this woman needs more love around here

Hometown- Brendan Gallagher

Originally posted by gay-except-for-gally

Ok so my boo here had two requests and so I combined them and I actually like how this turned out! I hope you guys do too! Enjoy!

Warning: none!

@supermodelindisguise Request: You take Gally to your hometown and run into everyone you know and being embarrassed. There’s rumors that you’re dating someone overseas and obviously confirmed. I have like a billion assignments to do and I have developed the flu. I even went and bought the hot tea cold and flu medicine and honey from the supermarket near uni and made some while waiting for my next class. May I have a Montreal imagine if possible. If not it’s all good!!


              You felt like absolute crap.

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Happy birthday Anna. Love, Johnny.

Pairing : Johnny, Anna x Kyle, Sam x Reader x Lyle x Dean, other sld characters.
Word count : 2,058
Author : Mel
Warnings  : Johnny is just like his dad. Torture mentioned, Cheating mentioned.

Going on a demon hunt. - You can’t outrun me.

‘She’s Leaving, Dean’ 1 year celebration!

Anna blushed as the singing died down. “Happy 19th birthday, Princess.” Sam smiled, kissing her temple.

“Thanks Daddy.” She grinned. When she went to blow out the candles on the cake, the toddler in her arms screamed, waved a hand and the candles flared before going out. She chuckled softly. “How is it my kid is more powerful than I am?” She shook her head.

“Come to Uncle Johnny, you little stinker.” Johnny took him with a smile. “Let your mom have one birthday wish?”

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Cancer Woman, Taurus Man

My personal favourite (from Love Signs, by Linda Goodman), not the least because of the beautiful way she’s described the potential of this relationship. Almost poetic. Long read, but entirely worth it:

Imagine you are a huge rock, sitting high on top of a mountain. Nothing frightens you, or moves you. You’re so tough, the storms of thousands of years haven’t even scratched your surface, though they’ve worn away lesser rocks into helpless pebbles. Then one chilly day, an apparently harmless drop of water brightly splashes on you, and trickles its way into a deep crack in your center, which has been there since you were born, but has been overlooked by the rains and winds until now. What will you do?

You will do nothing. You, who have stood up against centuries of floods and tornadoes, have nothing to fear from one tiny drop of water. The next day, the thermometer drops to zero, and the drop of water freezes in your center. The freezing causes it to expand, and the expansion hurts you. Since nothing has ever before been able to weaken your strength, how do you feel about a drop of water which is expanding inside you, and threatening to crack you in two? 

A quiet little meditation like that will throw a great illumination on what it’s like to be an earthy, invulnerable Taurus man in love with a watery, gentle and sometimes Looney Moon Maiden. It can shake him to his foundations. But it’s too late. She’s already penetrated the secret place no one else has ever quite reached - his heart. Since a Bull’s heart is as strong as both his will and his back, he probably won’t break in half. But he’ll never again be the same, once this girl has enticed him to run along the beach under a midnight sky, in the zigzag directions of the Crab, crying and laughing - and feeling. Taurus knows all about touching, but feeling is a slightly different word. She’ll teach him all its meanings and synonyms.

The Taurus man is a slow starter in romance. Though he has an enormous capacity for love, it doesn’t burst into verbal or physical commitment overnight. Once it does blossom, however, it flowers beautifully, and usually permanently. Permanence is something the Moon Maiden needs, for all her whimsical emotional wanderlust. Like her, this man will not yield his complete self until the right woman arrives on the scene. He’ll take his good old time deciding, but his surrender, when it comes, is often instant, and his fidelity is eternal - if he isn’t pushed beyond great endurance by the incorrigible behavior of his partner.

The Bull is possessive (not quite the same thing as jealous) and his approach to love is likely to be solid, sensible and practical, seldom emotionally erratic, capricious or unduly enthusiastic - but cozy! Although the two of them are much alike in many ways, this is one where they may not be. A Moon Maiden can allow unfounded jealousy to torture her into moods of deep depression - or worse yet, a suspicious, bitter or clinging attitude that can infuriate a Bull. (The clinging he doesn’t mind so much, he may even enjoy it - the suspiciousness he can do without.) Her active imagination sometimes causes her to develop fears which, although based more on fantasy than fact, can bring on floods of tears, and a touch of hysteria. It sounds hopeless, but it isn’t really. In fact, not many Sun Sign combinations have as much hope for success as Taurus and Cancer, once they know who they are, and where they’re going.

Taurus already pretty much knows that about himself. He’s more inclined to keep an even keel regarding their differences than she is. The Cancer woman instinctively reflects the moods around her. Sometimes all that reflecting creates an eclipse of her true self. It’s not easy for a Moon Maid to know who she is, and where she’s going, although she has an uncanny sense of the feelings and intentions of others.

The Bull might say to her, “I don’t understand you. You say you love me, but you spend all your time running around [and keeping busy]. You don’t need me. I’m just in the way around here.” Now, she may perceive what the problem is. He’s hurt, because he’s not getting the attention he needs, the pats on the head and affectionate hugs and kisses he hungers for, to make him feel securely loved. However, lacking her Lunar sensitivity, he may not understand how much she needs all her busy activities - as well as her world of dreams - so she can reflect back into life all the things she absorbs by living it. It should be  obvious, then, who must make the first move to wave the olive branch. That would, of course, be her.

Still, her attempts at making up with him can seem a little vague and devious to the direct, uncomplicated Bull. It confuses him. How is he to interpret her message when she tucks a baked apple under his pillow, or leaves a sentimental poem under his wet cake of soap, in the shower? It stuck to the paper, obliterating the words, and for all he knows, it could be a farewell note. She should just come right out and say, “I do need you, and I can’t live without you, and the reason I scoot around all the time is because…” etc. and so on. Then she should prove she means it in a physical way - the only language a Taurus man understands. Simple. Plain. Honest. Down to Earth. And sensual. He doesn’t like to be teased. No Bull likes to be teased.

Their sexual compatibility is usually excellent. She may now and then wish he’d be a little less clumsy with his romantic jokes, and a little more delicate in his verbal expressions of passion. But on the whole, the Taurus sense
of touch is as refined and delicate as anyone could ask. His masculine virility can coax this uncertain girl out of her shell, with the promise of the kind of fulfillment most women only read about in novels. The Bull will give the Moon Maiden a feeling of being snugly loved, … and warmly desired.

The Taurus man will lavish enough affection on the Cancerian woman, to banish the fears she’s accumulated since childhood that nobody really wants or needs her because most people are more capable in every way than she. He does. He wants her, and he needs her. And he’ll show it in unmistakable ways, if she’ll let him. It’s difficult for this lady to resist real love when it’s offered with the kind of sincerity Taurus love is offered. In return, she’ll adore him madly (with an emphasis on the madness, during the Full Moon) and probably never leave him - unless he places her in the middle in a fuss with her family. Then he may lose her for a while. But she’ll return to her Bull when the Moon changes (assuming he apologizes, of course). Since he’s so stubborn, the reconciliation may never occur if she doesn’t understand, and forgive him before he asks to be forgiven. He won’t beg.

