this has been sitting in my fold

Humans are weird

Got hooked on this thread. Omigosh.

So imagine a ship with a mixed crew, Aliens of different origins and some humans. The humans have been chosen for their diverse talents in mechanics, pack bonding and general toughness when facing hardship.
Suddenly one of the humans sigh very loudly, drawing attention from their fellow mates.

Jenna frowns, which is a signal of confusion. “what is wrong Jack?”

“I got the news feed from Earth, about the 2028 election. Apparently my country is going to Hell. Again.”

Quartlar looks up from his display with mild curiosity. He walks over and folds his four legs to sit next the the two humans.

“Human Jack, what has been elected?” He asks, very intrigued by human culture.

“Some religious dumbass got a minister position in the educational department. He wants to reinstate creationism, ugh!”
Jack seems deeply disturbed and annoyed by the election of their minister and Quartlar doesn’t understand why.

“Religion is the human way of worship, is it not? I know little of this concept. You worship your leaders?” He asks, red eyes blinking. Human Jenna shakes her head, a disagreement.

“Maybe some did in the past, like Saints and Priests but they were just messengers of gods. Like the middle man, chosen to preach the word.”

Human Jack cut in.
“It’s bullshit, all of it.”

Quartlar had already learnt what that phrase meant, after some confusion and explanation from Human Sam. He also had a vague understanding of these deities some humans spoke off, either while they were being jokesters or when telling stories. Like how Human Jenna had told Wer'lac he was going to Hell for stealing her snacks. After some description of the place called Hell, Wer'lac had returned said snacks very quickly. Human Jenna had later on explained it was all more or less Earth fiction. Not that it helped to make more sense.

“What is this creationism? Is it perhaps the knowledge of creating by using your hands?” Quartlar asked, still curious.
Human Jenna scoffed but it was Human Jack who answered.

“They reject science and say the earth was created in 10, 000 years by their God.”

Quartlar made a clicking noise in surprise and blinked.
“That is not remotely possible, by either geographic or biological standards!” He said, another click following. Jenna shrugged.

“The flat-earthers are way worse.” She said. Jack smiled and looked at their Alien companion.
“They believe the Earth is flat. Like a disk.”

Quartlar looked between them, to see if it was perhaps a Human prank being played, but no. Jack and Jenna just waited for his response.

“They have satellite technology and space crafts… and still do not accept the concept of a spherical globe????!!!” Quartlar asked, very stressed.
Jack shrugged.
“Your words, not mine. But yeah, pretty much. But I guess they are few left, a couple of thousand?” He trailed off, looking at the news feed again.

Quartlar stood again, overcome with shock. The Humans, so brilliant and tough and smart… some were still that far behind? And refused science?! They thought their world was flat??!!

He later on wrote a message to the Captain, asking to add intel to the file they kept on Humanity. Asides from being terrifying creatures in battle and very valuable crew members it would seem some of them were just plain useless.

Byun Baekhyun//Psych - Part 4

Originally posted by dodyo

Summary: After a month of being broke at college, you finally find a place to stay, but the only con is that there is nine other people you have to share a house with - one in particular who makes it his mission to irritate you at every turn - but they’re hiding something from you. Something big. (1/ 2/ 3/ 4/ 5/ 6/ 7)
Scenario: Werewolf!AU, college!AU, series
Word Count: 5,765

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anonymous asked:

So I have this idea. Remember when the new sanders sides video didn't come out yet? Well, I saw some people talking about what houses they would be in and some of them said that Patton would be in Slythrin, now I was like "why would you put Patton in slythrin? He's not a bad guy!" but then I saw their explination and I was like woah... that makes alot of sense and I can't write it but like could you do a tiny ficabout how the other sides would react to Patton being chosen to be in Slythrin in p1

p 2 just like a little tiny fic that people do but like in a harry potter au?

Writing a fanfic in order to procrastinate writing another fanfic?

Yeah, that sounds like me.

No warnings I can think of. Let me know if I should add some. Forgive me for putting Virgil in a house. I’ve already written a fic about him being a squib and I wanna see our witch boy be a witch.

1,791 words.

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Untitled Alpha!WS!Wing Fic

So, if you havent been following the messages lol, I am currently writing an Alpha!Tony wing fic. However, I found an Alpha!WS! Wing fic in the depths of my computer and forgot how much I loved it!
So this fic takes places in the cave in Afganistan, with Alpha!Winter Soldier guarding Omega!Tony, thsi scene is after Tony has been held for a couple weeks and the Winter Soldier has initiated some contact because for some reason, he cannot stay away from the Omega.


“Something is wrong with him.” Raza said slowly, and the Soldier glanced at him wordlessly. “You have been watching him, what is going on?”

The Soldier didn’t answer, and Raza groaned. “I know they thought not letting you speak was better for your training, but it gets annoying having to talk to myself all the time.”

They turned back to the monitors and watched Tony for a few minutes. The omega had been sitting stock still for a while now, staring at the door with a dazed sort of expression on his face, his wings folded and hidden in his back.

“He has healed enough to put his wings away. Do you miss that?” Raza continued conversationally. “I was told they clipped the muscle in your wings so you cannot put them away. You appear more intimidating with them out all the time. But you, my friend, are intimidating enough with that metal arm and muzzle. Why the muzzle? Are they afraid you will bite?” Raza laughed loudly, and the Soldier didn’t even blink, just watched him steadily with those pale blue eyes.

“The omega doesn’t bother you?” Raza asked then, looking at the Soldiers eyes for any hint of an answer. “I imagine it has been several years since you have had an omega, and male omegas are something entirely…” Raza wet his lips. “I am surprised you have not tried to help yourself to such a pretty thing.”

Those huge black wings flared then, nearly filling the small surveillance room, the metallic tips sparking as they scraped over the wall, blue eyes blazing with fury and Raza took a quick step back.

“Ah, they haven’t quite erased all the Alpha from you, have they?” Raza laughed but it wasn’t a comfortable one. “You keep an eye on the prisoner. Keep the other men away from him, especially this next week.” When the Soldier furrowed his brow, the only expression to cross his face, Raza pointed to the screen again, at Tony still in his daze.

“He is getting close to his heat, can’t you smell him? It is making the other men crazy. Keep them away from him. They will tear him apart and he is too valuable for that right now.”

The Soldiers wings settled, still arched high but not flared.

“You understand?” Raza pressed and the Soldier grunted. “No one goes near that omega. Not any of the men, and especially not you. With those wings and that arm you would kill him without even trying to. Stay away.”

Raza left the room and the Soldier leaned closer to the monitors to stare at the Omega.

