when it pops up on my dash we shall never know

Isn’t It Rich? Are We a Pair? - All-Broadway All-Musical Narumitsu Fanmix


Hey everyone, I’ve started the process of reuploading my old fanmixes to Playmoss so that people can actually LISTEN to them ever since 8tracks started sucking. So the obvious choice for the first one is my pride and joy, my sappy romantic All-Broadway fanmix for Phoenix/Miles from Ace Attorney.

Fanmix cover art by mustachossom.

Tracklist and notes under the cut here.

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Love And Art.

Originally posted by luuuuuke-evans

Pairing: Gaston x reader

Titled: ‘Love and Art’ 

Warnings: light angst, Gaston/Luke Evans feels, FLUFF, etc. 

A/N: This was an idea for a mini series! Which I am really excited for all of you to read!! 

Summary: You have triplet older sisters, or usually known as the Bimbettes, Claudette, Paulette, and Laurette, you have an identical twin sister, Odette. Much to the older girl’s disposition, Gaston loves you. Your sisters will do anything to sabotage your true love by any means necessary. 

Tagging: @norrihiddleskittycap  @captainemwinchester @little-red-83@impalaimagining@sherlocks-timetraveling-assbutt @hobbithorse19@feelmyroarrrr @lefouismylife@redimagines @letowolfie @ciaprincess@speedycatbluebird @haniiix33 @mademoiselle-lani @winchester-writes rexhepierijona

It’s needless to say you never had it easy in life. You were the shadow of your sisters, even your twin sister, who is only older than you by nothing more than a few seconds.  The only person who truly understood you was your father, who tragically passed away a little over a year ago. Unfortunately, your mother was just as bad as your sisters. Which only left you wondering who they could have contracted that from.  

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[Untitled]: Tom x Black Reader

I couldn’t think of a title…

Reader is upset that Tom won’t go public about their relationship.

Warnings: Cursing…

“Fuck you Tom-“ You pushed past him but he wouldn’t let you leave. “Y/N!”

“Don’t say my name! Especially when you can’t even claim me in public.” You yanked your arm from his grip and rushed down the dark sidewalk of New York.  The day was going so perfectly. You got your final grades and you had straight A’s, you got a free coffee, and your long time boyfriend flew in and spent the entire day with you. He was flying in for the premiere of Spider-man and invited you.

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A Winter’s Ball

A/N: I! Love! This! Request! I’m super excited about this if you couldn’t tell by my overuse of exclamation points! This is my first hamiltime request! :O Sorry to the anon who requested this. They asked me to make it “really angst but with lots of fluff.” …..sorry, dearest, this is straight angst.

Request: may i request an alexander x female! schuyler sisters reader where the reader is the 4th schuyler sister. out of her, angelica, and eliza - reader connects the most with alexander at the winters ball. after the ball and many letters being exchanged, angelica and reader go to london where angelica gets married and reader has a better education. upon reader’s return, she sees that alex and eliza are engaged and alex never mentioned it in his letters!! pls make it rly angsty but w/a lot o fluff

Warnings: angst, historical inaccuracies

Masterlist | Request!

Tagged: @angerybisexual @linmanuclmiranda @always-blame-jefferson @ahhhhamilton @hxmiltonmusicxl @sunriseovertheroomwhereithappens (I’m tagging my hamfam because why not?)

“I am so excited!” your sister, Eliza, squealed.

“Eliza, there’s a winter ball every year and the same thing occurs every time,” you groaned. “Father’s coworkers’ sons try to sweep us off our feet and fail miserably.”

“Y/N is right, love,” Angelica chimed in.

“Thank you, Angelica for being the voice of reason,” you said and smiled at your older sister.

“I have a feeling it will different this year,” Eliza said hopefully.

“You and me both,” you mumbled under your breath.

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#121 - For fucking-loco

Filling the prompt “Would you write a fic where Van is alone in a Strokes show and he finds out the reader is on her own as well so he kinda approaches her and they end up having the best night ever?”

