what a valiant effort he made

Memoirs of the Broken People

Originally posted by nctuhohahyes

Pairing: JaehyunX Reader

Genre: Soulmate Au/Angst/Fluff/Historical

Word Count: 9k

Summary: History used to be your favorite class of the day. Used to. But that was before the visions, the lashing out and the incredible, undeniable heartache that erupted every day. History was Jaehyun’s least favorite class too. 

Author’s note: Goddamn, where have I been? IT’S BEEN FOREVER! How are all of you? I’m back from hell and better than ever! Jkjk, anyways, I’ve been super obsessed with NCT lately, especially Taeyong, so ironically I write about Jaehyun apparently??? Anyways! Requests are open still, but I can’t promise I’ll get it done super fast since I’m on vacation. Anywho, Enjoy this piece of shit I just wrote!

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Characters: Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 29,223

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Note: Inspired by 5 Centimeters Per Second. Please keep in mind that the majority of this takes place in the 90s and will be following the Korean school year schedule.

The universe works in mysterious ways.

You’re never the type to try and figure out the answers to those unanswerable questions, but ever since you were little, you always held an utter fascination with how everything worked, both in unison and in discord. You believe that the world is like an unending stream, one that everyone one is thrown into at birth with no other instruction other than to stay afloat. From there, the best thing to do, the only thing you can do, is to let the current carry you through the long and twisting river until you reach the inevitable edge of the waterfall.

This mindset most likely spawns from your mother, much like yourself. She often articulated charming stories and intriguing facts to you throughout your childhood, teaching you all that she knew in order to make sure that you were growing up with as much ease as you could, especially since she was raising you alone. With your mother being the only guardian in your life even to this day, you undeniably find yourself adopting her way of thinking more often than not.

The greatest lesson you learned is that the stream knows where to take you, and the world knows how to continue spinning—all you can do is go with the ebb and flow and hope for the best.

What you didn’t know was that the world would give you the best at such a young age.

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At Long Last

zoemonster200 said: I just got a good idea for a Reid x reader. So reader is Hotch’s daughter, dating Spencer, and goes into witness protection with her father and brother. She heard what’s been going on with Spence and the prison and wishes to go back but she can’t for obvious reasons. When they get word that Scratch is gonna Hotch let’s her go and it is an emotional reunion with her Spencer. Also Luke’s first time meeting reader. Pwease?

Originally posted by toyboxboy


I looked up from the board game I was playing with Jack at my dad, whose face was a mask. Even so, there was something in his voice that alerted me, and I knew something intense was happening. 

“What is it?” I asked. My heart had already started to pound inside my chest in anticipation of whatever he was about to say. 

“Scratch is dead.” 

My heart leapt against my ribcage, images of the one and only person that I had left behind in DC flashing through my mind. 

I was up in seconds. 

“I have to go see Spencer,” I heard myself say; it felt so unreal, the idea that I could just go and get on a plane to see the love of my life. 

“Go,” he replied, and I paused in my internal spinning to meet his dark eyes; warmth and understanding radiated from him, and I found myself filled with gratitude as I leaned in to hug him, taking a moment to take comfort in the familiar embrace before I gathered my things and headed for the airport, to go to Spencer. 

I sat next to the window on the plane; gazing out at the clouds, I thought of nothing but Spencer. After hearing everything that had happened to him, my heart had been broken at the knowledge that I couldn’t be there for him. If I had been there, I could have helped. Maybe, I had thought more than once, I could’ve even kept him safe from all the suffering he’d had to endure. Now, all I could think of was getting to him. 

When the plane landed, I headed immediately for Quantico, and walked the familiar route to the bullpen where the team was often gathered. I stopped at the top of the stairs, and looked down, finding a quietly disturbing scene. Each of them was sitting at their respective desks, and Spencer’s head hung low as he gazed at the wooden surface. Even from my distance, I could almost feel the exhaustion and beaten down feeling radiating from him. I had to force myself to take the stairs at a normal pace, and came to stand at the foot of the stairs. Each of them was so lost in their own thoughts that they had all failed to notice me. 

“Spencer,” I heard my own voice say, the word which was so familiar in my mind and my heart sounding nearly foreign on my tongue. He looked up and I watched his guard crumble as he stood up from his chair, a mess of emotions on his beautiful features as left his chair spinning in his wake to race across the bullpen toward me. And then, I was wrapped up in his arms, and he was burying his face in my hair. 

“(Y/N), thank God you’re here,” he murmured. 

“Hey sweetheart,” I whispered. As I held him close to me, I could feel him trembling. I ignored the others; gently and quickly I led him across the bullpen and up the stairs, into the conference rom, closing the door behind me and checking to be sure the blinds were closed. I knew he was moments from losing it, and wanted it to be a private affair. 

He looked at me and I saw so much in his hazel eyes; the months and months that he’d been facing the world alone were reflected there in those warm depths. I felt a pang in my heart and my stomach begin to twist yet again with the knowledge that he was all alone for so long, wandering and lost and desperately needing the kind of love his team couldn’t provide him and his mother was no longer able to. 