She is so changeable - or is she fickle? He is so patient - or is he obstinate? Which is it? The true answer depends on which way they look at it: 

While he’s wearing his Taurean blinders, it’s impossible for him to see the truth about anything, so he appears bull-headed.

While she’s gazing into her Lunar mirror, the truth is sometimes distorted, so her emotions appear to fluctuate unreliably. 

But when the issues are cloudy, they can always find their way back to each other, through the mist, if they meditate on this ancient wisdom: Seek the truth, and the truth shall set you free.

What is the real truth? Love. Unselfish and forgiving love. The genuine kind.

anonymous asked:

So your saying that in RTD's Doctor Who Rose felt like her life was great and nothing changed about her or Donna just thought she was more then a Temp. Out of all the companions in his era, Martha was the only one that left. Rose and Donna had their lives revolving around the Doctor, they wanted to stay with him. Don't forget, Donna had been pushed to be with the Doctor by Davros. Amy had Rory and chose him over the Doctor. Clara had a life of her own and chose to schedule her adventures.

You’re confusing having someone come into your life and change it, and becoming attached to them, to having your entire character revolve around that person.

You wanna know what Rose was before she met The Doctor? A shop girl. Martha was a Doctor. Donna was a temp. None of them had ANYTHING to do with The Doctor before he showed up, and the only contest to that would be Bad Wolf existing through paradox throughout time. They all had their own lives, their own dreams, and their own shit to do. None of them were ~cosmically tied~ to The Doctor. While they may have BECOME tied to him, these characters existed outside of The Doctor, and had he never found them, would have continued to.

Amy? Her entire life, she spent thinking about The Doctor. Since she was a child, she obsessed over him, and even before he came in, her life and development were 100% tied into The Doctor’s plot with her house and her family. Amy was never given a single moment of characterization that was her own.

River shouldn’t even have to be explained. From her BIRTH, she was a plot device. She started out as the “MYSTERY BABY” which was tied to The Doctor through baiting of the Amy/Doctor ship (“it’s mine”), then she grew up to kill The Doctor, then she fell in love with The Doctor, then she died for The Doctor. River literally had not a single part of her that had agency, from birth to death her entire role was to revolve around The Doctor’s dick and give Moffat a reason to never have to make any Doctor/Companion ships canon because he’s “married” to a woman he never even properly got to know.

Clara? “Born to save the Doctor” need I honest to god say more? While there can be a lot of parallels drawn here to Bad Wolf (creating a paradox to save The Doctor that ends up technically involving themselves before they met) the differences are still astounding. When Rose came to the Tardis, it was because The Doctor liked her. When Clara came to the Tardis, it was because she had already been established as a “mystery” and a plot point for The Doctor. From the moment Clara came on screen, she was something for The Doctor to solve, never a person, never someone with agency, just another plot arc. Literally, words from The Doctor, “a mystery wrapped in an enigma, squeezed into a skirt that’s just a little bit too tight.”

Every one of these companions existed not to accompany The Doctor in his plots, but to become his plots.

I can tell that you’re confusing my distaste for the fact that Moffat refuses to write women with agency for me not liking these characters. Do you know how much I wanted to like Clara? (I say wanted to because Moffat has personally, I think, turned her into a fairly unlikable character, especially in this season premier where I absolutely refused to continue watching the series for how BAD he treated every female character in the episode). Do you know how much I did like Amy? Do you know how much I would have KILLED for someone to have taken River’s character and put her into a show where she could actually get some good god damn development? These characters are good and have good personalities, but just because a character is good doesn’t mean they are given justice, or agency, or a proper plot line.

The difference is I don’t settle for that shit. I refuse to settle for Moffat’s crap writing and treatment of the women in this show, and there is nothing you can say or do that is going to make me stop pointing out the fact that Doctor Who has lost the fundamental magic of the nothing-special-companion that got everyone into it.

Mr & Mrs Smith - Part 7

Dean x Reader

A/N: Thank you to @shortandawkward94 for beta reading this! You’re amazing, girl! @kbrand0 a thank you to you as well for the help this afternoon. You tried, but I failed lol. For the anon who asked about The Winchesters Plus One, I’m working on it right now. I hope to post it soon. Thank you for the patience, I know I’m super slow. 

[Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6]

Warnings: I don’t think there’s any. I did try to put smut in this part, but I can’t write it for the life of me, so I guess implied smut? Yeah, I think that’s it.

Tags: @getyourrocksalt @mrswhozeewhatsis @why-do-you-want-my-user-name @daydreamingintheimpala @sidra-cara @star-gazer178 @takemetoallthisplaces @a-closet-full-of-skeletons @nanie5 @itwasadarkandrainynight @j3w3l-stylez @wickedaphrodisia @fandommaniacx @deanbowlegsackles @hopeymik @helloqueenbstuff @mattmoredick @inthemidnightmoment @superlockreaderinserts @faithfulpanicmoon @birated @thebunkerismyhome @salvataurus-rex @supernaturalsamdeancasimagines @driverpicksthemuusic  (I hope I didn’t forget anyone. Sorry If I did!)

[Want to be tagged? Just let me know :) ]

Originally posted by tweedy-masterhunter

“Don’t look, but there’s a camera watching us.”

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anonymous asked:

Can you do Ràul, loving/taking care of his disabled/ill girlfriend. Thanks☺

Hi Anon! I am fulfilling this request, but a quick disclaimer - I wrote this without revealing what disability/illness the S/O has (although I had one in mind) and did my best to be sensitive to those who deal with chronic illness and/or disabilities, based on my own experiences and those close to me.

Having said that, like most things in life, I may not get it right, particularly since potentially emotionally charged topics can be very personal. I hope I did this justice - and anyone should feel free to express otherwise. 

You stretched out your legs as you lay on your bed, choking down the pills with the few drops of water left in your glass.

“You’re going to choke like that. Let me get you more water.”

Waving him away, you took one more hard swallow.

“I’m fine.”

“I’ve known you too long to believe that.”

He walked off to the kitchen with your empty glass in hand and you closed your eyes, willing away the pain.

This last surgery had been exhausting, but the doctors were hopeful that it would reduce the pain. You’d lived with the disease for years, but lately the symptoms came in more frequent and stronger waves.

“Here you go.”

Your husband set the now full glass on the table beside your bed, walking around to his side and slipping under the covers. He picked up the book he’d been reading, stroking your hair before returning to it. You watched him, wondering how he managed.

Obviously, you didn’t ask for this. But you had no choice but to deal with the cards dealt. He, on the other hand, could walk away from all this.

From the frequent visits to the hospital, the treatments that only helped temporarily.

Why did he stay?

“Are you okay?”

He caught you staring, the thoughts racing through your head leaving a pained expression on your face.

“As good as I can be.”

He set down his book and slid closer.

“You have that look.”

“What look?”