Heat. Even with most of his Alpha instincts destroyed, he knew what heat meant. And he knew that if any of the other men came near the prisoner, he would rip them apart.

No matter what Raza said, the Soldier needed to be close again. Needed to touch again. Needed to reach out with his wings and comfort the omega.

He needed to feel like something else besides a weapon.

Because today when the omega had smiled at him, when Tony had spoken to him, just for that split second, the Soldier had felt… human.

The silver tipped wings flared again, filling the room as they presented out.

The Omega made the Soldier feel like an Alpha.

He liked it.

CP bachelor AU: part 4

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

“If I tell Jokaste she’s going home, on camera, you can’t stop me.”

There’s nobody else in the production tent. Laurent has finally released the rest of the crew to craft services, where they’re probably cramming down pasta and cold sausage rolls, after eleven hours straight of shooting. The suitors are in their rooms, grabbing the nine hours of sleep that their contracts allow them. Damen is meant to be in his room, the one with the white quilted bedspread.

Damen is not in his room.

Laurent looks over his shoulder at Damen for a while, wondering if he misheard. The words were stubborn enough. But Laurent has been around this industry for long enough to recognise the opening volley in a bargaining match when he hears one.

“That’s true,” he says. He doesn’t move. Damen weaves between tables and shoved-back folding chairs, and comes to look down at Laurent where Laurent is sitting in front of the editing screens. The screens are empty, a blank and famished grey-black, showing only a dull reflection of Laurent’s hair.

“But you’ll find some way to make my life miserable,” Damen says. “And–not just me, either.”

“So there are some brains in there, alongside all the protein shakes,” Laurent says.

“You saw what Jokaste did this morning.”

Laurent shifts his chair so that he’s facing Damen directly. He rests his arms on the thin metal arms of the chair, crosses one leg over the other, and leans back. “And?”

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Everyone is normal in their own way

13x01 coda, 4k, pairing: destiel

read it on Ao3

The first time it happens is only hours after they burned Kelly and … him. Dean is standing in line in front of the register to pay for Baby’s gas, while Jack, under Sam’s watchful gaze, meticulously studies the Gas’n Sip’s rather limited offer of snacks, as if they were rare pieces of art.

It already takes every ounce of restraint Dean has left in his body to not immediately haul his ass out of that damn convenience store and empty the meager contents of his stomach right in front of its door. He had only seen Cas wear his Gas’n Sip vest once, but now one glance at the guy behind the register - who doesn’t even look like Cas apart from the work uniform - and he feels like someone is twisting his insides into knots.

Dean doesn’t say a word while he pays for the gas. The cashier seems to sense that something is wrong and doesn’t press small talk, which, has the unfortunate side effect that Sam’s and Jack’s conversation is the only one in the station and Dean can do nothing to tune it out.

Sam had insisted that Jack should have some more human contact besides the two of them and Dean doesn’t have the energy to argue with him. He’d still rather see the Nephilim dead than anything else, but they have no way to gank him yet, so keeping him in their sight is really their only option. That, or they could let him loose on the world, consequences be damned. If Dean is honest with himself - and he has to be because lying, even just to himself, is too much of a damn effort right now - he is tempted to do just that.

How is it fair that this bastard son of Satan got to be born, while everyone who is supposed to be alive died? Mom, Crowley, Rowena, Kelly and … Cas. Cas, who never half-assed anything and never asked for help and never shared his burden.

It was always meant to be the three of them. Him, Sam and Cas. Now there are three of them, but the third feels like a cancer growing on Dean’s skin, not like the link in their chain that had always been missing - the link that had been Cas.

And now his brother is explaining to that intruder the difference between chocolate and gummy bears, as if the space that Cas has left behind could just be filled by anyone.

He has to close his eyes and take a deep breath, his bottom lip trembling, before he turns around to leave the store.

Closing his eyes had been a mistake, because when he opens them again, Jack is exactly in his line of sight. The Nephilim is inspecting a bag of gummy bears with an expression of utmost concentration on his face that other people would reserve for particularly difficult math problems. His brows are drawn together and he is squinting to inspect every single bear by color and suddenly Dean feels his feed move out of their own accord. They carry him out of the building and past the Impala until he is standing in front of a large field. It takes him five minutes of counting his breath to one hundred for the racing pictures in his mind to stop.

The second time it happens, they have almost reached Lebanon. Thankfully, Jack decided to sit at the window when they had set out towards the bunker, but apparently, he’s getting bored now because about half an hour away from home, he slides into the middle-seat, places his elbows on the back of the front seat and starts asking rapid fire questions.

“I know my mother and father drove in a vehicle such as this, I heard the rumble and I heard their thoughts. You don’t talk like they did. Is it customary to never talk? My mother and Castiel used to talk and they used to think. Of course, I heard their thoughts at all times, so I never had to experience silence. My father never liked the silence, did you know? It is so silent, now that I have left my mother’s womb. She always thought such lovely things, but she was also scared. Her heartbeat was always there, but sometimes it was so quick and her thoughts were racing and hard to keep up with. Now the only heartbeat I can hear is my own. Do you miss your mother’s heartbeat as I do?”

Dean’s knuckles turn white on the steering wheel, but Sam turns around, ridding him of the chance to blow up in Jack’s face.

“We don’t remember our time in our mother’s womb. In fact, all humans don’t. You’re special in that regard.”

Jack cocks his head to the side and the smooth skin between his eyebrows crinkles.

“That sounds terribly lonely.” He says it as if he genuinely feels for them. Dean stares right ahead, refusing to take his eyes off the road.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Jack lean back in his seat, but the nephilim doesn’t move over to sit by the window again. Instead he stays in the middle.

Dean tries, he really does, not to risk a glance in the mirror. But it happens anyway. Maybe it’s a treacherous part of him that simply can’t give up hope just yet, maybe it’s pure habit, but his eyes flicker to the rearview mirror several times, each time causing him to flinch when he doesn’t see familiar blue eyes gazing back at him.

Again, Sam seems to sense what he needs. He turns around to look at Jack, maybe to convey the importance of his request through his expression and asks him to move back to the window seat.

Amidst the empty, seemingly endless void that has cloaked Dean’s every emotion since he set Cas’ pyre aflame, he feels a glimmer of love and affection for Sam, fighting its way to the surface. It’s so intense and unexpected that he has to close his eyes for a moment.

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Vocabulary Lessons

A/N: I can’t remember who I saw post about needing some sweet Sam fics, but that’s what got me to thinking about this one. Then, I stumbled upon a list of beautiful words in the English language, and it was like it was meant to be. And the result of that pairing is this little one shot. Hope you love it, and as usual, all feedback is welcomed and appreciated. Let me know if you wanted to be added or removed from my tag list. 