“Spencer,” I murmured again. “I am so sorry you had to do this all alone.” 

“No,” he replied, and he reached up to rub his eye with the heel of his hand, anguish on his face. 

“Hey,” I said softly, stepping forward to stand right in front of him. “Sweetheart, are you okay?”

Slowly, Spencer shook his head and I saw his lip start to quiver in spite of his valiant efforts to keep it together. 

“No,” he whispered, casting his gaze to the dingy, dark carpet below our feet. “No, I’m not.” 

“What’s wrong?” I asked. 

He let out a shaky sigh. 

“What isn’t?” he asked. 

“Scratch is dead,” I offered. “There’s that. And…I’m home.” 

He looked up at my words and I could see so much desperation and the tiniest sliver of hope, all of which made me want to hug him and never let him go, to shield him from everything so that he wouldn’t ever have to face such heartbreak again.

“You are,” he whispered, and it was as if he wasn’t sure he should believe it. 

“I am,” I said, a little forcefully, and took another step forward so that I was standing right in front of him, close enough to feel the warmth that radiated from his skin. 

“I have PTSS,” he said. He looked up, as if forcing himself to meet my eyes. “I- I don’t know what I’m going to do about my mom. I can’t sleep, I can’t think, I don’t even know how to function right now. I’m not the same person I was when you left, (Y/N).” 

“Stop,” I said. He hesitated, but closed his mouth. 

“I know what you’re getting at,” I told him softy. I cocked my head to the side and the gently laid my hand against his cheek, holding his gaze. 

“I’m not leaving you again, Spencer,” I said fiercely. “It doesn’t matter to me what you’ve been through while I wasn’t able to be here. It doesn’t matter what battles you’re facing right now. I want to fight them with you, because I love you, Spencer Reid, more than anything in the whole world. I wish more than anything that I could have been here for all of that, but I’m here now and I’m not leaving you again.” 

Tears had started to fall from his eyes as I spoke, and I brushed one of them away with my thumb. 

“Come here,” I said, and reached for him. He came willingly, and I could feel his tears soaking into my hair, but I didn’t care at all. 

“I’m so sorry,” I said softly, running my fingers through his soft curls. 

He started to speak, but sobbed against my shoulder instead. 

“Hey, shh,” I said gently. “It’s okay, love. We have all the time in the world to talk, okay? You don’t have to talk right now.” 

I sank to the floor and he followed. I leaned back against the wall, and he curled his lanky limbs into a ball next to me, his head on my shoulder and my arms around him a little awkwardly. 

After all he’d been through, even a tough, genius FBI Agent like Spencer needed to curl up and cry. 

“Everything’s going to be alright,” I murmured against the crown of his golden curls. “It’s okay.” 

We sat there like that for what could’ve been hours, but more than likely wasn’t, and eventually Spencer pulled back to look at me, swiping at the remaining tears on his face. I smiled softly at him, leaning in to press my forehead to his, allowing my eyes to flutter closed. I breathed in the scent of Spencer, and thanked my lucky stars that I was able to return to him. 

“I love you,” he whispered, a little hoarse. 

“I love you, too,” I replied. I cupped his cheek in my pam and pressed my lips against his, tasting the familiar blend of coffee and Spencer, letting it all rush over me. 

I was home. 

Just then, there was a soft knock on the door, and Spencer stood, reaching out to help me up. I followed, and he opened the door to the conference room with a small smile for the dark-haired man on the other side. 

“Hey, Luke,” he said. 

“Hey, Spencer,” the man named Luke replied. His eyes flickered to me and Spencer cleared his throat, his grip on my hand tightening for a second. 

“This is (Y/N),” he said to Luke, adding, my girlfriend, and Hotch’s daughter.” 

Luke held out his hand to me with a smile, and I shook it. 

“Welcome home, (Y/N),” he said sincerely. 

“He has a German Shepherd- Roxy-” Spencer said, looking over at me with a smile reminiscent of the days before everything fell apart. “You’ll love her,” he vowed, and I couldn’t help but smile. As we followed Luke down to the bullpen, I couldn’t help but feel that there was a glimmer of hope; things would be alright, I decided, as I let go of Spencer long enough to hug Emily, JJ, and Garcia before greeting Rossi and meeting the newer members of the team. 

Tonight, I would be going home with the love of my life. We had a long road ahead of us, but really, what more could I ask for? 

As I glanced back at Spencer, I decided that I had everything in the world I would ever need with him by my side. 

TAG LIST: all fics *if you’d like to be added to any tag list, please let me know!*







Photo Quest | On AO3
Word Count: ~7000
Warnings: None

Summary: A ficlet based on an old Imzy prompt. Steve loses a wallet, where he keeps a secret picture of Tony. His team of heroes is of no help, but hey, Thor’s roommate Daryl has some strangely insightful advice about ham. 

Also for STONY Bingo Square S4 - ‘Pining’

Captain America didn’t panic. Serum-enhanced national treasures usually didn’t, and good for them because Steve Rogerssoldier, punk, plucky kid from Brooklyndefinitely was. Panicking, that is.