The Strokes were hands down your favourite band, so when your friend called an hour before she was meant to be at yours, you knew you’d be spending the night alone. Not going to the concert was not an option. She was sick and sorry, and you were forgiving. To try to make the impact less, you skipped the opening band and arrived late to blend into the crowd. The venue was small and The Strokes had opted to play a string of shows over a week in the small bar rather than one big venue on one big night. It was a cool idea, but it did mean standing around awkwardly in a bar rather than an entertainment centre, arena or theatre. 

When you walked in, the room was buzzing with anticipation. People were excited, and when you saw the line for the bar you decided against drinking. You slinked around the edges of the room, waiting for The Strokes to start. They opened with The Modern Age, and it was perfect. You could feel the music in your soul, in your blood, in the very air you were breathing. The second song, Soma, was cut short when an amp blew. The band apologised, promised to return as soon as physically possible. The lights came on, and people suddenly felt exposed. It was an opportunity, though. You dashed to the bar.

The bartender gave you that quick look that said ‘What will you have?’ You stood on tippy toes, ordered, then watched as the bartender gave the same look to the guy next to you. He ordered the same. You made eye contact with him, and swapped polite smiles. His dimples were beautiful, and you wanted to run your hand along the sleeve of his velvet jacket. But, that would be weird.

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The Forgotten Chapter 4

Title: The Forgotten 

Author: Nam

Warnings: Description of gore

Genre: Werewolf Au!, Smut; Fluff; Angst

A/N : I finally learned how to code italics and stuff. By the way if you are ever looking for other chapters, just search for the Forgotten using tags. Or just ask me for links. 😀😀😀😀

By the time English had come, I was practically having a nervous breakdown-on the inside.  I slid into my seat, only looking at my desk.  If I made contact with anyone else, I would burst into tears.

Mr.Kim strode into the classroom with a bunch a papers. I could only guess what they were and stifled a groan

“Hello class. I would like to believe that you read the assigned pages. You have a quiz.”

Crap. I forgot to read the darn book. At this point I was going to have to wing it and pray that the questions were regular stereotypical questions about the exposition or whatnot.

Mr.Kim passed out the quiz and the class was filled with scribbling. There were three specific questions:

1.What was the color of the paper Noel drew the map on? What did she draw it with?

2.What park did Noel put her treasure?

3.Why is Noel sad?

So much for the exposition question; I would have had to read the sentence closely to make  sure I did not skip anything to answer these.

Y/N. You know these answers.

That voice scares me.  

Doesn’t the title of the book seem familiar?

I glanced at the top of the test where the name of the book was–Tempted. There was a tiny flicker of recognition as I remembered seeing the cover from somewhere….

“Y/N, pick a book to read,” my father demanded. It was Family Night and it was the day that Dad wanted me to choose a book from his library. We had been through most of them except one with the female lying in the grass.  It had been Moonlight before the publishing company changed it.   

Snapping out of the vision, I glanced around to make sure no one had noticed I had dozed off.  Temptedwas  my father’s favorite book because…My aunt Noel wrote it under the pseudonym  of Frannie Jekkles.

The question seems easy now?

1.The color of the map was blue and she drew it with charcoal.

2.The park was Lincoln Park.  

3.Noel is sad because her parents were killed gruesomely.

Father had never told me how my grandparents had died. But I remembered what my aunt had said because it was so horrible.

I found my mother’s body in the car. My dad’s body, in tiny pieces, was in her purse.  How I knew it was my father? A sticky note was placed inside.

If this is Noel or Jao, heed this warning for you will be next. Your father, who is in inside you mother’s purse, had married before he matured– along with that, he married a human.  I spared your mother his fate since she is not a ****. Hence so, if either of you shall marry a human or before you mature, I will find you and rip you to pieces.  

                                                                                                     Signed, The Council

Yes.  My father had married when he turned 17.  He knew the laws yet he had risked everything for his love. In the laws of our world, you may wed a human  but you have to mature. There is no in-between….

What did that mean I don’t know, but I was too young to know that it meant anything in particular. I just thought Aunt Noel was a really great thriller writer.  I slightly remembered where my father had put the map–in his bedroom, in a little hidey hole under the bed.