Warnings: Fluffy, fluff; mild language; mentions of sexiness and nudity

Word Count: 1300-ish


“What the hell are you muttering about this early in the morning, Sam Winchester?” Y/N grumbled sleepily and wiggled deeper under the covers, snuggling back against him as she did so.

“You heard me,” he chuckled softly, wrapping his arm around her tightly and kissing the back of her head. “You are a somnambulist.”

She sighed lazily, smiling but never opening her eyes. Leave it to her nerdy Sam to spring a vocabulary lesson on her at the crack ass of dawn. “You’re a somna-whatever-the-ist,” she muttered back weakly, not having a clue what the silly word even meant.

He snorted in amusement at the pitiful comeback. “You are almost as bad as Dean in the witty comeback department, Y/N.” 

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Anyway at some point they will be sitting together one evening, hopelessly married without yet being so (possibly engaged tho) in their respective armchairs and Magnus will have those reading glasses on he doesn’t really need, writing in his journal and Alec will be trying to focus on his book or paperwork or whatever he’d be busy with, work never sleeps, but instead he’d just be watching Magnus, the way his hand would fly back and forth, and the scratch of feather on paper and his hair, quite different a style than when they first met, getting in the way all the time so Magnus would blow the bangs back in a way he wouldn’t even be conscious of that made Alec’s heart badum in his chest almost painfully and so Alec’d be thinking and then just say it like he usually does, really, “I want to become immortal.” and Magnus would almost spill the ink he’d be letting float before him in midair before looking up real slow to give Alec the “istfg Alexander” look of exasperation and adoration and then sit back real slow taking the glasses off folding them in his lap bc “Okay…why?” so Alec, who we know has been thinking about Magnus’ immortality since the very beginning, who has definitely registered they discrepancy between “he’s immortal” and “I’m not” and “i want to be with him forever”, tries to explain in really sober manner really but it still spills out of him in a gurgle of emotion bc the thought of actually getting eternity with his love….and that’s how after lots of quite pragmatic “you’re the love of my life, obviously I want to be with you until the end of time” statements Alec asks “It’s possible, right?” and that’s really how they have that conversation proper bc sure as hell it is.

anonymous asked:

Your Scotty headcanon from last night had me emotional and I was wondering if when you have the time you could do the same or something similar for AOS Jim? Please and thank you.

Originally posted by leetya-blog

Jim Kirk loves boldly.

Jim realizes that there’s something different about Leonard McCoy right off the bat. 

Jim kind of wants to kiss him. Jim definitely wants to fuck him. There’s something about Leonard McCoy that holds him back. There’s something about Leonard McCoy that draws him in. 

Jim doesn’t spend too much time pondering it. He’s not a worrier or an overanalyzer, and besides, things usually seem to work themselves out, in the end. 

Jim realizes that he’s in love with Bones only after Gaila calls him on it. 

“I am not,” he opens his mouth to protest, but her words, and their meaning, sink in before he can deny it. 

“Huh,” he says instead.

“Huh,” says Gaila in return, because she’d only half-believed it anyway. She’d fully expected Jim to laugh her off, threatening to prove to her once and for all that Jim Kirk isn’t in love with any dude, thank you very much, but Jim actually seems to be considering it, and for the first time in her life, Gaila finds herself at a loss.

Jim’s not paying her any attention. “I’m in love with Bones,” he says absently, and that is that.

Jim realizes that this scares the ever-loving shit out of him. 

Jim ponders it for a solid week. He’s broody, silent, giving Bones subtle side-eye until Bones finally throws his PADD and says, “What the fuck is wrong with you, Jim?”

“Nothing,” says Jim, and then he bolts out the door, away from Bones and his discerning gaze.

He finds himself ambling across the quad, hands stuffed deeply in his pockets. Why Bones, of all people? Bones is his best friend. Jim cares about Bones. Cares deeply, in fact. His friendship with Bones is important to him. It’s simple, uncomplicated - or it was - and the last thing Jim wants to do is risk it all on a silly social construct like love.

He avoids the apartment for the rest of the week.

Jim realizes abruptly, during his advanced tactics class, that love is a risky game

He realizes that love is taking your body, heart, and soul, all that you are, and entrusting it to another person. That of course that other person is someone you care deeply about, otherwise it wouldn’t be love. That there’s nobody in this world that Jim trusts more than Leonard McCoy.

“Oh,” he says.

“You have something to add, Kirk?” Admiral Archer peers expectantly over his spectacles. 

“Fundamental in allowing for boldness is accepting the inevitability of chaos,” Jim answers automatically. 

“Excellent,” says Archer warmly. “The logic of calculated risk taking has no place in it for chaos,” he continues, rapping his cane on the podium. “There must be a balance between analyzing risks, ladies and gentlemen, and acting. That balance is boldness.”

And with that, Jim makes up his mind.

Jim realizes that wooing Bones is going to be difficult. 

The thing is, he’s not wooing Bones, not exactly. Wooing is Jim Kirk’s game, and he excels at it, but this, this is different. He’s not pursuing, charming, chasing, propositioning. Jim doesn’t have good words for what he wants with Bones. It’s a slower thing, a gentler thing, a stabler, tender, sensitive thing, and Jim’s not quite sure how to label it, let alone approach it.

Everything he tries fails horribly. 

Bones thinks nothing of it when Jim takes him to dinner. 

Bones thinks nothing of it when Jim hacks the call system on Bones’ birthday.

Bones drinks the expensive bourbon without a word. 

Bones just sighs when Jim crawls into bed with him. 

He elbows Jim hard when Jim reaches for his hand.

Bones quirks an eyebrow at the candles. “You’re gonna burn the building down if you’re not careful, Jim,” he drawls. 

Jim decides it’s time for the direct approach. He shoots Bones a message. “Meet me after clinic,” it says. “Need to talk.”

“Well,” says Bones, folding his arms across his chest and giving Jim The Eyebrow. “What did you wanna talk about first, kid, the fact that I’m all out of bourbon, or how a year and a half later, I’m still stumbling over your fucking shoes in the morning?” Bones nudges the offending item with his toe. “This one’s even got some of the quad left on it.” 

“No, asshat, I love you,” Jim blurts, because he’s already replaced the damn bourbon, if someone would be bothered to look, and honestly, how thick can Bones be? 

Bones whistles appreciatively. “That’s a good one, Jim.” He shakes his head and settles on his desk, half sitting, half leaning. “Save it for someone who’ll buy it.” 