He thumbed tensely through the video feed on his Starkpad. A panoramic view of every common area in the Tower was right there at his fingertips, and some not-so-common areas were just a passcode away. In addition, he had access to satellite feeds and other methods of surveillance that walked a thin line Constitution-wise, but none of them really solved his problem.

“Anything?” he asked FRIDAY.

‘Negative,’ replied the AI.

“Oh jeez, still?” Steve asked in a voice that might have been called a whine if someone who was not him were describing it.

“Captain, I’m doing my best,” FRIDAY protested. “A full building scan takes time, y’know?“

“Limit it to my recorded locations.” he commanded brusquely. “Last 48 hours.”

“You didn’t authorize me to record your movements within the Tower,” said FRIDAY, and Steve figured he probably deserved the smug undertone behind her serene professionalism.

He closed his eyes and slumped back in his seat anyway. “Goddamn it.“

“Woah, language.”

Steve snapped his eyes open at the wry tenor, instantaneously flipping the Starkpad over. He found himself face to face with Tony, much like a deer in headlights. It was not a good look on him, and Tony’s brow rose in predictable confusion.

“What are you doing?” Tony asked, and lightweight that he was, Steve could already feel his face grow warm.

He made a valiant effort nonetheless. “Nothing.”

“Oh, because it totally sounded like you were arguing with my AI,” Tony folded his arms now. He loomed, and Steve really had no other choice but to notice how he was dressed to spar— cutoff shirt, hand wraps, trunks that hugged his waist just right… “And losing.”

While Steve battled his sudden case of dry mouth, Tony continued. “Come on, what’s making America’s golden boy swear in the presence of a disembodied lady?”

“I lost my wallet,” Steve admitted.

Tony looked skeptical, but didn’t actually say anything about it. He rattled commands off to his AI instead, “FRIDAY, order replacements for Cap’s charge cards and report his IDs as lost.”

“Already done, boss,” FRIDAY replied, more pleasantly than she’d done for Steve.

“Done,” Tony echoed. He flashed Steve a thumbs up. “Mission accomplished?”

Steve tapped his fingers on the Starkpad. “My wallet is still missing, so no.”

“Then, let’s order a wallet. You ok with leather?”

“Tony, no.” Steve shook his head. “I don’t want a new wallet, I’m going to find my old one.”


And that’s the thing about Steve: he may be a terrible casual liar, but he was made to get out of potentially ruinous situations that might threaten the very structure of the team.

He stood and clasped Tony’s shoulder. “Because I’m a weird old man, remember? Let me live.”

Steve managed to pull off a mostly casual stroll to the elevator to head up to his suite. He smiled genially at Tony through the doors while pressing the button to his floor, and Tony stared back at him with undisguised suspicion.

Steve held his smile for the eternity it took for the elevator doors to close, and slumped back against the wall as soon as they did. Why was he like this?  

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Shower Dreams

Sterek, 3K, Mature, Future Fic

A gift for the lovely Isobel, aka @shealwaysreads​. She posted this pic (NSFW), and after we tossed some ideas back and forth, I said I’d write this for her. She asked for “at least a kiss, more if you’re smuttily inclined,” and I was like do you know who I am?! So I hope you like this, dear!

(Spoiler alert: they do a little more than kiss.)

This is also on AO3!

Derek yawned as he rummaged through his dresser drawers, pulling out a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of sweatpants. It’d been a long evening of dealing with faeries, of all things, and they all ended up sore and tired and covered in nasty, sweet-smelling faerie goop. Stiles was the last one in the shower, and Derek offered to lend him some clothes.

Unfortunately, he opened the bathroom door at exactly the wrong time. Stiles had just turned the water off and shoved the shower curtain aside, so he was standing there, naked and dripping with his eyes wide.

Derek’s jaw dropped.

He knew, obviously, that over the past five years Stiles had changed from a teenager into a man, but…but now he was faced with indisputable, physical evidence. His shoulders were seriously broad, he had a very attractive dusting of hair on his stomach, and while he was still lean, he had filled out so well, with visible muscle on his chest, arms, and torso.

Derek’s gaze drifted lower, seemingly of its own accord, but before he could really catch a glimpse of Stiles’ dick, he realized that he was staring and that this had definitely ventured into creeper territory. He slammed his eyes shut.

“Sorry,” he said, way too quickly and maybe even a little squeakily? Shit. He looked around wildly—where was he supposed to put the clothes—and ended up just dropping them exactly where he stood.

Stiles still hadn’t reacted, so Derek offered a weak smile in his general direction and nodded as he backed out the door as fast as he could. He slammed it shut and heaved a deep breath, scolding his dick in a vain effort to calm it down.

Derek could very clearly hear as Stiles stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, so he hightailed it down to the kitchen. He spent the next five minutes going through some deep breathing exercises and trying to relax. Everything was gonna be fine. He knew that he should apologize again, probably, but for the sake of his sanity, it was probably best if he never mentioned this again. Ever.


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anonymous asked:

:O Ella enchanted prinxiety au during the scene where Ella has to try not to kill the prince????? (Angst with happy ending???)