“The look you get when you start retreating into that head of yours.”

You rolled your eyes, doing your best to mask the emotions you were feeling.

“Don’t you ever get tired?”

“I run on caffeine and adrenalin, but you know that, so I’m assuming that’s not what you mean.”

“Tired of this?”

You motioned to yourself and the wheelchair that recently replaced your cane.

Barba’s forehead wrinkled as he frowned.

“Of course not.”

“You can be honest. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“Do I hate seeing you in pain? Of course. Do I tire of insensitive people, and underqualified doctors? Sure. But you? Never.”

“But if there was no me, if you had never–”

“I’ve loved every minute I’ve spent with you since the day we met, and I was fully aware of what our life together could entail. It never gave me a moment’s pause.”

“I just don’t want you to ever see me as a burden.”

“A burden? This is coming from a woman so independent, you barely let me bring you a glass of water.”

“What happens when I have to let you?”

“Then I’ll finally get a chance to pay you back for everything you’ve done for me over the years.” Barba wrapped his arms around you, leaning his head against yours. “I’m here for whatever you need. Always.”

You let yourself relax into his embrace, settling into the down comforter, your head on his chest. For the moment, the pain lessened. Whether it was the medication or the closeness of the man who loved you more than you thought possible, you couldn’t be sure.

Whatever it was, you drifted off, comforted by the thought of ‘always’, however long that would be.

anonymous asked:

Hi! I love your writing so much and I was wondering if you could do a Morgan x reader where they were together in university (as a couple) but then broke up in really bad terms and haven't spoken or hear of each other in years? But both were interested on the fbi and profiling and she is the new agent on the team. Morgan has no idea but she knows and is her first day and she's like... Freaking out. I just NEED more Morgan imagines pleaaase 🙈 and I love your writing so much.

Yes, I can most certainly do this one!  Here is your one-shot, comin’ ‘atcha!

As Morgan sits at his desk, slack-jawed and staring at the woman off in the corner, Spencer comes up to him and sits down beside him.

“What’s wrong?”

As Morgan regales himself with the first time you two met, he puts his head in his hands as he thinks back to your first date, and your first kiss.

And the first time you two made love…

“You know…everyone around here calls me a ‘player’, and I’m alright with that, because I love the women,” he says, looking up at Spencer and giggling his eyebrows.

“But what no one knows is that, behind every player, there is a woman who started it all.  A woman who was so powerful, and so incredible…and hurt us so deep…that we spiraled into this non-committal form of life.”

As Spencer’s gaze draws back to you, still stuck in Garcia’s hug, he looks back over at Morgan and says, “Is that who she is?”

“Yes, pretty boy.  That is my trigger.”


“You are beautiful!” Garcia exclaims.

Smiling and giggling, your cheeks starting to burn, you hear the woman named J.J. tell her to knock it off as you steal a glance off at Morgan.

“Oh, sweetheart, that man is my mound of chocolate, and I always have first dibs,” Garcia says, putting a hand on your shoulder as you snap back in to your world.

“Oh, my gosh!  I didn’t realize you two were together.  That’s incredible!”

“Oh, no no,” Prentiss says, “No, they aren’t together.  They are just…well, you’ll figure it out.”

Chuckling along with the other women as they spiral conversation around you, your gaze drifts slowly back over to him, your heart speeding up with the nervousness of having to eventually engage in conversation with him.

“Y/L/N, you alright?” J.J. asks, putting a light hand on your shoulder.

“Taken aback by how beautiful he is?” Prentiss engages.

“Hah, no.  I’m alright,” you say, trying to get them off of your back.

“Meeting.  Now,” Hotch commands from on high.

“Sounds like it’s important,” an older gentleman comes up behind you and mutters.

“David Rossi,” he says, his kind smile making you feel warm and welcome.

“Y/F/N Y/L/N,” you say, and as Rossi’s eyes widen and shoot over to Morgan walking up the stairs, your breath catches in your throat as you wonder what Derek has told him about you.


Listening to Hotch, he slams a folder down on the table.  “We are 11 hours into a child abduction case.  A senator’s son was taken from a party last night and never returned home, and never showed up at school.”

“Where was the party?” a scrawny baby-face man asks.

“All of that information is currently in the file, look thru it quickly.”

Dipping your head down into your file, you come up for air as you and Morgan say together, “It says they have a daughter.”

As the two of you look at each other, you blush and look away quickly as Morgan’s eyes widen, Hotch looking back and forth between the two of you.

“Whatever history the two of you have, deal with it on your own time,” Hotch hisses, “We have a missing 17 year old boy.”

“Are you sure he isn’t just a runaway?” Morgan offers up.

“If I hadn’t already considered that we wouldn’t be here,” Hotch spits.

“Aaron, a minute please?” Rossi says, getting up and tugging him out of the door.

As the two men chat outside of the room, you get up from your chair and scuttle over to Morgan, dipping down into a crouch as you swing his chair around.

“I’m sorry,” you plead, your eyes helpless as to the awkwardness of the situation.

As the rest of the team’s eyes turn towards the two of you, Morgan grits his teeth and said, “No here, Y/N.”

“Well, we won’t be making plans to see each other outside of work, so we might as well do it now,” you muse, trying to keep your calm.

As Morgan takes a deep breath, he says, “You broke my heart.”

“And you cheated on me?”

“What!?” Morgan wails, jumping from his chair as you find yourself shooting upright.

“You cheated, Derek,” you stated again, your brows furrowed in confusion.

“I did not!” he roars, Rossi and Hotch staring as they come back in to the room.

“Another time,” Hotch raises his voice.

“No!  Now!  You-…you thought I cheated!?  Y/N, you broke my heart!  You are the reason why I dated but never found anyone.  You are always my comparison.  Hell, you’re the reason that I’m labeled a player in the first place!  You are the reason!  YOU!”

As your eyes widen, you take a step back as Rossi takes you and Morgan under the arm.

“Outside.  Now.”

Taking you two downstairs and into the lounge, he throws you into the room and locks the door.

“You two can’t work on this case until your heads are clear.  So clear them,” he says, walking away as the two of you stare at him wildly thru the glass.

“Great,” he mutters under his breath.

As you turn to him, searching the room for a place to sit, you sit on the edge of the couch, your back straight and your gaze far, far away.

“W-what?” you stammer, your gaze slowly finding his crooked posture again.

“I never cheated on you, Y/N.  Why would you have ever thought that?  And more so, why didn’t you just talk to me?”

Sighing and shaking your head, your eyes begin to water as you remember that horrible, awful night.

“Do you remember Winter Ball?  You know, the one we were supposed to go to together?”

“Of course I do,” he mutters thru clenched teeth, his fists in a ball as he tries to calm himself down.

“We should be up there!” he yells, banging his fists on the glass.

“Derek…Sit!  Down!”

Spinning towards you on his heels, he sighs and pulls up a chair.

“Yes, I remember,” he mutters, his head in his hands.

“You were late coming to get me,” you say flatly.