“No, Bones, I’m serious.” Jim’s sick and tired of dancing around it. “I’m in love with you.”

Bones goes very still. 

Jim moves toward him. “Bones?”

Bones snaps his head up and just stares at Jim for a long moment. “You mean you want to fuck me,” he says slowly. His brow is furrowed.

“No,” says Jim, a little put out. Why does Bones make it sound like such a bad thing? “No. I mean, yes, god, yes, but it’s more than that, Bones. You’re more than that. I want… I want the dating, I think,” Jim pauses, shaking his head, because that’s not quite right.  “And I want us to sleep in the same bed -”  

Bones snorts.

“No, I mean really, not just because yours is closest to the door! And I want…” Jim’s voice breaks. He can’t find the words for exactly what he wants, and fuck, he really should have thought this through. He’s rambling now, panicking. “I want to touch you, Bones, not for any reason, just because, and I want to take you out, just us, like, together together, and I want this to be real, not some -”

Bones cuts him off with a wave of his hand and a sharp, “How much have you had to drink?”

“Nothing!” Jim protests, and Bones must believe him, because he lets it go, moving wearily to the couch and sinking down with his head in his hands.

Jim sits hesitantly beside him.

“Jim,” he sighs heavily through his fingers, and then he’s looking at Jim with eyes that are too dark, almost desperate. “You do not love me. You are not in love with me. Okay?”

“Bullshit.” Jim says firmly. He’s having to hold back a grin, because Bones’ tone is telling him a lot. 

He knows better than to push, though. Not today.

“Unbelievable,” Bones mutters, reaching for his PADD. Jim knows he’s going to bury himself in case studies for the rest of the evening.

That’s fine, though. Jim leaves the conversation feeling lighter than he has in a month. He decides he’ll just have to tell Bones every day until Bones believes him.

Jim tells Bones every morning as they’re brushing their teeth. He leaves handwritten notes around the apartment for Bones to find. He sends Bones messages on his comm at the clinic, and he bombards Bones’ PADD during his slow lectures. He tells Bones as they’re walking across the quad, and he tells Bones when he stumbles in at 2 am on Thirsty Thursday.

Bones grouses, rolls his eyes, mostly ignores him, until one day, he grips Jim’s arm tightly. “Jim, stop,” he says raggedly, and his eyes are dark, pleading. “Please.” 

So Jim does.

At least, he stops saying it verbally. But he’s careful to keep his boots under his bed, and he leaves the bourbon in Bones’ closet, where he can find it. He makes coffee, he folds laundry. He resolutely ignores Gaila’s suggestive gaze, and he makes a calculated effort to come home before midnight, particularly after Bones has been on call. 

It goes on for months. Jim’s about ready to give up on love altogether when he finds Bones sitting on his bed one afternoon.

“Jim,” says Bones in a raw voice, and Jim can see immediately that it’s been a terrible shift. Bones’ eyes are bloodshot, and he smells like cheap whiskey and antiseptic. “Did you mean it?”

And Jim knows, immediately, what Bones is asking. “With all my heart, Bones,” he says softly, gently prying the bottle away from his fingers. “And we’re gonna have the rest of this conversation sober, okay?”

Bones quirks his head in question, blinking blearily up at Jim as if he’s never seen him before. “Okay,” he says finally.

Jim realizes that even after they’re together, Bones is the one that’s going to hold them back.

It’s that risk-taking thing again, Jim knows. Once bitten, twice shy, the saying goes, and that’s Bones all over. 

Jim is patient. He tries his best to be gentle, not to push. 

When Bones wants to take things slow, Jim agrees. When Bones isn’t comfortable taking his hand in public, Jim understands. 

When Bones calmly introduces Jim to Phillip Boyce as his partner, Jim’s face breaks into a wide grin, and he thinks he’s never been more delighted in his life. 

Jim realizes, after the Harrison incident, that his death had shaken Bones, but his resurrection had shattered him.

It takes him a while to understand. Jim’s own thoughts are in turmoil, his own emotions bleeding and raw, and Bones had been so solid, so composed, that Jim almost hadn’t recognized the signs at all. 

It nearly breaks them.

Jim’s got to get back on his feet again, and then there’s the whole fiasco with the medical board of ethics that leaves Bones fighting for his license, but when the dust settles, Jim acts. He’s desperate to save his relationship, to save Bones, Bones who’s saved him so many times, in so many ways, and nearly lost himself in the process. 

So Jim pulls all the strings he can, and nearly burns some bridges to do it, but he finally gets ‘fleet approval for an extended leave of absence for both himself and for Bones. 

He takes Bones back home, home to Georgia, away from rank and regulations and responsibilities. They spend long lazy days in the hot sun, rebuilding, relearning. 

Jim realizes after Yorktown that he wants to marry Bones.

It hits him suddenly, with a force that knocks the breath from his lungs and sends his emotions reeling. 

He’s at a press conference with the bridge officers. Ben comes to stand beside Hikaru, and the Sulu’s are met with a flurry of questions.

“My husband,” says Hikaru, reaching up to place his hand on Ben’s arm. His wedding band glistens in the light.

My husband.

My husband.

The words reverberate incessantly in Jim mind. Simple words, effortless words, but powerful, profound, absolutely earth-shattering to Jim. 

My husband.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Bones says over dinner that evening. He shoots Jim a questioning little glance.

“Just thinking,” says Jim distractedly. 

“Well I’ll be damned,” Bones drawls through a bite of replicated new potato. He lifts an eyebrow. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Jim.”

“Shut up,” says Jim, but his words are without heat. He’s in the middle of a personal paradigm shift, mind far too occupied to engage in playful banter over the dinner table. 

Bones shrugs, rolls his eyes, and leaves Jim to his thoughts. 

Jim’s never really considered marriage. It’s never been on his bucket list, it’s not something he’s ever needed, or wanted.

Until now.

He looks over at Bones, oblivious, gorgeous Bones, gnawing on dry, tasteless chicken with a disgusted little snarl on his lip. His hair’s in disarray from where he’s run his hands through it one too many times. He’s barefooted, still wearing his ‘fleet issue blue scrubs from rounds that morning. 

We can’t get married, Jim thinks, turning over the fraternization policies in his mind. Their relationship isn’t secret, not by a long shot, but it would be hard for the brass to turn a blind eye to holy matrimony. Jim shakes his head. The Captain and the CMO. It’s a ridiculous idea. 

Archer’s words come back to him suddenly, from years ago. 

“There must be a balance between analyzing risks, ladies and gentlemen, and acting.”

Boldness, Jim remembers. The balance between acting and analyzing. 