Y/N~Snap out of your thoughts.  The bell just rung and you have not answered a single question.

Looking down at the piece of paper, there was nothing on the paper but my name. Shoot.

I hurriedly scribbled my answers on the document and race to hand it in. I didn’t need to, but finishing a quiz before anyone else was a pet peeve.

“Y/N,” Mr. Kim placed the test on the others, “I heard you were coming over today. “

“I am,  but I don’t intend to stay long. I just want to know why Jimin vanished into thin air and why you are all bothering me,” I  deadpan.

Namjoon groaned, “You can’t live by yourself forever. We aren’t trying to treat you like a child-”

“I know you aren’t. But I choose to live by myself.”

A cold shiver passed through me.  I could’ve swore I saw his eyes flash.

“Y/N, you could learn some things about yourself that your father might have hinted at. “

I raised an eyebrow, “How do you know my father?”

I could see his hesitation, “I can’t tell you at this moment.  You’ll have to wait until we get you to our home. Meet us at the car as soon you’re done with your locker. “ And with that, he left.


The halls were empty as I trudged to my locker.  There were many things that he knew about m that I don’t?  And did-no-would-  I believe him?  I couldn’t just ignore the fact they had something that was different about them.

There was Jimin who pop into my  head and then vanish… Why didn’t I nor other students freak out about that? Then there was Taehyung who could do manipulation  voodoo macho with his voice. I  had an indistinct feeling that Jungkook was a muscle pig, but he had been quick to speed over to me.  The dots were slowly connecting. Could they be some supernatural thing?

Outside, I see Jungkook, Taehyung, and Jimin waiting. Mr. Kim was nowhere to be found.

Jimin spoke as i neared them, “Namjoon went ahead in the car. We’ll be walking. It’s not that far.”

With that, we began strolling towards their home. For three minutes, I managed to stay quiet, but I had too many questions.

“So Mr. Kim-”

Taehyung interrupted, “Namjoon.”

“Namjoon said there were seven of you.”

“Yah, there is SeokJin, our mom, Yoongi, Hoseok, Namjoon- my dad- Jimin, Taehyung, and me,” Jungkook answered.

“SeokJin is a man?”

“Yes why?”

“Nothing.  So he called you a pack?”

This time Taehyung answered with the snootiest attitude, “Jin will answer any questions you  have. “


“No buts.”

I grumbled but continued walking. We entered the woods and I was slightly afraid.  

Y/N-they won’t do anything to you unless I tell them to.

I hope whoever is thinking to me is telling the truth. If I end up in a ditch somewhere I’m haunting all of them.   I quickly caught up to the boys, “So where exactly do you live?”

The three of them simultaneously spoke, “ A cave.”


Jimin pointed to something in front of us.  

When I think of a cave I think of a bunch of rocks with an open entrance with an endless dark tunnel .But this “cave” was pretty in a sense. It wasn’t a pile of rocks creating a dangerous structure, but an house. The rocks were pretend bricks, and were stacked eloquently to create a three story home.  The entrance was paved with colorful flowers surrounding the door, creating a friendly vibe.  There was a small garden with different types of vegetables. There was a broad-shouldered man tending it.  Jungkook dashed over to him, almost knocking the poor guy over.  I also noticed that he shot over there in 4 seconds.  

“JK! JK! You’ll kill me before Y/N even gets here,” The man cried. He had a soft voice, not to gruff like Taehyung’s and not too high-pitched like Jimin’s.  

“She’s already here,”  Jungkook hefted himself and pointed in my direction. I shrank back in instinct not wanting the attention.

The man turned toward and I blinked twice.  He was handsome but in a lighter tone than Jimin and Jungkook. The term sexy fit them better but the gardener deserved to be on the cover of GQ.  He had full lips and double-lidded eyebrows and a cute little nose. And to top it off, his skin was perfectly tan.

Hello Y/N.

I gasped.  So he…

My name is SeokJin as you probably don’t know. I’ve been inside your head for a while without ever seeing you.   Goes to show ego boy over there that I am more powerful if only  a little.

