than a single person can go through, and she would much rather have someone to share it with.  They eat together, then spend a long while on the couch with tea, just enjoying the time they have together. They catch up, hold hands, steal a few more kisses here and there.

When the sun has long since set over DC, they retire to bed, each a little reluctant, for their own reasons. Having Spencer there is comforting. So close she can hear the sound of his heartbeat when he pulls her to him. Arms strong and warm secure her there, and she lies still until he’s fast asleep. Then, very carefully, she extracts herself from the safety of his embrace. It’s not a matter of wanting to be away from him, so much as it is a desire not to wake him. She would happily stay there, but it’s only ten-thirty. It will be hours before she manages to fall asleep, and she’s got to keep her mind busy until then.

On the nightstand is Les Misérables, beckoning her to finish the last two hundred pages. A quick trip to the kitchen to fetch another mug of tea, the flicking on of a reading light, and she settles for another long night.


He bolts upright, awakened by the sound of his own scream. Pants and gasps for air, trying to slow his breathing and his mile-a-minute-heartbeat. He’s here. Here. Not in Georgia, not in that shack, not in a chair. In DC, in an apartment room, in a bed. But, he realizes, it’s not his own bed.

It’s hers.

“Spence?” Right on cue, she speaks up. Reid rolls over, expecting to see her half-awake, but it’s just the opposite. By the glow of a small book light, she is reading, a novel propped up on her knees. A cup of tea sits on the nightstand, and it looks as though she hasn’t slept at all. The circles under her eyes could rival his.

“What – what are you doing up?” he asks.

She glances over him furtively, like she’s debating the severity of the situation. “Couldn’t sleep,” she answers plainly.

“Do you ever?” The question is at first in jest, but when she bites her lip, several things fall together at once. The tired look in her eyes, her disdain for early mornings, the fact that she always answers his calls, no matter how late. Coffee is her drink of choice all day, but she keeps copious amounts of chamomile tea in her kitchen. Chamomile, best known for being a sleep aid. “You’re an insomniac,” he realizes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Y/N sighs, setting the book aside. Even when exhausted, he can’t help but find her lovely. Moonlight reflects in her eyes as she turns to face him. “I didn’t want you to worry about me. You’ve got enough going on as is. Besides, it’s a common issue, and I’ve dealt with it for a while.”

While 58 percent of the American adult population reported repeated trouble sleeping, it was still a concerning disorder. “Statistically, trouble sleeping can reduce your mortality rate by as much as 16 percent. Have you seen a doctor?”

“Yeah, but nothing seems to help much. With enough time, I’ve adapted. Really, it’s not a big deal. I just didn’t want you to worry about me. What about you? Nightmares again?”

Reid nods. “Tobias Hankel.” The same as all his nightmares lately.

For a moment, she debates whether to ask him another question. Making up her mind, she looks at him with an expression that seems to ask permission. “Why is it always him?”

He wrestles with his thoughts - she hadn’t told him about her insomnia so he wouldn’t worry, but he found himself frustrated that she couldn’t confide in him. The same thing he’s been doing all this time with his own experiences. Only now does he realize how lonely that felt. If she’s going to trust him with things, he needs to show her that he trusts her as well. “Listen, there’s something I’ve never I’ve never told you about that case.”

That gets her attention. She sits up straighter, waiting intently, curiosity plain on her features as he tries to find the right words. This never gets any easier, explaining it to someone. “When I was in that shack, I was… I was beaten, and tortured. When Tobias wasn’t himself, he was really violent. When he would come to, he’d see what had happened. Then he would try to make up for it, make things easier for me. He… he, um…” God, it’s harder than he expected with her. Because he doesn’t have to see her at work everyday, she doesn’t have to stay in his life, unlike his colleagues. But oh how he wants her to stay. This could be thing that scares her off, he knows that. If he doesn’t tell her though, and she finds out, it’ll be far worse. He exhales heavily, trying to rid his body of all doubt; runs his fingers through his hair. Sensing his discomfort, she reaches for his hand, holding tight to him. Giving him a little more courage. “He drugged me, with Dilaudid. It’s almost like heroin, but it’s easier to get. The team found me, but not until after I had to shoot Tobias in order to stay alive. And Dilaudid is incredibly addictive, so after he was dead I… I stole his supply in order to keep using. It almost cost me job, my friends. Everything. But – but I stopped. I haven’t used in nine years, ten months, and fifteen days.”