He smiles. He’ll find a ring tomorrow. 

Dancing Queen (Lin x Reader)

Request: Hi! I love your writing and I saw that your requests were open, so do you think you could do a Lin x Reader where the reader is a dancer (ballet/contemporary) and she constantly thinks her dancing isn’t good enough, but Lin does some fluffy thing to convince her that it is?? i’m very sorry if this is vague, but thank you!

TW: Swearing, Self-doubt

Tags: @im-way-too-many-fandoms 

Masterlist Mobile Masterlist

You jump, swinging your leg behind you before landing harshly on the shiny, wooden floor. “Fuck,” you whisper. You groan and stand back up. Just as you start your next dance, you hear a voice behind you.

“I never want to hear another word about how I overwork myself.”

You roll your eyes and start over again. “What time is it?”

“Oh, only three in the morning.” Your fiance walks over to you and wraps his arms around you, effectively stopping your practice. “Come on, babe. Come home.”

You shrug him off. “I will as soon as I get this move right.”

He shakes his head and grabs your arms. “(Y/N). I will give you one more time to practice. Then, you need come home with me.”

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Our Umbrella

Pairing: YouxMinhyun

Sequel to Our Table


Trying to meet up with an idol is hard. 

After you and Minhyun initially trade numbers, it’s difficult to find a time and place to meet up other than the cafe. It’s not as if the two of you can just walk around Seoul to hang out–it’s risky enough that he makes his regular visits to the cafe to see you. Walking around the country’s most populated city would be like handing candy to Dispatch. 

So, for a while, nothing really changes. Minhyun still comes to the cafe a few times a week, and when he’s not around, you both text almost constantly, even sneaking in a phone call or two when the stars align and you sell your soul the two of you actually have free time that matches up. 

You enjoy your time together, of course, but you can’t help the sinking feeling in your gut every time plans to meet up fall through–either because you have to study or because he has a schedule–finding a place to actually meet aside from the cafe just adds to the difficulty.

To make matters worse, you have no idea what the two of you are.

You like him. That much you know for sure. But him? Common sense says he likes you too–he talks to you constantly, sneaks away to see you at work on a regular basis, and sometimes even scoops your hand in his own mid-conversation as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, but a horrible nagging in the back of your head can’t accept it as true until something just…gives.

A date, a verbal declaration, anything to absolutely positively confirm the feelings you harbor are mutual. But you’re too afraid to ask, too afraid to push for more than the contact you already have with the beautiful man at your table. 

The cruel little voice in the back of your head doesn’t help, either. That voice that constantly tells you that someone like Hwang Minhyun could never like someone like you. Of the sea of girls he could pick from, why would he pick you? Some random grad student who works part-time at a cafe? No, it would just never work. You’re just setting yourself up to be hurt.

But despite your better judgement you allow yourself to still rely on his company. 

Today is no different. As the clock approaches 6 you glance at the door every few moments. Now you actually know for sure which days Minhyun will come into the cafe since you’re both in constant contact, but you still find yourself anticipating his entrance. 

He eventually walks in, white mask contrasting with his dark hair, eyes crinkled to signal his smile. He approaches the counter, maintaining eye-contact with you the entire time. (Which low-key makes it very hard for you to breathe but ANYWAY)

“Can I get a cappuccino with an–”

“Extra shot,” you finish, not even trying to fight the smile splitting your face. 

Minhyun chuckles and nods before heading over to your table. It’s the same introductory script, every time, and each time it never fails to make your heart skip a beat.

God, you have it bad for this man.

You take his cappuccino over to the table, a latte of your own gripped in your other hand.

Minhyun already sits settled in his seat, mask off and folded neatly on the table. You take your place across from him, sliding him his drink, fingers brushing when he reaches to take it from you. 

“How’s your day been?” he asks before taking a sip.

You smile, “very average,” you reply. “Class this morning, then I’ve been here since two. Very very average.”

“So it’s safe to say seeing me has been the best part of your day,” Minhyun relays smugly.

Seeing you is always the best part of my day, you almost say, but instead settle for wrinkling your nose at the man across from you and take a drink from your mug in an attempt to hide the color flooding your face.  

“Ah, what time do you get off today?” he asks suddenly.

You furrow your brow, trying to remember your shift for the day, “I’m pretty sure I close today, so I’m here until 9. Why?”

Minhyun’s face falls a bit, “ahh, the schedule I had for 7 got pushed back to 9, so I was going to suggest we go do something together,” a corner of his mouth quirks up and he shakes his head a bit, “ it’s fine, though, I don’t mind staying here since you have to work.”

You give an apologetic smile, stomach sinking slightly in disappointment at another missed opportunity.

A sigh escapes you before you can help it and Minhyun immediately scoops up your free hand, easily fitting his fingers into the spaces between your own. 

“What’s up?”

You feel your cheeks grow warm and you glance up at Minhyun’s face. His brow is furrowed and his head is tilted slightly. He gives your fingers a squeeze when you don’t immediately respond. 

You smile brightly at him and shake your head, “it’s nothing, really.”

Minhyun looks ready to interject when someone appears around the partition. Your hand is immediately dropped and Minhyun has already pulled the mask back over the lower half of his face. 

The newcomer turns out to be the cafe owner, and you hold a hand to your chest in relief. Had it been anyone else, things could have gone downhill very quickly. 

The elderly man smiles at the both of you, nodding to each of you in turn.

“Y/N, Mr. Hwang, nice to see ya nice to see ya,” he greets, and you both bow in response. 

“Is everything okay, sir?” you ask.

“oh yes, yes,” he says, waving you off, “I just wanted to come tell you both we’ll be closing early today, so, Y/N, you can head on home.”

Your eyebrows raise at the news, “closing early? Why?”

The owner points at the window–raindrops slap against the glass, “there’s supposed to be a bad storm tonight, so it’s best you get home before it gets too nasty. All the other customers have already left.”

You stand up to peek over the partition at the rest of the cafe, and, sure enough, it’s completely empty. The “open” sign at the front door is already turned around to read “closed”.

“Ah…” you trail off, glancing at Minhyun then back at your boss, “okay, would you like me to clean anything up before I head out or…”

“No no no,” the owner laughs, “head on home. we can worry about that later.”

You nod as the owner bids you both farewell, and turn back to focus on Minhyun.

“Well…what now?”

Within a few moments you and Minhyun are out in the rain, huddled under an umbrella you’d swiped from the break room.

The rain is coming down heavier now, hitting your shoulder despite the umbrella, and Minhyun casually slings an arm around you to pull you closer, “where should we go?” he asks, voice steady.