“Hey! I thought we agreed that we will speak instead of mindspeak with her,” Ego boy Jimin complained.

SeokJin chuckled, “ You agreed. I was cooking.”

Jimin grumbled under his breath.

“Y/N, you must be tired of these lankies showing off around you. I know you want the story of your life but I suppose you need to relax with us in the living room in order to get the full review.  Namjoon, Yoongi, and Hobi are already waiting. I made cookies. “

Jin showed us inside the house. I was not surprised to see the carefully decorated living room as the first room of the house. The walls were painted a rich creamy brown with a hint of tinted green hidden in the art. Pictures lined the walls leading up to the family picture that hung above the fireplace. Couches created an oval and a simple coffee table sat in the middle of the decor.  

Namjoon and two other men sat on one of the couches.

The one with mint-green hair eyeballed me before looking away blushing.  The other with jet-black hair flashed a white grin- I couldn’t help but send one back.  

“Y/N. You made it. “

Taehyung rolled his eyes,”Of course she did. Why wouldn’t she?”

Namjoon glared at Taehyung who fell silent, “Now that everyone is situated. We will begin to explain to you why you were asked to come here. I am sure you have suspicions-”

“Are you all gangsters?”

Jet-Black giggled while Mint groaned

Namjoon stifled his own laugh and told me, “No Y/N. We’re better than that. We are wolves. Werewolves to be formal. “


SeokJin interjected, “ I saw that you had noticed our little powers. Well werewolves are born with them. Born or bitten shall we say. You were also wondering how Namjoon and I had a child. Well…. I’ll let Yoongi explain that.”


Jet Black sat up and looked me square in my confused eyes, “ Werewolves are different from any other creature. Our males can have babies as easily as female wolves can.”

SeokJin and Namjoon both smiled at Jungkook.


I was more than shocked at this point. A werewolf? How? When? Where? Why? I wasn’t freaking earlier, but I was going to definitely freak now. This had to be som cruel prank video! Where’s the camera?

“Joke’s over! I don’t find this amusing.”

“But it’s true-”

“I don’t care!”

Namjoon’s eyes flashed and I instantly calmed down. I had no idea what he was capable of doing, and I didn’t want to find out. “Let me finish. Your father had been a werewolf. Your grandparents had been werewolves. They, also, had been Royals. Royals are the alphas that fall in love, or imprinted, on another alpha. There can only be on couple. They are what humans call king and queen. We are part of the Royal Guard; we protect the Royals until they retire. Unfortunately, being a Royal has it’s limits. I’m sure you’ve learned this already, but you have to mature into our alpha before you can wed. And even more tragic, the law was placed as your grandfather was married to his wife.  Attacks were played on the King and Queen, but they never succeeded. Until the Council was created. We tried to stop the council from doing any damage but they tricked your grandparents into a dinner party where they proceeded to murder them. You father and his sister were hidden from preying hands. Your father did not listen to our warning and married your mother, who was indeed another species of supernatural….”

Hoseok glanced at me, “Y/N kind of fainted.”

okay, so i have a lot of thoughts about william magnusson, as most of you are very well aware, and while i have been somewhat dormant on the subject of his character due to the unfortunate circumstances of him not being on skam anymore, recent events have led me to feel a need to flesh out my thoughts on his character and what i think people don’t seem to get about him, reducing him to a fuckboy and an asshole when really, his character is so much more complex than that.

i’m gonna put this under read more so as not to clog anyone’s dash, but i really want people to read this and try and understand this character better, so feel free to add onto this if you’d like or think i missed something

(disclaimer: this post isn’t meant to excuse or defend whatever mistakes he’s done. he’s done shit. they all have. it happens sometimes)

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School Project - 707 x Reader

Word Count: 1563

Trigger Warnings: None

Genre: FLUFF

A/N: high school au, first mysme imagine lmao sorry if it’s really bad it probably is

Your eyes followed your teacher as she paced herself table to table, sliding a piece of paper to each student. The clicks of her thick-heeled, black pumps got louder and louder as she made her way closer to you. You absent-mindedly clicked your pen as you waited.