Guess who actually managed to find wifi! I have a seven hour wait for the ferry, and I managed to find a nearby cafe with free wifi. So I figured I’d get this up. I hope you like it. I did change it a little from the original. Mostly because it’s been a while since I’ve seen the movie. Also you have no idea how tempted I was to just end it when Anxiety was being dragged off. But you did specify a happy ending

Anxiety had always figured he’d become a hermit. That once he was done with school, he’d go off into the forest, build a cottage miles and miles away from anyone else, and live there the rest of his life where no one could ever tell him what to do ever again.

He’d had it all planned out. And, sure he’d made a valiant effort to try and get the curse reversed by Lucinda. It had been worth a shot, at least. But if he hadn’t been able to, at least he’d had a back up plan, one that he could live with. He’d be fine either way.

Or at least he would have been if it hadn’t been for this stupid Prince coming in and making him fall for him.

If he hadn’t gotten caught up in the whole thing, if he hadn’t gone with Roman, this never would have happened. He wouldn’t be here standing in the Hall of Mirrors, dagger in his hand, and the worst order of his life echoing though his mind.

Roman was still smiling at him. His stupid, handsome face so open and trusting. Anxiety couldn’t do it. Please let him not be able to do. Somebody stop him. God please, please, please…

And Roman was kneeling, kneeling in front of him, and this couldn’t be happening. The world couldn’t be that cruel, to offer him everything he never knew he needed in the moment where everything was about to be destroyed.

But it was, it was.

Roman’s eyes were still shining, so blissfully unaware. Anxiety drank in the sight, knowing that he’d never see it again, no matter the outcome.

“Anxiety,” Roman said softly, “Will you marry me?”

The sobs Anxiety had been suppressing broke through. He could only shake his head and whimper, his eyes blurring with tears. Make this stop, please, please, please.

Roman smile had fallen now, a look of concern replacing it now. Concern he didn’t deserve.

“Anxiety?” he asked, “What’s wrong.”

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t” Anxiety sobbed. “I l-love you, you st-stupid Prince, and I can’t!”

“No, no, it’s okay” Roman said soothingly, “Don’t say that. Is it your family? I assure, nothing can stop our love.”

Anxiety could only sob harder at that. This stupid, oblivious Prince.

Roman drew closer to him. “I love you so much, Anxiety,” he murmured, his hands coming up to draw Anxiety into a hug. “Everything will be alright, I promise.”

But it wouldn’t be.

Even now as Roman held him gently, Anxiety pathetically leaning into the last embrace he’d ever get, the bells were ringing. It was midnight.

In the mirror, Anxiety could see his hand rise, dagger clutched between bone-white fingers. He tried desperately to pull his hand back down, but it was no longer his own. His body belonged to the curse.

“No,” he whispered desperately, “No, please. I won’t. I can’t”

The dagger was still raised, prepared to plunge.

“I won’t do it. You can’t make me”

Anxiety could see his terror-wracked expression in the mirror.

“Just stop, stop yourself.”

His voice had gotten louder, prompting a confused murmur from Roman.

“Stop, stop right now!“

The dagger glinted, beginning to descend.


His hand opened. The dagger fell with a clatter to the floor.

Anxiety gasped for air, feeling as though he could breath again for the first time in hours. He’d done it. He’d broken the curse. Roman was safe.

But now Roman was looking at him in horror, all earlier traces of love and affection now gone.

“Anxiety, what?” he asked, his eyes searching Anxiety’s face for an explanation. But before Anxiety could give him one, there was a commotion at the door.

“Guards! Arrest him!”

It was Roman’s uncle, the absolute bastard, sweeping into the room with a sneer on his face.

Desperate to make sure Roman understood, Anxiety turned towards him, words tumbling out of him. “Roman! It wasn’t me, it was the curse! I promise, I didn’t want to. He made me, your uncle made me. Don’t trust him, please. Roman, I love you, please!”

But Roman only looked at him in confusion, as the guards seized Anxiety, dragging him away from the one person who’d made him feel hopeful, had made him feel happy.

“Don’t trust him!” he screamed out one last time, as he lost sight of his Prince. He could only hope Roman would listen.

Deposited in his cell, with the knowledge that he’d be expected at dawn. Anxiety wept. Wept because although he had finally gotten rid of the curse that had plagued his life, he had also destroyed the one good thing about it. Roman hated him now, and worst of all, he still might die. And all because Anxiety hadn’t been strong enough to break it sooner.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been crying. But then there was a rattle at the door. He looked up, blinking away the tears. Was it dawn already?

But it wasn’t the guards that opened the door. It was Logan, the serious and sarcastic elf he had met in the forest.

“Anxiety,” he said, rushing over, “I’m glad we found you. We were told that you were to be executed for attempted assassination.”

“It was Roman’s uncle,” Anxiety croaked out, gladly accepting the hand up. “He ordered me to kill Roman. I-I managed to stop myself, but he’s going to try again, I know it.”