You see how red his ears have gone, despite his verbal nonchalance, and smile.

“I’m fine with anywhere, but isn’t this a little…risky?” you suspiciously eye every person you pass, hoping they won’t look up and recognize who you’re walking with. 

Minhyun hums in agreement, nodding slightly. 

“This might be a bit bold of me, but what about going to your place?” he asks, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, “I’m not insinuating anything weird, I promise, it’s just with the rain and the people…” he trails off, and you can tell the blush has spread to the back of his neck.

You ponder the suggestion, nerves settling into your stomach at the thought of Hwang Minhyun being in your apartment. It makes sense, though–it’d be private, you could talk, but it would also be the first time you both haven’t been in the cafe when you’re together. Even now–walking huddled together under the umbrella–is completely new for the two of you. But it’s Minhyun. You trust him. And isn’t this what you wanted? A change of scenery rather than just being stuck in the same ambiguous situation at the cafe? 

Minhyun seems to take your prolonged silence as a rejection, his arm slowly lifting from around your shoulders, “I’m sorry, Y/N, that was too forward of me,” he chuckles awkwardly, “we can just meet again next time–”

“No!” you exclaim, grabbing his hand before it can completely leave your shoulder. You feel your face burn at your own actions but steel your nerves, committed. “My place is fine. It’s not far from here.”

Minhyun looks shocked, but then his eyes crinkle, “okay,” he says, almost too quiet for you to hear. 

Just then a gush of wind hits you both, the rain immediately becoming heavier and completely turning your umbrella inside-out.

You grab Minhyun’s hand and pull him down a side street toward your apartment, “this way!” you exclaim, eyes squinting against the sheets of rain.

You don’t live very far from the cafe, your apartment building only being a few blocks away, but it’s still enough time for the two of you to get completely soaked. You quickly punch in the security code to get into the lobby of the building. Once inside you take a moment to catch your breath before looking at each other.

Minhyun is thoroughly drenched, hair sticking to his forehead and breath coming in short gasps, his mask nearly translucent from the rain. You aren’t much better, your clothes sticking to every inch of your body and teeth chattering from the cold. You both stare at each other for a moment longer and then break out into laughter, clutching your sides at the hilarity of the situation.

“Our umbrella was absolutely no help,” Minhyun gasps out, holding up the broken thing in front of the both of you.  

You laugh, tears forming at the corners of your eyes as you clutch at your stomach, “our poor umbrella.”

When you both recover from your little fit you wave him over to the elevator. Your room is on the fifth floor, and your teeth chatter as the elevator pulls you up. Minhyun slings an arm around you and begins to rub your arm, not saying a word, and you lean into him, relishing in the warmth. All too quickly the elevator dings and the doors slide open. You lead Minhyun down the hall to your room, punching in the code and shuffling inside. 

Your room is pretty large for a studio, the kitchen at the entrance providing more counter space than most places in Seoul and the main living space leaving enough room for your double bed, desk, couch and coffee table. You flip on the light as Minhyun closes the door behind you and pulls off his ruined mask. Kicking off your shoes you duck into the bathroom, tossing a towel to the idol before wrapping one around yourself. 

“I think I should have some clothes that will fit you…” you say as you pad over to your closet and rummage through the shelves. You eventually pull out a set of men’s sweats, and hand them over.

Minhyun takes them, eyeing them curiously with a frown before looking back up at you, “ex-boyfriend’s?” 

You laugh at the comment and shake your head, “jealous?” you chide.

“Absolutely,” he replies, not missing a beat, frown still in place. 

You feel your face color for what must be the millionth time today, “th-they’re a set I took from my dad,” you supply quickly, avoiding his gaze. “You can change in the bathroom. Don’t come out until I say so so that I can change here,” you push him hastily into the bathroom, hearing him laugh as you shut the door. 

You place a hand on your chest in an attempt to calm your pulse. 

Hwang Minhyun is jealous.

“Pull yourself together, Y/N,” you mutter to yourself, smacking your cheeks lightly before going to fetch dry clothes.

You’re pulling a large sweater over your head when Minhyun’s voice calls from the bathroom, “can I come out, now?”

“No!” you shout back, shimmying into some leggings before moving to pull your wet hair up. 

Only when you’ve stowed away your soaked clothes do you let Minhyun come out. 

The sight of him in your dad’s sweats makes you laugh a bit, and you wave him over to sit on the couch. 

“Want some tea?”

Minhyun nods, plopping onto your couch. It’s silent then as you put the kettle on the stove and dig out the tea leaves from your cabinet. You almost jump when a ringtone suddenly sounds through the apartment. 

You turn to see Minhyun looking at his phone. He makes eye contact with you, holds a finger to his mouth telling you to stay quiet, then swipes the screen to answer.

“Ah, Manager-hyung. Yeah, I’m fine, I’m at a…” his eyes glance up to meet your own before looking away again, “I’m with a friend right now, because of the storm.”

You want to slap yourself for being disappointed at the use of the word “friend”. You know it’s just because he’s on the phone with his manager. But at the same time, it brings your mind back to the issue of what the hell are you if you aren’t a friend?

Thunder rumbles in the distance and you glance out your apartment window to see the rain coming down even harder than before. 

“Ah, really? Okay then, yeah. Okay, sure. Bye.” Minhyun tosses his phone onto the table and catches your eye, “my schedules for tonight got canceled. Because of the weather.”

“You can stay here,” you blurt out, “until it lightens up.” You point out the window just as a flash of lightening illuminates the room and makes you jump.

Minhyun chuckles and stands, “thanks.” You tense, thinking he’s coming towards you, but he walks past you to get to the stove, removing the kettle to start making your cups of tea.

“Ah, I was going to make it…”

He glances over at you with a smile before giving you a light shove toward the couch, “you always make my drink. It’s my turn.”

You furrow your brow, frowning, but he continues to shoo you away. You eventually concede and shuffle over to the couch to claim the spot Minhyun previously occupied.

He brings the steaming mugs over after a few minutes, handing one to you before sitting down next to you. You accept it gratefully, holding it atop your knees that are pulled up to your chest. You’re still chilly from the rain, and you appreciate the heat from the mug seeping into your fingers. 

Minhyun studies the room as he sips at his own tea, “so this is where you live? It looks like you.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, “what does that mean?” 

“Nothing bad. I like it,” he laughs, “it’s just that it suits you. It looks like you.” 

You hum in response, studying the warm tones of your room. This apartment has been the most at home you’ve ever felt, even compared to the house you grew up in. You love your room, and there’s a sort of satisfaction that accompanies the fact that Minhyun thinks the room matches you. 