“I never told you because I didn’t want you to worry about me. I didn’t want to scare you. But I know now that I can trust you with it. I love you, Y/N. You know that, right?”

She wraps her arms around him, holds him close. “Yes. Yes, I do. And I love you to. Thank you for trusting me.” When she pulls away, she reaches for his hand once more. Not quite ready to let go completely. “I know your job isn’t easy. And I know there are things in your past that are hard to talk about. But whatever might keep you up at night, you can call me. Or stay with me. I’ll be awake to listen. I’ll be here.”

Reid realizes what she’s offering - a lifeline. To be there for him, at all hours. While he appreciates it, she needs rest too. No matter how hard it is to find. “How you considered medication to help you sleep?”

“Yeah, but I haven’t been able to find one that works. It’s like… it’s like I can’t turn my mind off at night. All these thoughts are running through my head, and I keep tossing and turning, and no matter how hard I try I just can’t seem to fall asleep. It’s been that way for a while.”

Sleep therapy can be expensive, but there are an abundance of home remedies. “What about things like yoga, or a hot bath before bed?”

Accompanying her nod is the sort of weariness that confirms she’s run the gambit of possibilities. “Anything you can think of, I’ve probably tried at one point or another. Nothing seems to work, not for very long at least.”

“What about sleeping with someone?” It’s a last ditch effort to help her in some way.

“What?” She furrows her eyebrows, confused.

Reid shifts, wets his lips as he tries to explain it. “There are studies that show sharing a bed with someone you love can improve overall health and quality of life. The psychological benefits can sometimes carry over into the physical realm. I mean, it’s just one study, but I just thought maybe it could help. To sleep with someone you feel safe with.” She looks at him, waiting for him to continue, and so he takes it as permission to ask. “Do you feel safe with me?”

“Of course,” she answers. Hesitates, then adds, “There’s nobody else I feel safer with than you.”

At that, his heart warms, and he can’t help but smile. She feels safe – no, safest – with him. “Then will you lay with me? It helps me too, being near you. So far, no nightmares.”

It’s true, this is the first time in a while he has slept so soundly. She settles back down with him under the blankets, close enough he can feel the warmth of her body. Briefly he wonders if she enjoys being held by him as much as he enjoys holding her. Somehow, he feels more secure when she’s in his arms. He kisses the top of her head, and they embark upon a potentially mutually beneficial sleeping arrangement.

It helps him, more than he had imagined. For Y/N, there seems to be no change, at least not at first. At night she feels more relaxed though, more content. And then, on the fourth night that he crawls into bed with her, it happens.

She closes her eyes. And falls asleep. As quick and simple as that.

No restlessness. No nightmares.

Only the sweetest of dreams. Only soft breathing and gentle embraces, and mornings spent waking up slow, blissfully wrapped in the presence of each other.

Dog-tags and Microphones(Former Marine/Current Bodyguard!Jensen AU)(Part 3-FINAL)

Read Part 1 HERE and Part 2 HERE

Words: 3047
Warnings: It’s sad and angsty I’m sorry.
Pairing: AU!Jensen x Reader
Tags: @growningupgeek @val3ter108 @dancingalone21(because you originally requested this) and @lilyleely(because you said, and I quote “SIGN ME UP! Set me sail on this angsty ship, captain!”)
A/N: It’s a long part again, I was thinking about parting it but went against it. Also, i’m looking for a possible beta-reader because I’m not always confident of what I write and could really use a hand. Anyway, enjoy this chapter!

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She made plans months ago to spend Christmas with her mom at Bill & Tara’s. Of course, at the time, she didn’t anticipate having any compelling reason to stay in town, but as she kisses Mulder goodbye on the night before her flight, she is undeniably tempted to cancel. The idea of quietly celebrating the holiday with him is vastly more appealing than the prospect of putting up a happy front for her family while trying to ignore all of the inevitable reminders of Emily.

“I don’t know why I agreed to go,” she says with a sigh, her forehead pressed against his. “What was I thinking?”

He pulls her all the way in for a hug, tucking the top of her head under his chin in the way that makes her feel protected and secure. She nestles in even closer and sighs again.