“Well, I suppose we have no choice but to prevent him then,” Logan said, frowning. “I may find Roman to be ridiculous and overly cheerful, but his uncle is by far a worse candidate for the throne. What must we do?”

“Do you have Patton’s book” Anxiety asked.

“Ah, yes. Here.” The book was gently deposited in Anxiety’s hands.

“Hey, kiddo,” Patton waved cheerfully. “I’m glad you’re okay!”

“My health is not important right now,” Anxiety said curtly, “Show me the king!”

Patton’s face shimmered away to reveal the king standing near the crown, swapping it with one that was clearly poisoned.

“Shit,” Anxiety cursed. He took a deep breath, and looked up. “Guys, I’m going to need your help.”

“We stand with you, Anxiety,” Logan assured him. “What do you need?”

“We need to stop a coronation.”

Okay, Anxiety thought, ducking under yet another sword. Maybe just saying, we need to stop a coronation was a bit too simple of a plan.

It had worked true, but now desperately ducking and weaving though the fighting crown, trying to get to Roman, he wished he had maybe thought things out a bit more.


He whirled around to see Roman, breathing hard, his hair actually out of place for once.

“Anxiety, what’s going on?” His idiot demanded. “What are you doing?”

“Saving your life,” Anxiety called back, giving a good kick to another member of the Red Guard.

“I don’t understand,” Roman replied, looking bewildered.

“Of course you don’t,” Anxiety muttered, rolling his eyes. Why had he fallen for this moron again? “To sum up, your uncle is evil, he tried to force me to kill you. I managed not to, but then he locked me up, and poisoned your crown, so I broke out to save you.”


Anxiety sighed, he was going to have to try another tactic. Taking advantage of the momentary lull in the fighting, he whirled around, grasped Roman by the collar and pulled him forward into a kiss.

“I love you,” he said bluntly, once he’d pulled back. “I want to marry you. I can’t do that if you’re dead. So stay alive, okay?”

“You want to marry me?” Roman said in surprise.

“Yes!” Anxiety all but shouted in exasperation.

Roman’s face broke out into a smile. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day! I-“

“Save it for after the battle,” Anxiety advised, pulling Roman out of the way of a guard lunging for him.

“After the battle then,” Roman agreed, turning to face his opponents, expression determined.

Anxiety let a small smile come to his face. The battle wasn’t over yet, but here and now, standing with Roman at his side, for once in his life, he felt no doubt or fear.

They were going to win.

A Fruit Basket for Jackson

@rubyredhoodling - I did my best to fulfill some of your wishes for your gift, and I hope that I did them justice. I hope that you enjoy this mess, and I sincerely apologize for any mistakes or inaccuracies that you may discover. :)

by @the1stshipper

Derek huffed to himself, wondering how he’d been reduced to a simple chauffeur by his pack - by one gangly human in particular, really. Derek was on his way to Stiles’ house to pick up Scott and the aforementioned human.  Stiles’ jeep (in a small act of rebellion, Derek had elected not to address the jeep by its given name) had given up once again on their most recent monster-fighting escapade.

Truthfully, Derek would have scoffed at the idea of driving any of his teenaged pack around had one of the teenagers in question not been the one and only Stiles Stilinski. The moment Stiles had turned to him, after first being rejected by everyone else, Derek had known that he would be helpless against those glimmering eyes.

When he had agreed to drive Stiles and Scott, Derek received only one knowing look as he exited the room. Somehow, through unknown processes, Lydia had discovered Derek’s affectionate feelings regarding the boy who had (fortunately) outgrown his infatuation with her. Lydia had only mentioned her findings to Derek once, an instance during which she was both sworn to and thanked for her secrecy. Lydia had complied, but with a judgmental eyebrow finding its way up her forehead; she had it in her head that Stiles returned Derek’s sentiments (an idea seen as preposterous by Derek). 

As Derek pulled up to Stiles’ house, he heard the last fragments of a supposed argument between the two teenagers.

“I’m telling you, he likes you. There is no reason for you to avoid telling him how you feel and how you want to make cute babies with him.” Scott said exasperatedly, opening the front door and stepping out of it. Derek got the sense that whatever he was talking about with Stiles was a topic they frequented and never made any progress on.

“Scott, you can’t be sure of that. You can’t know everything about what people feel just ‘cause you’re a werewolf. For all we know, he would throw me out of his house as soon as I – hypothetically – confessed my feelings.” Stiles had barely finished his rebuttal when the full meaning of his and Scott’s conversation reached Derek.

Stiles had feelings. Romantic feelings. Romantic feelings for someone that Scott was sure reciprocated Stiles’ feelings.