Whipping his head up, his mouth in the shape of an “O”, you chuckle to yourself as you continue, “So, I decided to walk downstairs and stand on the side of the street.  And there you were, sucking face with Rachel McSanders, the red-headed beauty from Slut-Haven.”

“Oh my god,” he groans, rubbing his eyes and looking up at you.  “No.  No, it’s not what you think.”

“You were kissing her, that’s all that I thought.”

“She kissed me!” he pleads, his palms out to you in an effort to get you to understand.  “I was walking to come get you, she jumped in front of me, begging me to take her to the dance because she had turned down everyone that had asked, and when I said that I was on my way to pick up my date, she yelled at me, and then…literally…threw herself at me!  I caught her so she wouldn’t fall, and she pushed her body up and kissed me!”

Shaking your head, tears streaming down your face, you keep repeating, “I can’t take this job.  I can’t take this job…”

“Yes, yes you can,” he says, taking your hands in his and pulling them down from your face.  “This job was the only thing you ever talked about when we were dating.  And I think that…in some ways…me taking this job was a way of hanging on to you.  To a piece of you that I wasn’t willing to let die.”

As you take a deep breath and look him in his eyes, his pleading eyes begging you to believe him, you feel your heart flutter again, just as it did oh so many years ago.

“You have got to believe me.  I swear to god, I did not kiss her.  When I got her steady on her feet, I pushed her off and came up to your room, but your roommate said you weren’t there, that you had left and she didn’t know where you were.”

As your head lobs off to the side, the emotion pooling in your stomach causing you physical pain, you groan as you realize your incredulous mistake.

“I walked campus all night looking for you.  I was so worried that something had happened, and then a friend of mine sent me a picture of you walking into the dance, wondering where I was…”

Sobbing now, he takes your face and places it in the crook of his neck.

“You looked beautiful in that yellow dress…” he trails off, running his fingers thru your hair as he tries to calm you down.

“I never could date after that,” you choke out, pulling away from him as you flop back in to the couch.  “I just…couldn’t bring myself to trust anyone.”

“And I couldn’t bring myself to commit to anyone,” Morgan states, “for the exact same reason.”

Groaning, you shake your head and look at him, furiously wiping the tears away from your face as you start chuckling to yourself.

“God, I really know how to fuck things up,” you say, the team now standing at the glass looking in on the two of you.

“H-how long…have they been there?” you ask Morgan, looking at him as you furrow your brow at the smiling team.

“They crept up about the time we started sobbing like little children looking for their mothers,” he chuckles out.

“Great,” you say flatly, walking to the door and jiggling the door handle.

“Alright.  Missing kid.  On our watch.  Come on,” you state, growing agitated.

And as Rossi comes over and throws open the door, the team stands behind him with their arms crossed, Hotch smirking ever so lightly as the scrawny one says, “No worries.  False alarm.  He was just…passed out in the park…under a tree…you know, sleeping it off.”

As your eyes start to squint and your jaw starts to lock, Morgan comes up behind you and puts his hands on your shoulders, squeezing them in a repetitive motion, begging you to calm down.

“Yeah, I figured.  After all, Garcia is the one that usually briefs.  Not Hotch.”

And as the team walks away, going to their respective offices and desks, you take in a sharp breath as you choke down your anger, whipping around to Morgan as you hiss, “You knew!?  They faked the abduction of a boy…for what!?”

“To get us talking,” he says, smiling as he places his hands on your shoulders.

“Welcome to the team, baby.”

New Year’s Eve Ficlet

A companion piece to this christmas fic.  Both rated Mature.

Happy New Year, everyone.  You’ve all been a great part of this one for me.  Thank you.

* * * * * * *

He doesn’t even think to call her until well after ten.  It’s not that he doesn’t like the holiday, or that he doesn’t wish her well, just that he doesn’t know if it’s his place to wish her anything.  He’s been given no rules to follow on this holiday – it doesn’t bring to mind family, or church, or children, or office parties.  The holiday that doesn’t belong to anyone.

This year, it belongs to him and his television.  He’s splayed out on the couch with a tray of bad cookies on his chest, watching a movie, when he thinks of her and convinces himself it’s appropriate, even funny, to call now.  He dials with the intention of blaming this movie forever if he’s wrong.

She answers on the second ring and he hears voices, festivity.  He licks his lips, holds his breath, torn between the anger that she didn’t invite him and the guilt of interrupting.  She assures him quickly that it’s the TV and then they have a moment of silence as his anxiety leaves him.

“I think we’re watching the same thing,” she says and he can hear her smiling.

“Well, it’s this or Dick Clark.  Not a lot of options.”  He doesn’t know why he’s downplaying the serendipity of it, the romance, when he was the one who picked up the phone, he was the one who thought of her as Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal pretended to themselves not to be in love.

“Did you see it in the movie theater?” he asks.

“On a date.”  He can feel his eyes light up, though there’s a scowl in his chest.  He doesn’t know why her whereabouts in July of 1989 should produce either reaction.

“How’d that go?”

“We made out a little in the dark, but we got into an argument afterwards and I never saw him again.”  He lowers the cookie in his hand back to the tray.

“You made out?  In the movie theater?”

She laughs a barely audible hiss of a laugh.  How little you know me, it says, how little you understand, how right Nora Ephron is about the friendship between a man and a woman.

“Scully,” he admonishes, but he’s sat up at attention in the sinking ship of his leather couch.  It’s cold in the apartment tonight and he’s brought in so many extra blankets he might have to throw himself overboard at some point.

“It’s not like we had sex in a playground, Mulder.  It’s the movies, it’s a date, people do it.”

“How far?”

“Oh, stop it.”

“Tell me.”

“I’m not going to tell you that.”

“This is so unfair,” he barks.

“What, like we had some kind of appointment for me to share my darkest secrets?  You called me.”

“This isn’t your darkest secret, Scully.  We have darker secrets in our office than this.”

“He put his hand up my skirt.”

All his body parts go into conservation mode, freezing as they preserve energy for survival past this moment of crisis, except his eyelashes, which blink excessively, as if to process the image more quickly and be free of it. She doesn’t cover up the silence, doesn’t try to make him more comfortable, and fair enough since he’s the one who pushed the issue.  He comes to his senses, relaxing a bit as the scene begins, the one he was thinking of to begin with, when Harry and Sally are split-screen, watching the same movie while on the phone in their beds.  Suddenly, he realizes he doesn’t know if she’s in the kitchen, or on her couch or…

“Too bad you don’t have a bed.  Then this would really be cute.”

He’s grateful to have moved past the movie theater thing, though this newer image, he soon finds, is not much easier to handle.  Is she in her satin pajamas?  A big t-shirt like the one she was wearing that first night he asked her to go for a run?  A robe with nothing underneath… she reads his mind again.

“So, Mulder, what do you think?”  He instantly panics, his stomach lurching, his hand frantically adjusting his shorts as if she can see his hard-on through the phone.  