Today marked the new unit in AP Chemistry, a unit entirely weighted on a three-week project. The small slip of paper, which would inform you of your partner, could possibly determine whether you would ace it or fail it. You weren’t too picky with who you would be paired up with, as long as it wasn’t some slacker. Considering this was an AP course, there weren’t very many.

There were several small celebrations or annoyed groans as your classmates peered at their paper. Some simply didn’t react. You were one of them as you opened the folded sheet carefully handed to you by your teacher.


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You Can Call Me Bruce (Part 3)

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader

Warning: Age gap

Summary:Alfred’s twenty six year old niece comes to pay him a visit at Wayne Maynor. Taken by surprise, Bruce tries to warm up to her and make her feel at home, but things begin to go further than planned, and he begins to worry he’s gotten himself into a compromising situation.

Part 1

Part 2

A/N: I liked writing this. Dedicated to: @sammythelittlemoose, @doubtinglord, @tori525, @hotcrazycatlady, @carolina-brumblr-love, @brooklynbridge96, @thewigglyjo, @disneymarveldcunivere15, @laughingcherries, @bookgirl617, @sarcasmisthyname, @incendia8, @maximofftrash, @wonderfulmagnificentrose, @loveyourmockingbird, @raptornsain, @unlikelyinternetprincess, @infinite-bubbles, @andreasteed1894, and @oathbreaker-paladin

Names selected at random, and I apologize if i forgot you, but feel free to shoot me a message and remind me so that I can tag you in the next part :)



Bruce can’t sleep.

Even if he wanted to, even if he tried and tried and counted as many sheep as there are stars in the night sky, he can’t. He won’t. His body is too tired as is his mind, and the call of the night in whistle and whisper of wind and birds in the trees is too captivating.

It’s no earlier than three am, and he can’t help but wonder what bird is up at this hour. Until after moments passing, he realizes the chirp under his window is that of a cricket, and Bruce’s mind is put to rest at least a bit from knowing. A cricket. A little, tiny noisy cricket.

He’s been staring at the ceiling for so long that he’s sure he can draw out every crack and pattern and shadow cast upon it from memory. It’s plain white. Darker during cold and insomnia-ridden nights than it is during the day, and there are a few marks and scratches here and there whose origin he can’t even remember. Because he doesn’t want to. He’s not trying to. What he’s trying to do now is sleep, and even that seems a far-fetched dream that he’ll never catch up to.

So does she.

Immediately the thought pops into his head, Bruce curses, clamping his eyes shut scornfully. Stop. Just stop. This is wrong and you know it, he tells himself. But apparently he’s not listening, because the very same thought pops up yet again, and Bruce lets out a frustrated groan.

His eyes open and he’s staring at the ceiling again.

This time it’s darker. Everything’s darker. He feels a heavy wave of shame and guilt wash over him, and right outside his window, the cricket begins his midnight cry once more. He can’t sleep.


The rain has stopped. Bruce, standing at the window, a picnic blanket folded in his arm and observing the outside, finally turns to Y/N.

“It’s stopped.” He says, looking hopefully at the young girl sat opposite him. Her chin is resting in her palm and a bored look is plastered on her face—until his words register, and she perks up, eyes widening.

“Really?” She inquires.

Bruce laughs heartily and nods. “Really—look.” He points out the window.

Y/N’s eyes follow his hand; he’s right. The sun is peeping out from behind heavy grey clouds, a bright yellow glow radiating onto the city of Gotham as the rain lessens, and she can see, as clear as the blue sky blooming, that it’s safe to go out.

A wide grin forms on her lips, and, bouncing onto her feet, Y/N wastes no time. “Come on!” She grabs Bruce by the hand. He’s taken aback by the contact, but even more so the pace at which Y/N dashes out of the room, the elder man following with stumbling steps.

Bruce follows, strung along like a little doll as Y/N teeters down the patio steps, jumps over a small boulder, and then runs into the open green garden. She releases his hand, and Bruce manages to steady. He halts a few feet behind. The sun is out now—fully. She can feel its rays dance on the apples of her cheeks, and Y/N revels in the feeling. She turns to Bruce still steadying his footing.