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imhereforthedisco  asked:

please please write, boys dating an English girl

aight you’ve requested like 3 times i owe you this one
-makes fun of you for your accent constantly
-will probably show up at your house on the 4th of july with a full eagle mask on to piss you off
-never really liked coffee and you low key got him hooked on tea
-wants you to make him “british food” but then you get him beans on toast and he’s like what the fuck is this
-he’ll spend hours like “say toast. say microwave. say aluminum. say dinosaur” and you’re like stfu eric
-goes on a crusade to prove to you american movies are better than british ones
-you tried to get him to drink tea and he made a valiant effort but really hated it
-keeps cds from british bands in his car for you
-he thinks the way you say his name is so cute

Growing Up Is Optional

Summary: The twins and Ford realize that de!aged Stan’s gone missing. Ford heads to woods to search for him, hoping he’s not too late. Meanwhile, an old enemy watches, waiting for the perfect opportunity…

A continuation of my  previous fic ‘We Must Not Look at Goblin Men, We Must Not Buy Their Fruit’ for the One and a Half Stans AU. Much longer than the first installment and many more feels.

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See, this is a difficult question, and as much as people love the idea that Kikyou could have bonded and thrived within the group, there is very little chance that it could have worked out simply because of Kikyou’s emotional standing.

You have to understand that Kikyou was not a calm, collected, cold hearted bitch. Kikyou acted like she had herself put together because that is what she had been trained to do, but at the core, she was incredibly, undeniably human.

She was bubbling with jealousy of Kagome, heart broken and crushed over InuYasha and what should have been, and with Naraku, there came hate- seething, fiery hate.

When she was first resurrected, there is absolutely no way it could have been managed. As bitter and angry as she was, Kikyou likely would have killed Kagome and drug InuYasha to hell with her at first chance. This was a woman that had gone from a pure priestess to a walking clay body that moved only on its scorned heart- in the beginning, she absolutely could not have traveled with them.

Later, when InuYasha saves her from the giant soul collector that Naraku sent after her, Kikyou truly forgives him (mind you, I am going off the manga, NOT the anime), because he was there for her, and that’s all she ever wanted, to be by his side. She smiles and he hugs her before she leaves, and Kikyou wanders off into the forest, telling him to go back to his companions.

Now, why would she do this? InuYasha has already stated he’s the only one that can protect her, and that he wants to be there for her.

Because she is still extremely jealous of Kagome, (InuYasha clearly had affections for the girl at this time,) and Kikyou was still incredibly sad and lonely. She knew if she went with InuYasha that, first off, she would lose sight of her goal, and secondly, that she would have to look at those two- all that Kikyou wanted her and InuYasha to be. The thing people miss, though, is another trait of Kikyou.

Kikyou didn’t want to interfere with InuYasha’s new life and happiness.

If she had gone with the group, and I’m sorry to say this, InuKag shippers- InuYasha would have forced himself to put his emotions for Kagome on the back burner even more than he already had for the sake of Kikyou, and Sango and Miroku likely would have had to watch Kagome suffer even more, which would have made them hate Kikyou, even if it wasn’t her fault. And for what? Kikyou knew her new existence was temporary. She wasn’t meant for this world anymore. She was going to die again, it was only a matter of time.

I would love to sit back and think they all could have bonded, but truly, the only one that I think would have made a valiant effort to be her friend would have been Kagome, because she is young, and sweet, and terribly naive and kind, and with all that is in me, Kikyou would have given her the cold shoulder. Kagome would have suffered because she is so kind and patient, and it would not have been healthy. Kagome would have eventually cracked and yelled at Kikyou, and Kikyou likely would have torn her apart emotionally and dismissed her, because Kikyou is not infallible- her jealousy would have made her so bristly and cold to Kagome that our little ball of sunshine would have wilted to a dull coal, and InuYasha, while he may have tried to quiet the bickering, would likely have shrunk within himself because of the emotional conflict. He cannot blame Kikyou, but he cannot approve Kagome’s emotional abuse, and so he would become stuck and withdraw.

Kikyou didn’t want this. Kikyou wanted InuYasha to be happy.

You have to remember that even when Kagome saved Kikyou, everyone thought that Kikyou was just being “her normal, cold self” to her after she purified the miasma, but no- Kikyou was being catty and cruel because of her spiraling emotions. She acknowledged the warmth of Kagome afterwards, conflicted that the girl had so selflessly saved her, because truthfully, Kikyou may not have saved Kagome if the tables were turned. And this is the moment that Kikyou begins to sympathize with Kagome.

Think of how long that took her. It took Kagome saving her life, and this naive, 15 year old girl yelling at her that InuYasha wanted to see her for Kikyou to go “Fuck, I see why he loves her now.”

It was only after that that we see Kikyou start to soften in regards to Kagome and start treating her like a person. Can you imagine if Kikyou had been there the entire series? It would have been awful, and Kikyou knew that. She didn’t want to be that to InuYasha.

So, I suppose my point is- It would have taken significant time and patience if they had really tried. Kikyou would have been drug into the group kicking and screaming, and in that environment, no one but InuYasha would have understood her. She would have always favored InuYasha, likely putting the others in danger for the sake of saving him, and just- god, it would have been a hot mess.

Kikyou loved no one but InuYasha, and that was final.

I think it would have caused problems.

It might have been able to work there towards the end- the very end- after Kikyou had been traveling with Kohaku and he softened her heart again, but otherwise? It would have just been sad.

Kikyou didn’t want InuYasha to be sad. She had wanted him to be happy, and to soften his heart, and so she remained lonely and distant because that had always been her one true wish, to get that hard, angry look out of his eyes, and her reincarnation was already doing it.