“I don’t – I was – “

“You know, can men and women really be friends?”  She doesn’t have to add the rest, the without sex interfering part of the movie’s hypothesis.  He doesn’t know how to tell her no, no he doesn’t think so, since he’s sitting here picturing a woman he has never intended to seduce in her underwear, picturing a woman who gets spinach stuck in her teeth at lunch in nothing but a robe so sexy he doubts she even owns it, doubts any woman actually owns it.

“Sure, they can be friends,” he lies instead and the inflection of the humming noise she makes tells him she doesn’t quite believe it either.  Last year, he would have expected for her to swear that friendship and sex were separate.  But ten days ago, she took him by the tie and kissed him, really kind of kissed him, at a corny office Christmas party, so he’s not sure what to think.

“So how come no plans?” she asks.

“I never make plans on New Year’s Eve.  Wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“It always seems like such a setup for disappointment,” she agrees, though he gets the idea that maybe she doesn’t fully believe that either.  She’s humoring him, making believe she shares his melancholy, because that’s the kind of friend she is, even when he’s being an asshole picturing her naked, she’s that kind of friend.  He remembers this part, the friend part, and decides to tell her something he has never told anyone.

“I’d like to have a real one like the one in this movie someday.  You know, girl all dressed up, Auld Lang Syne playing, kiss at midnight.”

“Don’t forget the big speech.”

“I can do a big speech.”

“You do them every morning.  With slides.”

He chuckles.  A minute passes, two, as they both watch the film.  He hears a rustle of bedding he recognizes from crummy hotels across the nation and knows she’s getting tired.  She yawns.  She’ll be hanging up now, any minute, he thinks, and feels sad, the kind of sadness he usually avoids by not making plans on this night, not setting any of those wicked expectations.

“You wanna just stay on till midnight passes?” she asks.  He could almost cry at the gesture of kindness.  

“Sure,” he says, persuading himself of his nonchalance by dusting a crumbled Fig Newton off the couch.  Then they’re both quiet until the credits are rolling and his neck is stiff where it’s crooked around the heavy plastic of the phone.  He thinks maybe she’s fallen asleep but doesn’t want to be the first to hang up…

“Happy New Year, Mulder.”

“Happy New Year.”


It’s easy to forget things out here in the middle of nowhere; that’s what they liked about the house in the first place.  They had a lot to forget then, and they wanted to be forgotten. So it’s no surprise to him that in the time she’s been gone, Scully has forgotten some things - the zip code, where he keeps the toothpicks, the paper clips, or how the soup bowls only fit when they go in a certain way.  What today is.

He does remember what today is. He’s been anticipating it since she decided to stay the night after fucking him on the living room floor.  It’s the anniversary of their first kiss – not counting that mistletoe kiss that one year – the only anniversary they’ve ever really been able to mark.  He’s considered giving her a gift, making dinner like he always did, but to acknowledge the date would mean discussing how long she’s been here (seven nights).  It would mean finding out what this duration of stay means, or more worrisome, that it means nothing.  So he doesn’t mention it, goes about the day like it’s any other day when the woman he loves has come home.  Carefully. Anxiously.  Happily.

She runs errands during the day as she’s done frequently the past week. He would offer to do it for her, but he knows she doesn’t need anything other than to be part of the world.  That was part of the problem the first time around. It’s something they’ll have to address if they - if she – no, he won’t do that to himself, won’t imagine packing up his stuff with her, arguing about condos versus co-ops, planning what to keep, what to get rid of, how to start over together.

She stashes her shopping in the bedroom and they eat a pleasant but uneventful dinner.  She says she’s heading to take a bath and read.  He normally follows her up when he hears the word bath, responding like Pavlov’s dog to the tune of the faucet.  He pads in quietly, slips a hand into the bubbles to watch the slow, expectant smile cross her face without her eyes ever opening. Tonight, he stays and waits ‘til she’s safely out of earshot to put Dick Clark on.  He wants to see the year pass, needs it.  It was a year without her.

He hears her footsteps at ten minutes to twelve, amidst the canned energy of the pre-taped show ramping up and the real energy of Times Square contained only by the confines of the box in his living room.  He taps the remote, but the batteries are low, and it doesn’t respond on the first try, the second, the third.  And anyway, by the third, he’s not even aiming correctly because he’s turned around and found her coming down the steps in a short blue cocktail dress.

Navy blue or maybe it’s green.  Low and heart-shaped on her breasts, ruffled from the hip down.  At first he thinks he’s seen her in it, or seen it in her closet, it seems so familiar.  But it looks nothing like her, nothing like the classy, cap-sleeved black dresses he can so easily picture her in.

“It’s the closest I could find,” she says and he immediately remembers the scene in the movie – Meg Ryan’s pale shoulders, Billy running in, the weight of a happy ending weighing heavy on his shoulders.  There’s no crowd here, no lighting, but Scully is pretty enough to make up for all of that - her hair pulled up messily from the treachery of bath water, her blue eyes rimmed in runny mascara, her cheeks still rosy with heat and maybe more than just that.  She reaches the end of the staircase and bends, slings a pair of satin high heels off her fingers and onto her feet.  “I didn’t want you to hear me coming down.”

He’s on his knees on the couch now, elbow locked and leaning, his jaw nearly thudding the wood planks of the floor.  He turns slowly, a carousel on its last round, following the swing of her hips as her shoes slowly clip-clop to the space between him and the TV.

“I’m not dressed for the occasion,” he says and she glances at the clothes he hasn’t changed out of today – a flannel shirt, a pair of old jeans – and nods. It’s true, Harry only realizes at the last second that he loves Sally; he doesn’t have time to get dressed for it. Mulder wonders how many years Scully has been waiting to do this just to truly catch him by surprise.  

He swings his legs out from under him, puts his feet on the floor as she sidles up, her knees between his knees, her bony ankles slightly wobbling against his in the unfamiliar heels.  She lifts his chin.

“Go ahead, make your speech,” she says.

“I didn’t have time to prepare…”

“You had twenty years.”  

“You are everything to me,” he blurts.  She playfully bobs her head from side to side – good start.  “This past seven nights have been so –“

“Eight, now.”  He grins and sputters on, wishing he had his projector and slides to rely on.

“It’s been so amazing.  Please don’t go.”

“I’m all dressed up, I have to go to the party.  You’re going to have to try harder to make me stay.”

He puts his hands around her waist, the funny, shiny material itchy between his fingers, and pulls her closer, kisses the cluster of freckles above her cleavage – this is one of the things Harry would have mentioned had he been in love with Scully instead of Sally.  But Mulder’s already told her about it hundreds of times.  He can’t really think of anything he hasn’t told her a hundred times and silently applauds Harry’s creativity.

“I didn’t mean tonight,” he whispers.  “I meant don’t go ever.”

“Oh,” she says with mock surprise, a teacher hearing about an overambitious science project.  “Then you’re really going to have to try hard.”