You decide to change the subject. “So is your manager okay? With you staying with a…friend?” the last word comes out strangled, and you can tell Minhyun notices.

“Well…” he starts slowly, obviously choosing his words very carefully, “he’s okay with me staying with a ‘friend’, but I wasn’t exactly telling the truth, was I? You aren’t a friend.”

You feel his eyes boring into the side of your face, but you keep your gaze fixated on the cup in your hands, gathering up the courage to ask your next question, “Minhyun, what are we?” It’s a quiet question, but you know he hears it. 

He shifts on the couch so that he’s facing you completely,”what do you want us to be, Y/N?” he asks softly, “what do you want to be?”

Your teeth pull at your bottom lip and your grip tightens on your cup. Butterflies erupt in your stomach. “Yours.”

Minhyun sets his own mug on the coffee table and quickly pulls your own from your grip to set it aside as well. And then he’s pulling you to him, one arm snaking around your waist as his other hand cups the back of your head, his face pressing into the crook of your neck. 

“Thank God,” he mumbles, breath tickling you. 

You automatically hug him back, the heat from his cheek on your neck telling you he’s blushing just as hard as you are.

“Just so there’s no confusion, you’re my girlfriend. I’m your boyfriend. We’re a couple,” He says quickly into your neck, and you can’t help but laugh at the childish tone of his voice. 

“Okay, okay,” you laugh as he pulls back to look at you, a wide grin on his face.

He just stares at you, smile still in place, and you just automatically lean forward to press your own mouth to his. 

You immediately feel him freeze, but he quickly recovers and responds, moving a hand to the back of your neck and tightening the grip on your waist. 

You’re both breathless when you finally separate, and the hungry look in his eyes sets a fire in your belly. He starts to lean in again…but then you sneeze.

He looks shocked, then falls back, laughing.

You pout slightly, sneezing again before rubbing at your nose. 

“Is it–is it because our umbrella broke?” Minhyun asks, leaning back up to lace your fingers together with one hand and pet your hair with the other. “You’ve caught a cold from the rain?”

“Maybe,” you mutter, still pouting over the fact you completely ruined the moment as he smoothes your hair. 

“Ahhh,” he sighs, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead. “Time for you to go to bed, then.”

“It’s only 7:30!” you exclaim, still allowing yourself to be pulled over to your bed. 

Minhyun shrugs as you climb under your covers, “you can’t get sick, you have to spend time with me tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that,” he pulls the blanket up to your chin before again smoothing your hair. 

He turns to head over to the couch once you’re settled, but you grab his hand, “stay.”

You’re surprised at your own boldness, but…he’s your boyfriend. Right?

He looks down at you and sighs, not even trying to hide the satisfied smile on his face. “Whatever you say,” he replies, sliding into the bed next to you.

You settle quickly into his arms, his mouth pressing a kiss into your hair before speaking again, “you better not get me sick.”

You snort at that, face buried in his chest, “it’s our umbrella’s fault.”

Minhyun squeezes you, and you feel yourself drifting a bit, “I actually am pretty thankful for our umbrella,” he murmurs.

You just smile, thinking the same thing. 


This is cheesy af and I 100% attribute that to the three glasses of wine I had while writing it. I hope it doesn’t disappoint!!🙈 And now more wine. Because why not. 

Thanksgiving {Batfamily x Reader}

*This is a sequel to Egghead, a story about adopting a rottweiler who used to be involved in dogfighting, I highly recommend you read it before this :)*

a/n~ it’s a bit early, but i really loved the idea of a batfamily thanksgiving! i’m so thankful for you guys, your support means the world to me! happy early thanksgiving (and if you don’t celebrate it b/c youre from another country, happy early november 23rd!)  ❤ ❤ ❤

You set the pumpkin in the center of the table, then took a step back to examine whether it needed to be moved slightly to the left or right. Alfred stepped around you and put the bowl of mashed potatoes on the table, “Why, that’s very festive, Y/N.,” he nodded then turned to get the stuffing. You followed him back to the kitchen to help him set the table for Thanksgiving dinner. Jason and Dick were drinking apple cider around the island counter while Egghead wagged his tail by Jason’s leg.

The family has had Egghead for 6 months now, and it was one of the best decisions you’ve made to adopt him. Everyone in the household would set aside their differences as soon as Eggy would step into the room. He’s been mischievous, though. One night, when everyone in the house was out on night patrol or doing missions and Alfred was at the store, Egghead took a dump in the house, rolled around in it, and then proceeded to run throughout the halls, streaking crap along the walls and floors. It took 2 weeks for everyone to scrub the hallways down.

“Jay, will you bring out the green bean casserole? And Dick, can you get the pie and cobbler, please?” you asked as you picked up the dish of cranberry sauce. They set down their mugs and carried out the foods. As Jason was walking, Egghead squirmed between his legs. Just as Jason turned the corner, he tripped and dropped the casserole all over Damian, who was walking from the other direction.

“You imbecile!” Damian yelled at Jason. Egghead started to eat the casserole off of the floor as Jason was roaring with laughter. Damian stood there with his fists clenched as green beans fell off of his tailored tux. Bruce heard the yelling and stepped around the corner,  and inspected the scene. 

“Stop laughing! This is a serious dilemma! My tuxedo has been soiled!”

“I’m so-I’m-HAAAAA-I’m-HAHAHA-s-s-HAHAHAHAHA,” Jason was hunched over, clutching his abdomen as he snorted, “I can’t breathe!”

Bruce folded his arms and groaned, “Damian, go upstairs and change into something else. We’ll deal with this later. Jason, quit laughing and go sit down at the table. The dog will clean up this mess.”

Damian stomped up the flight of stairs, leaving a trail of green beans and gravy as Jason tried to hold back his laughter. Bruce headed back to the kitchen to get the turkey. Everyone sat around the table, and Damian joined a bit late. 

Bruce set the turkey onto the table, “Dinner is served.”

Everyone immediately started passing around the entrees as Bruce worked to cut the turkey quickly enough for the 14 people at the table. The dish of stuffing went around 3 times, and the cranberry sauce dish was sliding around the table, so everyone could get some. After everyone had said the prayer, they all dug into their foods.

“Selina, I’m so happy you could make it,” Bruce smiled as he took a bite of his turkey. Selina sprinkled salt onto her food and smiled back at him, “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

At the other end of the table, Tim kept throwing turkey under the table for Ace as Dick and Barbara played rock, paper, scissors over the last butter roll. Jason and you were arguing over whether frosting turned a muffin into a cupcake or not. Alfred was talking to Helena about his recipe for the cobbler. Damian, Steph, and Cass were all trying to come up with the most offensive jokes they could think to say to eachother.