She wanted to be human with him. Not physically, but emotionally- she wanted to be human with him. And that girl- that group- had been so incredibly human, and Kikyou wanted to live, wanted to love and live and breathe again by his side but she could never, ever obtain it, and with her, neither could InuYasha… not anymore. She was dead.

It makes me sad, to say the least, but that’s my honest opinion.

Political Party

It was official. Jefferson had given up his Cabinet position and thrown his name in the Presidential race. With no job to keep him in DC, he was back in Virginia now, when he wasn’t traveling. He and Madison texted every day, but while it was nowhere near as bad as when he’d been in France, Jefferson felt the distance more now that he knew what he was missing. At least he’d be seeing Madison soon as he’d be throwing a party. Nothing too big, just a chance to schmooze with some important Virginians, and Madison was certainly one.

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"I Love You, I Love You, I Love You" One Shot

Author: the-king-of-hell-darling (Ray)

Summary: You and Dean are having a baby, but it all gets a little stressful.

Warnings: Mild language, pain references?

Word count: 2875 whoops


“Honey? Where are you?”

Dean was home at last, and I pushed myself up from the sofa with a grin, book forgotten in my hand.

“Baby, you’re back!”

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HC where it’s not the getting together part that’s rough for Illya– just because he isn’t used to getting what he wants doesn’t mean that he doesn’t know what he wants, right? So I imagine that he looks at Napoleon, recognizes that that’s a fine piece of ass and mighty good spank bank material and then boxes it away with everything else in his life that’s not his to have. 

But then they do get together and yeah, ok, Napoleon made the first move and Illya is used to rolling with the punches, so to speak, so they fuck now and that’s fine.


It’s the little things that’ll drive him insane.


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garlean-nonsense  asked:

"I was trying to be hospitable!" Marielle huffed. From the charcoal ... something... clinging to the ceiling it had been a monumental failure.

He paused and took in the sight before him, and the party responsible.  A quiet chuckle and a shake of his head followed as he moved over to begin helping tidy up. 

“I have no doubt.  A valiant effort,” he offered, no mocking or teasing in his tone, “What were you trying to make?  Some of the recipes from home tend to turn out a bit… different in this climate.”

Carefully he took a thick towel and moved the hot pans over to the sink to begin soaking.  Janlenoux well remembered his first attempts at some of the cakes he had made back home.  Apparently the altitude and other climate differences had made quite a few fall flat.

“How about after we get this straightened we have a cup of tea and I can help you work on the recipe?”  He asked with a smile to her before he paused, “I mean no disrespect of course.  Merely a desire to help someone else with a hobby I am rather fond of.”


Anakin probably didn’t think she hated him or thought she was too good for him. He was likely just as busy as she was.

Her relief didn’t last long. By the end of the week, a seed of worry began to take hold in her stomach. Her thoughts drifted to Anakin in moments between audiences and meetings, while she scrubbed her face clean of paint, and as she checked her com before she went to sleep. (She was slowly making her way back into Sola’s good graces, it seemed, although Rabe kept pouting about how she had begun to feel like one of the family when Padme had come along and ruined it all for her.) Anakin still said nothing.

He’s just settling in. It must be a huge adjustment. Padme reminded herself over and over again. Give him time. But the worry grew and grew, until she began to wonder one morning as she was lying in bed if they had perhaps miscommunicated before Anakin left Naboo and he was just waiting for her to contact him, not the other way around. She snorted at her own foolishness and rolled over to snag her com off of the bedside table.

“Oh, good, you’re up.” Sache yawned from the doorway. “I was about to wake you. You’ve got an audience in three hours.”

Padme groaned and buried her head in her pillow, fingers closing around her comlink.

“It’s not that bad.” Sache chided. “It’s just – ” she paused to yawn again “ – excuse me, just Horace Vancil’s final confirmation hearing for his senate appointment. Unless – ” another yawn “ – unless Boss Nass has concerns he hasn’t already voiced, it should probably go pretty smoothly.”

Padme raised her head from her pillow and turned to stare at her handmaiden, who was clutching the doorframe with one hand. “Do you know what I miss?”

“Is it being able to sleep alone?” Sache made a valiant effort to keep her eyes open. “Because you’ve mentioned that one before.”

“No. Well, yes, but that wasn’t it.” Padme pulled herself out of bed, com still in hand.

“Then no,” Sache slurred, swaying slightly, “I have no idea. What do you miss?”

“Not needing two hours to get ready before I go out.” Padme saw Yane coming down the hall over Sache’s shoulder and caught the other girl’s eye. She made a series of complex hand gestures that roughly translated to “please make Sache go to bed.”

It wasn’t until Eirtae was trying to pin her hairpiece onto her head and hissing “for the love of all things holy, Padme, try to keep still” that Padme actually opened her comlink and started to write a message to him. She considered apologizing for her silence, but couldn’t find a way that didn’t rub her position in his face, so she settled on a “Hey, how are you?” instead.