He glances at the TV, the clock visible in the upper right hand corner. He has seven minutes, so he gets right to it, slides his hand up the inside of her leg, pushes the stretchy, lacy panties to the side and cups her in the heel of his hand.  Her body tilts forward in it, the carriage of a ferris wheel passing low, letting him climb in.

These seven minutes that have seemed so long every other year from couches and barstools seem positively fleeting with his fingers inside her and his mouth wide around her breast, then narrow around her nipple, the green-blue prom dress scratching the scruff of his chin.  This, he realizes, is how one is supposed to pass those last minutes. He’s been doing it wrong all these years, everyone has.

She comes sooner than he expects, with one minute to go, and he wonders if she was paying attention to time.  He would not be surprised to find out she could calibrate an orgasm that well, not after the things he’s seen, but there are still things he doesn’t know about her, there always will be.  He pulls her dress up back over her breast and the weight of her body sinks against him to wait.

When the countdown begins, his face is between her hands, her chest rising and falling beneath his nose.  The last things he smells this year are his saliva and her bubble bath, popcorn butter and peppermint.  They both listen like this, not moving, as if straining to hear something very quiet, eavesdropping on a revelrous crowd of five hundred thousand.

She kisses him at precisely midnight, with a smile against his teeth when the screaming comes.  She points into the empty air of their old house as Auld Lang Syne begins to play, as if to say her plot is complete, as if to say she’s plotted every New Year’s celebration since that song was written.  He presses his ear to her chest and wraps his arms around her, all of her, a hand around her neck and one around a calf.  He thinks of how much he loves her, how much he has missed her, but also of her tits and the color of her underwear, and he knows even all these years later, he cannot just be her friend.

“Happy New Year, Scully.”

She reads his mind like always, taking off her underwear (black) as she answers the rest of his questions aloud.

“Happy anniversary, Mulder.”

This holiday has always belonged to her, they all have.

Wish you knew...

Prompt were Emma finds out she’s pregnant sometime in season 5. Angsty at the most part but cute and fluffy in the end. Hope you like it!!

Also on Wattpad and “Captain Swan ~ One Shots” by iwafy97


She felt the dreamcatcher burning her hands and let it fall to the floor. She shouldn’t do this. Staying hidden and crying wouldn’t help her. But she didn’t know what else to do. She was all alone, with everyone considering her as a villain and without knowing what to do. She’d thought that seeing Killian strong and alive would be enough. She’d even hoped that he would agree to be with her, no matter the darkness. But she was obviously fooling herself. Killian despised the darkness much less when it was inside the woman he loved.

You will always lose the ones you love the most.

Gold’s words came back to her mind and she waved her hand delicately. A small object appeared in her palm and for a while, she denied to look at it.

“Congratulations, dearie.”

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Request: Can you please do a fic where you are Sam and Deans little sister and they have hidden the supernatural from you ever since a demon tried to kill you when you were 2 or 3. But you find out about demons and monsters when the boys leave to 'visit an old friend' but they don't come back so you have to go and save them from there hunt gone wrong. Thanks :)

“Do you really have to go?” You asked Dean as he threw clothes in his duffel bag. 

“Yes, for the millionth time.” Dean answered. “We’re just gonna visit an old friend, we’ll be back in like two days.” Dean left his room with you on his heels.

“Why can’t I come?”

“Because we’re gonna be doing adult things, like drinking and gambling. You’re too young.” Dean stated.

“First of all, you guys do that around me all the time. And I could just hang out in a room by myself!”

“Well if you’re just going to hang out in a room by yourself anyway, why can’t you do that here?”

Damn, you’d walked right into that one. Dean  smiled, knowing he’d won, and headed to the garage. You followed him, knowing Sam would be there; maybe you could convince him to let you go.

“Sam, do I really need to stay here?” You asked as soon as you saw him.

“Sorry, Y/N. But yeah.” Sam said.

“But I don’t want to be by myself!” You exclaimed.

“We already asked Cas to stop by every once in a while. He’s got a key, so he’ll probably just visit for a few minutes at a time.” Sam told you. 

You sighed, but nodded in defeat. You hugged your brothers and they kissed the top of your head. “Have fun.” Dean said, getting in the car.

“See you in a couple days.” You replied, waving. You watched as Dean drove away, and you closed the garage door behind them.

Three days later you sat on your couch, watching TV. You kept checking your phone, waiting for Dean to reply. You’d texted him an hour ago, asking when he’d be home, but he still hadn’t answered. You thought of texting Sam, but you knew your brothers would be together, and there was really no use. 

“Y/N.” Cas said, entering the room and making you jump.

“How do you get in here without me hearing the door?” You asked for the millionth time in amazement. 

“No time for that. Have Sam and Dean returned?”

“No, why?” You asked, concerned by Cas’ tone. 

Castiel didn’t answer, just turned and left the room. You jumped up and followed him, wanting an answer, but when you walked through the door, Cas was nowhere in sight. 

“Castiel!” You shouted, looking around the room. “How does he do that?” You turned around, and Cas was standing behind you. “Jesus!” You exclaimed, jumping.

“I don’t know where your brothers are.” Cas informed you.

“They’re visiting an old friend.” You told him.

Castiel sighed and stared at you for a moment; he looked like he was having a wild debate in his mind. “They’re not visiting a friend.” Castiel said after a moment, choosing his words carefully. “There are bad things in this world, and your brothers fight them.” You stared at Castiel, not fully grasping what he was saying. Cas seemed to understand this, and sighed in frustration. “They hunt monsters." 

You burst out laughing. "Cas, I haven’t been scared of monsters since I was five!” You exclaimed. 

“Do you remember what made you scared of monsters in the first place? Do you remember the first nightmare you had?” Cas asked with a scary urgency. 

You thought back, of course you remembered. “I had a nightmare that I was kidnapped by demons.” You told him with a shrug, you didn’t want him to know how much it still scared you sometimes.

“That wasn’t a dream.” Cas told you.

“I’m not stupid, I know monsters aren’t real.” You said, rolling your eyes.

“They are! And so are vampires, werewolves, and angels!” Cas stated.

“Unless you can prove any of this, I don’t believe you.” You said.

Castiel walked up to you and grabbed your arm. In a moment you were standing in your bedroom. “What the Hell!” You exclaimed, pulling your arm away from him.

“I’m an angel.” He told you. Then he grabbed your arm and brought you into the library. 

Angels and demons. Huh. You didn’t want to believe it, your mind kept rejecting any thoughts that Cas could be telling the truth, but you’d seen it for yourself. “Where are Sam and Dean?” You asked, not wanting the truth.

“They went to hunt a demon. But I can’t find them. I need your blood so I can do a tracking spell of sorts.” Cas said, pulling a knife out. 

You didn’t even have to think about it. You rolled your shirt sleeve up and Cas made a small cut on your arm, then placed a bowl underneath, gathering a few drops of blood. You watched as he mixed everything together and mumbled a few words. 

“Got them.” Cas muttered. 

“I’m coming with you.” You said, moving to his side. 

“I’m not putting you in danger.” Cas stated.