The turkey sat at the end of the table, on the edge of the other entrees. Egghead knew he wanted it. His tail was wagging and his saliva was pooling on the floor. i neeeeed that turkey, the rottweiler must have thought. Finally, he jumped onto the table, fit the whole turkey inside of his mouth, and made a run for it. The whole family darted from their seats to take the turkey from the dog. Egghead ran through the manor with the turkey in his mouth as the family came at him from all directions. As the dog would go into one door, a family member would jump out the other. As everyone was chasing the rottweiler, Alfred had a plan. Tim and Barbara chased him to the door of the kitchen, where Alfred stood tall.

“Stop!” The dog stopped. “Sit!” Egghead sat. “Drop!” He dropped his turkey and gave the puppy eyes. Alfred scooped the turkey off of the floor and set it on a plate. Everyone rejoiced in the kitchen, laughing at the mishap. Jason ended up apologizing to Damian and they hugged it out. 

“We all need to get a family picture, the camera is set up in the parlor,” Bruce announced. 

The enormous family gathered around the sofa, the men standing behind it as the women sat on the cushions. Damian stood by the side, because he was too short. Alfred pushed the button and quickly shuffled to the opposite side of the sofa. 

“Everyone say, ‘Happy Thanksgiving!”

As soon as everyone said it in unison, Egghead popped his head into frame and the flash went off. What a photobomb.

 egghead     masterlist

@athos-silvani you gave me an idea. an adoribull idea

“I can’t believe I’m being held hostage in my own home by a bird.” Dorian stares bitterly out the window. The day is perfectly warm and sunny, but there are swans in his garden.

Bull comes up behind him, wrapping his arms around Dorian’s waist. “Were you planning on leaving?”

“Not a second sooner than I have to, Amatus.” He accepts a kiss on his cheek. “It would just be nice to walk outside without having my ankles snapped at by a bad-tempered feather duster.”

“You just need to give it some time. At least they don’t let burglars anywhere near the house.”

Dorian sighs. “What heroic creatures they are. We should buy them golden collars and name our villa after their flock.”

Bull laughs. “You could change the Pavus crest to be a swan instead of a peacock. Hang a portrait of Melvin in your house in Qarinus.”

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Pater’s Rose 8

So guys, here is Part 8 of Parter’s Rose!!! I hope you will like it!!! 

And I’m so honored that I inspire some people with my writing!!! 

Thank you so much! 

All the love 


I lean exhausted and numb against the window, my eyes red and swollen. I have no tears anymore and my chest is hurting because of the deep desperate sobs which escaped from my empty shell. Halfway through the trip a woman enters my compartment; she carries a little child with her, a girl with dark curls. I smile at her and she nods as she sits down across from me. I examine the new passengers:

The little Miss looks cute in her dark green dress, her long curls falling over her shoulders with such a naturalness that every woman would be jealous. Her skin looks delicate like china; her cheeks have a rose color and her lips have a beautiful curve. Her dark eyes are awake and interested. Her little legs dangle excitedly against the cushion of the seat.

The bow in her hair matches perfectly the color of her dress. She babbles endlessly and her mother nods and smiles. From time to time she points out of the window and I follow her finger too, only to see me in the reflection of the pane. A pale teary face with sad big eyes. Nothing more. Nothing less.

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Off The Menu

The kitchen was too small for two chefs: especially when one was an arrogant flirt who was after HER job.

Also on FF.NET and AO3

@chasingawaythefoosa wanted a chef au. Part of my series of tropey fics that I’m currently working on (open for more prompts for a little longer).

I got totally carried away and this ended up 4.7k. Oops.

Killian Jones had a lazy smirk, perfectly disheveled hair, questionably tight dark jeans and a way of undressing you with his eyes that was all too appealing when one’s guard was down. Not that Emma Swan ever let her guard down around him. From the moment she met him she saw him for what he was: an arrogant skirt chaser who was also chasing her job.

When Archie Hopper, head chef and owner of ‘Archibald’s’ had announced that he would be taking on a another sous chef, Emma had been furious. She’d spent three years working her ass off to climb the hierarchy at Boston’s best French restaurant, sacrificing anything resembling a social life to achieve her dream of culinary success. Six months ago when she had been promoted to second in command she’d been elated.

The next step would be her own kitchen. She knew if she continued to show her dedication that Archie would notice; he’d already hinted about opening another restaurant and she knew she had a shot at the head chef position.

But when Archie had formally revealed the opening of another outlet on the other side of town, instead of looking to hire (or promote) another executive chef, he instead employed a second sous chef to work at the original restaurant and began to split his time between the two businesses. Which was completely demoralizing when she was the one who should be in charge. To make matters worse her new ‘co-chef’ (as Archie had called them) was an arrogant Brit who thought he knew everything about French cuisine;‘I’m European, darling,” he would drawl.  In addition, he was an incorrigible flirt and he spent far too much time with the waitresses - and waiters.

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Neighbours: Part Twenty-Two

The Payout

Part One | Part Twenty-One | Part Twenty-Two Part Twenty-Three - The Final Chapter |

I replay the moment we stood before the car for a long time; Tommy’s hands enclosing mine, caressing the skin of my fingers gently. I wonder, had Tommy not cut me off, where my words were heading. They’d begun to tumble from my mouth before I realised what was happening, a confession that perhaps neither of us was ready to hear; I love you.

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Cherry Blossoms [VII] - a chanyeol story

Originally posted by chanshine

As always, feedback is welcome! Part Eight will be the last chapter.

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Eight

Plot: Sometimes what you want isn’t what you need.

Genre: Angst

Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader


I shot up in bed, a stabbing pain searing through my forehead. I looked around the room to find that I was alone. The window was cracked open, and a cool breeze caressed my bare skin. A soft beam of light shone through the window, pink with the sunrise. I immediately covered myself with a blanket, feeling exposed in more ways than one. The memories of the night before came flooding back and I was filled with regret, but only for one thing.

I regretted hurting my fiance.

I don’t regret loving Chanyeol.

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anonymous asked:

When Chloe finds out that Beca has never been kissed.....

Chloe lays sideways on Beca’s bed, head hanging off the edge as she grins over at the brunette who sits in her desk chair. “Okay, my turn…” She says, lower lip getting caught between her teeth. 

Beca just raises a brow at her, leaning back and folding her arms against her chest. They had originally been studying together, Beca’s mixes playing very softly in the background, but Beca had shoved away from her desk in a huff, stating she needed a break before she went cross-eyed. 

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