“If I had to guess–” His words reverberate through his chest against her ear. “–I’d say you were thinking about how much Christmas and family mean to your mom.” She pulls back to look up at him, and he quirks his lips in a half-smile. “I’m pretty sure your brother’s charming disposition wasn’t the primary motivating factor.”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “Be nice.”

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to her lips as his thumbs stroke her shoulders. She actively tries to capture the moment, to find a way to preserve the warmth in her that his touch induces, so she’ll have it to call on while they’re apart. The moment is, sadly, over far too soon, and then he’s stepping backward and shooing her out the door.

“Go enjoy San Diego. Play with Matthew, hug your mom. I’ll see you in a week.”


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meanwhile, somewhere in america...

Title: meanwhile, somewhere in america… 
Rating: Teen
Word count: 1.7k
Summary: Dan and Phil go shopping. [Read on AO3]

“Target. So is that like, commercialisation of the American gun culture?” Dan asks. He picks up a water gun as they walk by a summer display. “If I get this-”

“No,” Phil says. He grabs it out of Dan’s hand and places it on a different display.

“You just made some underpaid spotty-faced teenager’s day harder,” Dan informs him.

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'B (very) positive' arin/dan, vampire au 3/?

pt 1pt 2, pt 3, pt 4pt 5pt 6pt 7pt 8pt 9 …

(literally every chapter will have an author’s note reiterating that this is bed’s fault)

He never realized how distinct the fangs looked until he saw all the fakes that were too long, or too sharp, really over-curved… something about how wrong they are compels him to find something real.

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anonymous asked:


10. bodyguard au



Having a bodyguard wasn’t such a big deal.

However, the fact that your parents had to hire someone to follow you around almost everywhere you go made it feel as if they didn’t trust you, or as if they were paranoid about the world. I could take care of myself. I had taken self-defense classes last year, after a friend of mine was harassed by a perv once, and some other friends peer-pressured me into taking those classes, so I wasn’t that hopeless. Moreover, I wasn’t a damn teenager anymore. I was in college – I was big girl, with her own car, her own apartment, her big dreams, and oh, pepper spray in her purse, too, of course! Why wouldn’t my parents just calm down? Why wouldn’t they spend their money on something more useful?

It was also kind of uncomfortable, though. Imagine wanting to go clubbing and being unable to let yourself go because this tall, dark, intimidating guy was right there, watching you at all times, judging you at all times. If you wanted to hook up with someone, or drink a few more shots, or dance a little more wildly, you couldn’t, because the damn bodyguard would definitely tell on you. It as none of his business. It wasn’t anyone’s business but mine. I felt like I couldn’t even be myself anymore. It sucked

Still, well, it wasn’t that big of a deal. He didn’t follow me to school, unless there was a big event or I had to go somewhere afterwards. He wasn’t supposed to even go into my apartment, either. He was just there when I went out into the big, frightening city – note the sarcasm – and he would even drive when I felt too lazy, or carry my stuff when I went shopping. It wasn’t too bad…

The fact that he was kind of hot made it a little bit better.

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Up In The Air + My New CS AU Story [Chapter One Posted]

The airport is the last place best-selling author Killian Jones wants to be. Yet when a broken heart and a business class ticket lead him to a chance meeting with a fellow passenger named Emma Swan, he discovers that sometimes the flight you never wanted to take might land you exactly where you’re supposed to be. Rated M for future chapters. Read it on [] or [A03].

The overhead announcement was loud and droning in his throbbing ears, the unbelievably annoying tone saying something about upcoming arrivals as he stared toward the curved metals beams of the ceiling. The lighting was harsh as he pulled off the sunglasses shielding his hangover and yanked his flight confirmation from the back pocket of his jeans. Here we go again, he thought as he plodded in the direction of the airport check-in.

Killian Jones hated airports. There really wasn’t a way of denying it after months of developing said opinion - facts were facts and that one was all sorts of true.

He liked to believe he was a rather rational man and honestly he didn’t hate many things in life, but finding yourself in the environment you claim to loathe will bring out all shades of negativity. At the moment, the multiple lines and unnecessary noise were doing just that. Well, his thumping head’s drunken regrets and the incessantly ringing phone in his pocket might have been part of the issue as well - but his fault in all of this wasn’t something he was prepared to address in his current state. He slammed his thumb on the button that would allow him to ignore the call before approaching the ticketing counter.