“They’re my brothers. Cas, I can’t just stay here, knowing you guys are in danger." 

Castiel sighed and nodded. "You can’t go unprepared.” He noted, then disappeared. You were scared he’d left without you, but then he came back, a knife in his hands. “This kills demons.” He informed you, putting it in your hands. 

Cas then grabbed your arm, and soon you were standing in a wide, dark room. Castiel slowly opened a door, allowing you and him to slip in. Your eyes instantly fell on Sam and Dean, who were tied to chairs. Cas placed an arm on your shoulder, telling you to wait. You both crouched behind a few boxes, and watched.

“He won’t come.” Dean spat at the demon. “He’s not stupid.”

“Oh, but he is. You see, he likes you boys. Castiel may be an angel, but he’s also an idiot.” The demon replied, and you could just hear the smile in his voice. It made your blood boil. 

“Why do you want him anyway?” Sam asked, obviously trying to keep the demon talking.

“Do you really think I’d tell you?” The demon scoffed.

“He probably doesn’t know.” Dean said to Sam, who nodded in agreement. 

The demon was quiet for a moment, then you heard Dean grunt in pain. You peaked around the boxes and saw that the demon was punching your oldest brother. You tightened your grip on the knife, but Castiel kept a hand on you. 

“Hey, I’m not judging you. I just call them as I see them.” Dean mumbled, out of breath. 

The demon balled his hands into fists, and looked like he was about to hit Dean again. You just couldn’t let that happen. You silently crept towards the demon, ignoring Cas’ whispers telling you to stop. The demon was too focused on Dean to hear you. He certainly didn’t expect your knife to plunge into his back. His eyes lit up for a moment, then he fell to the floor. 

“What are you doing here?” Sam asked, looking around the room. “There are more demons, you need to leave.”

“Oh, I just love family reunions.” A new voice, female, purred. You spun around and saw a blond, short woman wearing all black approach you. “Did the angel bring you?” She asked.

You didn’t answer, just stared at her. She watched you, waiting for an answer. Once it was perfectly clear you weren’t going to give her one, she snapped her fingers, and two more demons entered the room. You kept staring at her, your expression bored and neutral. “Tie her up. Put her in between the brothers, I want them both to see her be tortured.”

The two demons approached you, and you gripped your knife. You may not have known about monsters only an hour ago, but Sam and Dean had taught you how to fight. Once they were within arm reach, you swung the knife, catching the first demon by surprise. You landed the knife in his stomach, killing him instantly. The second demon didn’t hesitate, and grabbed your arm, lunging forward. You leaned forward, bringing his hand with you, and used his momentum to flip him over. You pulled the knife out of the first demon, and stabbed the second one. 

The woman stared at you, and huffed in annoyance. “Kill her.” She ordered, and four more demons entered the room. 

“What, too scared to do your own dirty work?” You mocked. 

The woman stared daggers at you, but she wasn’t stupid. She didn’t stop her goons from attacking you. Luckily, she’d forgotten about Castiel. The angel left his hiding spot and stabbed the leader. She fell to the floor, dead. Cas then quickly helped you deal with the other demons, and they were dead within minutes. You cut Sam and Dean loose, then Cas took you all to the Impala.

“I can’t believe you told her.” Dean yelled at Cas.

“Thank God somebody did! You obviously needed help.” You defended the angel. 

“That’s not the point. These monsters will be after you now.” Sam told you.

“Then teach me to be a hunter.” You requested.

“It’s not an easy life. It’s not fun, and it’s definitely not safe.” Dean warned you.

“Guys. I know you’re just trying to protect me, but this is my choice." Sam and Dean didn’t look happy, but they accepted your decision. 

(I hope you like it!)


Fandom: Dragon Age
Pairing: Fenhawke
Rating: T
Word count: 1,453
In which Hawke offers Fenris his heart in the form of a red favor. Set during the first night Fenris and Hawke spend together.

           A blanket of warm silence had fallen over the manor, the dust finally permitted to settle in the aftermath of twin tornadoes, one elven, one human. Soft orange light danced in Hawke’s hearth, the logs sharing secret crackles and whispers as they burned.

           The bed sheets rustled. Strong fingers curled around Fenris’, coaxing him back from the brink of sleep. He let them stay where they were. Blinked over at Hawke with drowsy green eyes.

           Hawke chuckled under his breath, answering the question of an arched eyebrow. “I have something I want to give you.”

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bri617aroundtheworld  asked:

How about: Olicity meet at a speed dating event that neither wants to be at but where forced to go to by friends/family. Either S5 or alternate first meeting? :-)


Alternate first meeting, obviously.

First, sorry about the delay.  I had @ohmyemilybett (the patron saint of betas) read it, and we’re in vastly different time zones.  Which means when I got the response at 3AM, I was already asleep.  My bad.

If Pokemon!Olicity was fluff, this is like cotton candy sprinkled with sugar that you eat while lounging on a huge, fluffy pillow.  It’s also super long.  Read at your own risk.

The opportunity arose to do something I’ve wanted to write for ages.  @ohmyemilybett​ gave me the idea first, but her variant is nine million times better than this.  At the moment, all you have is me.  In case this isn’t your jam, though, this is the one universe you’ll ever find it in.

Also, I have literally no clue about speed dating.  I live in the middle of Banjo Music, USA and occasionally I’ll see something on a TV show and be like, “Oh, yeah, that’s a thing.”  So if I’m off the mark, whoops.

When I moved this into Drive, it was nine pages long.  So the cut is going to come pretty early because who wants to scroll through nine pages of fic on their dash.

Tagging the Masque Fic Squad at the end.  If you want in or out, let me know.

“Hi, I’m Oliver.”

“I know who you are.  Your face has been on tabloids for ages–I haven’t been living under a rock.  No offense, but this isn’t your scene, is it?”

“I had no choice in the matter.”

“Hey, me, too.  Oh, yeah–I’m Felicity.”

“Nice to meet you, Felicity.”

“Oh, a handshake.  That’s… different.”

“Apparently I’m out of practice.”

“No, I like it.  It establishes us as equals.  It’s definitely the nicest greeting I’ve gotten tonight.  One guy tried to hug me.  I mean, I’m a hugger, but I like to actually know someone for more than thirty seconds first.”

“…Have a seat.”

“Wow, pulling the chair out for me?  That’s a nice touch.  They say chivalry is dead.”

“Despite common belief, my mother did raise me to have proper etiquette.”


“Everyone has five minutes!  …Begin!”

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strange birds

so bottom line yesterday i got a few nasty asks about how laurel and felicity can’t be friends, which prompted me to not only post my favorite laurel and felicity stuff i’ve written but also to write this. spoilers for the newly released pictures of the new lair. also: every song on birdy’s album fire within is a laulicity song and i will fight you on this.

slight spoilers for arrow season 4

Rating: T/PG-13 | Words: 4,445 | Pairing: Laurel Lance & Felicity Smoak, background Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak | In-Canon for now but could become Canon Divergence

tagging: redpendreaming queenlysmoak (who also was my lovely beta), vigilantelawyers, marysuepoots barriscowest - if anyone else wants to be tagged in my stuff let me know

read on ao3

It starts, as most things do, with Oliver Queen and a lie.