Anakin hadn’t responded when she returned from Vancil’s confirmation hearing. She didn’t think much of it – as far as she knew, it could be the middle of the night for him. He still hadn’t responded when she returned from the official send-off of the Senate delegation (a delegation that she was already trying to mentally reconfigure without making unnecessary enemies if their request for an additional senator to represent the Gungans was denied) or when she woke the next morning, but she didn’t pay it too much mind. She knew, she realized, very little about the Jedis daily routines when they were not attempting to mediate negotiations or fighting off invasions or betting other people’s ships on pod races.


queerladymacbeth is continuing their Pen Pals AU fic and I’m so excited. I love Padme’s voice in this so much.

Imagine Claire not going back through the stones and giving birth to Brianna with Jamie at her side. 

Somehow, he’d managed it. Jamie had found a way to send Claire back to Lallybroch before heading back to Culloden to gather his men. They’d come home, then, only a few days behind Claire and Murtagh. The trip had been dreadful and worrisome and Claire had wondered the entire way whether the men would have made away it in time. She thought back to those days often, even with her belly swollen immensely, the child ready to come any day now.

Jamie still had to hide. He spent time in the priest hole or, if large squads of dragoons were in the area, he hid away in a cave until it was relatively safe once more. The English swept in and searched the property far too often. By now, most items of any worth were gone, stolen. They took food and drink, and life was every bit as difficult (and more) as Claire had known it would be. But she didn’t regret staying. Jamie had mentioned sending her away- back through the stones, but she belonged here with her husband and her family. And so did the baby.

She’d been feeling… off all day. Her back had been aching terribly so that she had to sit down often, and even when sitting, Claire couldn’t seem to get comfortable. She’d folded and unfolded and refolded the baby’s bedclothes time and time again, she’d even begun rearranging furniture in the Laird’s bedroom, only to be thoroughly berated by Jamie for straining herself and sent immediately bed. In bed, she’d tossed and turned but she’d slept quite a bit. By the time she’d woke in the evening, her contractions had begun, faint at first, nothing too terrible.

There was an excitement in the house. Jenny’s boys were sent out all around the property to keep an eye out for red coats. And Jamie- well, Jamie was torn between hovering near his wife and pacing around the study while Ian attempted to distract him with Lallybroch’s books. Claire had been pacing herself just outside, desperate for the fresh air and far too uncomfortable to be still, when her water broke and the contractions grew stronger. With a pained cry, she doubled over, hands on her knees, and panted through one such contraction. 

“Claire? Claire!” Jamie’s called out behind her, rushing down the stairs to her side.

“M-my water’s broke,” she panted, hand groping through the air for his arm. 

“Aye, I see that well enough. Let’s get ye inside, Sassenach.”

Jenny knew exactly what would be needed; so the moment she spotted them coming inside, she rushed into the kitchen to gather the supplies. Jamie helped his wife up the stairs and out of her gown once in their room. He turned to kiss her for good luck, then, obviously ready to leave, but Claire stopped him, clinging to him. 

“Stay. Please? I need… I need you here.”

Truthfully, she was suddenly terrified where, all this time, she’d shown only excitement and eagerness. The memories of losing Faith and the illness that had followed were all too fresh in her mind suddenly. Jamie hadn’t been there then, but-

His hands gripped hers tightly. “I’ll stay,” he promised. “Just tell me what ye need.” 

For all he was scared himself, he made a valiant effort at helping Claire through her pain, massaging her back and helping her to push when the time came. Several long hours later, the sweet wail of a baby filled the room, and Claire collapsed back against Jamie’s chest, exhausted but smiling brightly all the same. 

“A beautiful lass ye’ve got here, brother. She’s perfect,” Jenny said as she reached up to lay the bundle on Claire’s chest, little head of fiery hair to match her father’s sticking out of the blanket.

Jamie, arms still wrapped around his wife, reached up to gently push aside the blanket so he could see the baby’s face. He let out a soft laugh and pressed his face into the damp, dark curls atop his wife’s head. Claire felt his warm tears as they dropped onto her scalp and she tilted her head up to press a kiss to his jaw.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” she whispered.

He hugged them both tightly and laughed again, this time his laugh wavered with emotion. “Aye. She is. Beautiful Brianna,” he sighed, speaking the name that Claire had chosen for a girl when he’d mentioned he wanted to name their son after his father.

Claire held the little bundle up. “Here, you hold her. Jenny and I’ve a bit more work to do here, then I’ll feed her.”

Jamie’s eyes widened at the request, but he carefully slipped out from behind her and took his daughter. He cradled the babe in his arms with great care, gazing down at her in wonder, then snuggled her in against his chest and began to murmur softly to her in Gaelic. Claire smiled as she watched them, at peace in the presence of her little family.

It was clear that, once again, Jamie had experienced love at first sight.


Tumblr user Mingchee posted this headcanon and then I wrote a oneshot.

The first time he met the fabled Hero of the Sky, he was quite unimpressed. A child sent out on an adult’s mission, swinging an overhyped blade as though it were a club and making bold statements about justice and righteousness.

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