Between lost baggage, the impolite rush of confused travelers, and the endless hours wasted doing just about nothing, he figured it was rather easy to see why this was the last place he wanted to be - but his dislike didn’t stem from any of those things. No, it wasn’t about the time of day or what the destination was. It wasn’t affected by boarding first or last or even if the flight was on time or three hours delayed. LAX. O'Hare. Vancouver International. JFK. London Heathrow. He’d endured them all and then some, but it really didn’t matter. He was convinced that the word ‘terminal’ was associated with airports for a reason.

For the record, it was that last location that was wedging the particularly annoying thorn in his side - but London itself was hardly his biggest problem right now.

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A/N: Do you guys have any idea how much I love you for the way you’re responding to this story? I’m actually mind numbingly overwhelmed by it. All your little tags and messages and recs - I’m an emotional mess.

Sorry this next one took me a while, stuff at home took a turn, and I got distracted accidentally sketching a scene from the first chapter (don’t ask, I can’t even draw)…

Moving on. Here is part 3 of this little ditty. Fluffy or angsty? I can’t even tell anymore.

Whatever Floats Your Boat

CS Bookshop AU

Part 1: Clichés // FF
Part 2: Romantics
Part 3: Biographies
Part 4: Children’s Literature
Part 5: Imagery
Part 6: Travel Guides


Part 3: Biographies


Emma desperately wished the roles were reversed. 

She had had the rest of her Sunday shift to continue being mad at him (some of the second-hand books were squashed into place a little aggressively, providing evidence for her emotional crime and state of mind), and then several days to think about how she’d overreacted. She knew that he had been right, knew herself that her reluctance to share anything warranted some sort of frustration from he who was always honest with her. 

Well, at least he never straight up lied, but he could definitely teach a few things about evasiveness.

She also knew why she’d reacted that way - it was years and years of being spurned and only really knowing how to be defensive about it. She regretted that stubbornness and defensiveness were her default emotional settings, the switch jammed years ago and forced into place after certain life events. The frustration within herself – at herself – for responding the way that she did when there was something clearly wrong with him ate away at her.

Really ate.

And Emma didn’t know where to find him to apologise, hence her now wishing that their roles were reversed.

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anonymous asked:

Hey so I love your modern Glasgow story! You have one where Claire is working and gets the call that Jamie's been in a car accident... Imagine if Jamie gets the call that Claire has been hurt in this universe

Modern Glasgow AU (and follow up to this ficlet)

“…Which is why despite the continued softness in the Continental market, we expect that launching the new e-book platform will lead to a commensurate doubling of sales…”

Jamie discreetly checked his watch under the conference room table, hoping that Lawrence Stern (a friendly but decidedly dull accountant whose personal collection of over 10,000 beetles had been published in a handsome coffee table book last year) wouldn’t notice. He was happy to attend these management meetings - securing an invitation meant that Rupert considered him to be one of the key decision-makers at the company. But he should have left this meeting half an hour ago, so that he could be at the hospital in time for Faith’s feeding…

Wee Faith. Born two months ago at only 30 weeks gestation - she was a bonny fighter. Getting stronger every day, and even able to feed herself once a day now. How Claire cherished the ability to breastfeed their daughter after so many weeks of watching Faith take her nourishment from a feeding tube. And how Jamie treasured being with Claire during that feeding - holding his girls close.

“…took the liberty to mock up some projections, using different assumptions of pound and Euro interest rates…”

Jamie sighed and pulled his phone from his pocket. Better text Claire at the hospital, sharing the news that he wouldn’t be able to make it tonight. She’d be sad, but of course she’d understand. He’d be there in time to take her home - to support her as, yet again, they had to leave their baby girl in the NICU ward until she was strong enough to sleep without constant supervision. Only a few more weeks now - though it seemed like forever.

His lock screen was a picture one of the nurses had taken just the day before - Faith wide awake, clad in a fuzzy blue cap Murtagh had bought for her, boneless against Claire’s shoulder as her Mama gently burped her.

Two missed calls. Three text messages.

Thumb trembling, he unlocked the screen.

From Murtagh: Come to hospital.

Another from Murtagh: Why arent u at hospital?

And one from Dr. Joe Abernathy: You’re needed at the hospital.

Jamie swallowed, stood, and rudely walked out of the room. Then raced to the street, flagged down a taxi, and prayed.