And it’s a harmless one, really, said in the rush of all things coming together.

“This is Felicity; she’s setting up my internet.”

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“Same Love” is catchy as hell, beautiful even. And I have some problems with it. I just don’t dig that THE song chosen this year to celebrate the national movement toward equality begins with a description of what it feels like to be straight but fear you might be gay. The song puts thinking you are gay in as part of a list of things to be sad about - to cry about even - and as a gay person, this upsets me. It’s tough to be defended by someone who would be bummed to be you.

Which brings me to the lyrics referencing choice. I know Mary Lambert is a lesbian. I know “She Keeps Me Warm” is a love song, and in that song, her refrain makes more sense to me. In “Same Love.” when she says she “can’t change, even if I wanted to” it troubles me a little. I know there are still folks who need to hear that gay people are gonna stay gay people no matter what is done to them. I also think there are folks - gay kids for instance, but also like Republican Senators - who need to know that gay people are doing ok. That we don’t all spend our lives wondering about changing our sexualities. That you can be gay and be unable to imagine changing because it’s a bigger part of your person than can be mentally subtracted.

Last night I was especially bummed to see the word “faggot” make it through to CBS broadcast. I am not pro-censorship; I just want that word to carry the gravitas of any other slur. That is still a word that is yelled at gay folks while they are beaten, intimidated, or shamed. In my mind, it isn’t a CBS word.

Watching the 2013 Golden Globes, I screamed with a bunch of lesbians as we watched Jodie Foster creep oh so close to openly identifying the part of her life we most relate to. This year I didn’t watch as Michael Douglas got an award for his stellar performance as Liberace and Jared Leto waxed philosophic on his role in Dallas Buyers Club and the challenges trans people face. Though a year a part, those two award shows make sense to me as companions - it is still so difficult to be openly queer that straight folks are telling queer stories.

In part this is great. Queer folks need straight allies. Social change is pushed along when a minority group is backed by those outside that minority group. But we need our own voices as well. We need gay folks singing about being mistaken for straight when they were children (which happens, and I’m going to guess here: WAY MORE OFTEN THAN ANY STRAIGHT PERSON IS MISTAKEN FOR GAY). We need queer actors playing queer roles and winning awards based on performance, not just the bravery of acting queer.

Queen Latifah stood on stage last night and half-referenced/half-navigated around her own interest in “Same Love.” Then a straight man sang about being mistaken for gay. Then a gay woman asserted that she can’t change, even if she wanted to. Then Madonna wore a suit. Then a bunch of folks got married. There is a lot to love in that. There’s a lot of movement to feel proud of. There is also a long way to go.

Who Tells Your Story?

Description: Dean x reader. Stays true to the request below, Dean and Sam get sent on a hunt that first seems easy but quickly gets dire.
Words: ~3,240
Warnings: Death
Author’s Note: So two fandoms have made me cry today, that’s fun?! In relation to the fic though - @samtomydeanwinchester is my saviour in telling me as it is, and that is all I have to say about that. As always, if on mobile you see the fic ends surprisingly early, click on the post because the keep reading feature has bugged out! Enjoy!

Request: @deanackles67 I have a request I had this dream and you are my absolute favourite fanfic account EVER so i want you to write it. Could you do a dean x reader fic where the boys are hunting a witch but they find a different witch (reader) who is very special because she doesn’t have to use spells to do magic. She is very powerful. all these demons are after her and they kill her in a forest in front of dean but then she floats up in the air and then energy explodes from her that kills all the demons near them.

The difference 24 hours can make is incredible. In day to day life, if you picture yourself exactly 24 hours previously, it is nothing too drastic, but add in a few differences? You could be on the other side of the planet in that time, landing on the moon or hell. No, literally, hell was a reasonable possibility, and truthfully it was more likely than the other two put together.

Your 24 hours had been eventful to say the least. It had started like any other hunt, but now? It’s a shame you couldn’t write it down, it’d make an interesting story but for now, you supposed it’d have to stay with your memories. It would have been nice to get your head straight first in that way, but time doesn’t always allow that, besides, it wasn’t as if you hadn’t known the consequences of what you were about to do… Onwards and upwards, you supposed.

It felt as if every ounce and atom of your body was being tugged in a separate direction, each sense fighting for your attention more than the last. You could hear the shouts in the background but they faded to white noise as the faintest glow took over your vision before, suddenly, it all went dark.

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Olicity: Eternal

missmudpie said: Listen, Satan: Between dying over the comms and the beheading you have killed Oliver and Felicity enough times. To fix it, I purpose this prompt: Olicity finds each other in the afterlife. Can be pseudo-sequel to one you’ve written or not.

Anonymous said: please fix that last fic you wrote. Maybe it could all be just a dream. FIX IT.

Note: Okay, it’s a fix-it. I had to. I couldn’t just let them die like that. WHY DO YOU GUYS KEEP PROMPTING ME DEATH? HAVEN’T YOU LEARNED BY NOW THAT I WILL WRITE IT? Fix it to:

Originally posted by nataliedormier

Oliver feels things returning to himself slowly. First there’s a tingle deep in his muscles, as if the blood is rushing back to his feet after he’s been crouched for too long. It’s that feeling of a long, unplanned nap, and he finds himself wondering what day it is, what year it is, and where exactly did he fall asleep? He feels an ache through his body slowly become replaced with something more comfortable, and the tingle dulls to something he’s not entirely used to - peace.

Then he remembers.

It’s a Thursday in May. And he died.

He’s dead. He was infected along with all those remaining in the city and he died. He sat outside Queen Incorporated and felt his body shutting down while he clung to those final moments with…


His eyes snap open quickly, and he tries to get his bearings. He’s not lying down but seated in a chair in a pastel-coloured room. It’s soft, somewhat blurred around the edges, and then he realises what this means. He’s unharmed. He’s not in a hospital. He’s not sick. He’s…okay. He’s dead. He knows that. He always knew there was a place between life and death, he’s browsed it before, seen something ahead of him in a shimmer of tranquillity, but a name has always pulled him back, a face, a pair of lips, a voice.


She must be here now, he realises. In the last moments before closing his eyes he remembers hearing her fade. He has to find her. He stands up, but a door at his side opens and in walks his best friend.

His old best friend.

“Tommy…” he murmurs, as the smiling man came closer. He draws in a breath and Tommy just smiles at him, hands tucked into the pockets of a very expensive looking suit.

“About time you joined us,” Tommy remarks casually. “There’s a lot to get to and a lot of people waiting for you, but I’m here to do the welcome party,” he explains. Oliver just stares at him, and despite the realities in his mind right now, all he wants to do is embrace his best friend. Before he can, however, Tommy gives a slight nod of his head. “So, you’ve figured it out?”

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