And kept praying as he flew down the corridor, up to the NICU ward on the third floor, and grabbed the first nurse he could find.

“Faith Fraser,” he gasped. “Is she all right?”

“Faith?” the nurse gaped, shrugging Jamie’s huge hands off her shoulders. “Why yes, she’s perfectly fine - just checked in on her myself. You must be Jamie - yer wife was asking whether ye were here.”

“Clare?” he said stupidly, heart still somewhere in his throat. “She’s fine? Faith is all right?”

The nurse - her nametag read MAISRI - narrowed her eyes, but kindly took Jamie’s elbow and led him down the hall. “Aye - she’s bonny. I’ll take ye to them?”

Wordlessly, Jamie nodded and followed the wee nurse down the corridor, past the long glass wall of the nursery full of healthy newborns sleeping in their incubators, and down to a door reading “CONFERENCE ROOM.”

“What’s this?” his voice was raspy, confused.

Maisri gently eased him toward the door  and turned the handle. Jamie pushed it in, heart pounding -


Seated at one end of a long conference table were Murtagh, Mrs. Fitz., Dr. Abernathy, and Claire’s friend and former colleague Mary Hawkins. On the other side of the table, Claire held an alert and wriggling Faith close to her shoulder, beaming. A pile of presents was stacked neatly on the table, along with a plate of biscuits and a pot of tea.

Jamie’s knees gave way and he collapsed into an empty chair.

“What’s all this?” he croaked.

“It’s a baby shower,” Claire explained patiently, using her best Nurse Fraser voice. “We never did finish buying Faith everything she’ll need when she comes home.”

“The two of ye have been so worrit about the wee lass that ye never took the time to think about what comes next!” Mrs. Fitz murmured around a mouthful of scone, shaking her head at Claire. “Claire told me ye didna even have a car seat yet! So I mentioned to Dr. Abernathy that perhaps we could organize something, and - ”

“I knew nothing. I swear.” Claire shifted Faith to her other shoulder and sipped hot water from a paper cup. “I arrived here with Joe just a few minutes ago - Mary was kind enough to wrap the gifts.”

Jamie sank his face into his hands, resting his elbows on the edge of the table, breathing deeply. “Murtagh and Joe scared me half to death wi’ their text messages. I ran out of Rupert’s meeting thinking ye and the lass gravely ill, Claire.”

Murtagh tsked while Claire gently stood and moved around the table to sit beside Jamie. Instantly he took her and Faith into his arms, kissing the baby’s forehead and inhaling the scent of Claire’s hair.

Safe. They were safe. Silently he willed his heart to stop racing.

After a long moment, Murtagh pushed a long, wrapped box down toward the Frasers. “Open it,” he said softly. “I brought the car so I can help ye cart all the wee boxes home. And I’ll help ye get the lassie’s room set up good and proper for when she comes home.”

Jamie sat up straight, re-filled Claire’s empty cup, and slid his finger under the wrapping paper.

“Is it all right for Faith to be here? I dinna want - ”

“Relax,” Joe smiled. “You’ve got one doctor, one medical student, and two nurses in the room. Faith will be just fine.”

Jamie sat up a bit straighter, feeling Claire roll her her eyes at him, and ripped off the wrapping paper.

An hour - and ten onesies, four bibs, one carseat, one breast pump, two stuffed Highland Coos, four bottles, three baby dresses, a pile of childrens’ books, and a lovely Fraser tartan quilt (“It was nothing, lad - I truly enjoy the quilting,” Mrs. Fitz had said as Jamie and Claire thanked her profusely) later - only one envelope remained.

Faith dozed against Jamie’s shoulder, so Claire carefully opened the envelope.

A lovely card - and pictures of a pram, pile of diapers, crib, and changing table fell out.

“It’s all over at my flat - I’ll bring it by afore the lassie comes home,” Murtagh explained. “And I’ll also get a crib for my flat, in case ye are ever over and she wants to take a wee nap -”

Jamie swallowed a sudden lump in his throat - so deliriously happy to have this strong, quiet, loving man in his life. In Claire’s life. And now, in Faith’s life.

“Thank you,” he said, voice thick. Claire nodded in agreement, heart full. “Thank you - all of you. This means a lot to us. We - we -”

“We are overwhelmed. This is so incredibly kind.” Claire eased an arm around Jamie’s shoulders, smiling at her adoptive family. Ragtag, and random - but hers. Hers and Jamie’s.

Faith sneezed against Jamie’s neck, suddenly awake. He cradled her head in one big hand, Claire peering over his shoulder to make sure the baby was all right.

The photograph Murtagh snapped at that exact moment would remain on his refrigerator until they moved to Lallybroch nine years later - and then would rest, framed, on his bedside table until he was an old, old man.

The ‘I’m trying to study for this stupid exam and that guy keeps staring at me from three tables over’ AU

That was the prompt! I have no idea where I found it though! (Although I think it was from thetourguidebarbie AGGGESSSS ago (but I’m sorry for tagging you if it wasn’t))… I just save prompts I see when peeps are like ‘free-for-all prompts’ or whatever, and then I’m like well whatever. (BTW this is Marina Abramović - she simulataneosly fascinates me and freaks me out) 

ANYHEY! Enjoy.

“Are you sure it’s going to work?”

“Puh-lease, Klaus, I’ve known her since the sandbox. It may take a while, but if you pay her overt amounts of attention, you’ll annoy her and she’ll bite. Stems from her craving attention, never getting it, so when she does she tends to get a little antsy.”

“Whatever you say,” Klaus said tentatively.


Caroline was frantic. As a second year, she’d just finished her third year biology exam, even though it went fine, she was still panicking. She had one to go and it was intermediate physics. Caroline love physics, but sometime the formulae just kicked her butt.

She sat down in the vast library, and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. It was business time. She was going to go through all her unit notes today so, by tomorrow, she would be ready to do practice papers.

Caroline was born to study. She was diligent, and thorough. She could concentrate for hours at a time with caffeinated aid. But today, she just couldn’t focus. There was a funny prickling on the back of her neck. She kept shifting in her seat, trying to get comfortable. After what felt like hours (but was really only 30 minutes) Caroline looked up, trying desperately to refocus her brain.

As she looked up, she caught the eye of a crazy attractive guy sitting three tables away. He had dirty blonde curls on top of his perfectly dimpled face. His rosy lips were perfect kissing size, and the stormy grey-blue eyes seemed to gaze into her, straight to her soul.

She always loved attention, so she gave the guy a flirty smile, but she then went back to her study. She really needed to get through this.

The little flirt seemed to be enough to put her mind at ease, and she managed to plough through a good hour and a half of work.


Klaus picked up his phone and dialled a number.

“Jesus, what do you want?”

“It’s been nearly two hours, and she’s only noticed once.”

“I told you, it’ll take a while. Give it another hour.”

“You better be right, or my brother will find his girlfriend kidney-less.”

“Yeah, yeah, Klaus. Always with the kidney threats.”


Before she knew it, Caroline was getting antsy again. She looked up and the same guy from before still staring at her. Caroline went back to her books, but peaked looks at him every few minutes.

After another hour, however, Caroline was utterly fed up with his little routine. So decided to storm over there and cause a fuss.


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The Pain Found in the Journey Home

Summary: All Dan wants is to get home to his sweetheart, but the last few hours of his trip seem to be the longest.

Genre: angst

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: none

Notes: This is my first fic in a long while. I can’t promise that I will be posting regularly, but it feels good to be back writing.


Dan isn’t aware of his left heel tapping incessantly against the tiled floor until the man with greying hair next to him shoots a glare in his direction. His heel pauses a few millimetres from the ground and he slowly lowers it to the floor so that it makes no noise. Satisfied, the man next to him turns back to his book and leaves Dan alone with his thoughts.

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"It Won't Always Be OK" 3/3 MMFD Fan Fic

This part three out of my “It’ll Be Ok” series - it’s been really difficult and challenging to write this series, but the feedback has been so encouraging - so thank you to everyone who has liked, commented or reblogged. You’ve been amazing. 

So here’s the last installment - but read Part One & Part Two first if you haven’t already. 

It Won’t Always Be OK

It felt as if her life was just passing her by – a freight train with one destination, no time to stop and refuel or change direction. She felt her life hurtling along the tracks, missing out on opportunities that she desperately wanted to do, but couldn’t. The one problem was, however, she didn’t know where the destination was. Despite her desire to slow down, embrace life and be happy, her obsessive thoughts were getting worse, and she couldn’t do anything that meant her leaving her comfort zone. 

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