“It’s even more beautiful after the rain. “Y/N observes with a rueful smile, turning to look at the sky.

Bruce straightens out, eyes trained on the girl before him, before they shift to the bright blue sky hovering above his head. And yes—she’s right. It’s beautiful, he realizes, as he takes in the feel of wet grass beneath bare feet wind tousling grey hair and a certain gleaming h/c –headed girl before him.

It’s all so beautiful.

Whipping around, Y/N grins at him and then takes the picnic blanket from bruce’s hand. “It’s a good thing we brought this, huh?”

“And you said we wouldn’t need it.” Bruce hands it to her with a teasing smile and Y/N rolls her eyes, going to set up their post. They are out here for a reason; for Y/N. Her work. Bruce agreed to have her interview him for a holiday-assignment for one of her journalism classes, and with a week so busy at the company, he’s only had time to sit down with her just now. Stunted by the abrupt rain, they would have started earlier, but this is just as fine.

Y/N smooths out the blanket and then glances back at Bruce. “Alright, we can start.”

“Okay then.” He moves to sit beside her, keeping his distance, before the young girl excuses herself and rushes inside to grab her notebook and recorder. Bruce almost laughs at her eagerness; she’s like a child ecstatic about having a tea-party with a dinosaur like him. And it’s adorable. And she’s adorable.

And when Bruce catches him thinking this, he stills.


Well…maybe not so. Cute, perhaps. He can’t help but think it makes her sound like an infant, maybe a bit too much. In the past few days getting to know her, Bruce has realized that Y/N is much more mature than that, and he’s been trying to refrain from seeing her as a child as much as possible despite the truth behind it.

Bruce is pulled out of his trance by the sound of footsteps p[adding towards him.

He looks up, and she’s running right at him, and she’s smiling, laughing almost, so giddy and excited because she’s been excited about this all week…and all Bruce can do is remind himself to not call her adorable.

Y/N flops down on the blanket, still grinning, still idyllic, and clutches her pen hard in her hand. “Okay.” She says. “ Shall we begin?”

And Bruce gives her the green light with a curt nod.

She asks him questions—about him, about his work—and he answers them honestly and as vastly as he can. They go on and on with the interview, but each time Y/N asks him a question, Bruce can’t help but end up straying with his answer.

It’s happened four times now. Somehow they’ve ended up from the topic of work and on aliens, and before it was golden retrievers and which dog they’d be if they could.

Y/N laughs wholeheartedly. “So you believe they exist?”

“You don’t?” Bruce quirks an incredulous brow. The young girl shrugs. Bruce tries not to notice the way her falls over the side of her face, and even harder tries not to reach out and brush it back.


He scoffs. “Explain crop circles then. U.F.O sightings? Extra-terrestrial life on mars?”

“I can’t.” She’s packing up her book and recorder, and that’s enough to signal that their interview is over, Y/N most likely tired of Bruce’s straying and evading her questions. That’s fine; it was fun while it lasted. “I’m a journalism major, not a scientist.”

“Just say you’re too young to understand.” The elder man smirks. Then Y/N punches him in the shoulder jokingly.

“I’m not too young.” She quirks a competitive brow. “ You’re just archaic.”

“Ouch. You’re hurting my feelings there, Y/N.”

“Master Wayne!”

Bruce turns his head to the house, the sound of his voice being called bringing him back from cloud nine and to the earthly plane. Alfred, standing on the patio deficient of his glasses, and scouting out the horizon.

“Over here, Alfred.” He says. The old man turns in Bruce’s direction; with the squint of his eyes, he can tell they’ve been spotted.

Alfred approaches, holding out the phone. “A call for you.” He says as he hands it to Bruce who holds it to his ear immediately. Bruce’s brow wrinkles subtly. “Hello?” He asks. He then hears the familiar tone of Dick from work asking him about the upcoming board meeting. He sighs.

Turning to Y/N, Bruce excuses himself. “Business call.” He says. She releases him, and he retreats to the house talking into the phone and leaving Alfred standing in the garden with his niece.

Bruce is gone now, somewhere in the middle of the house talking money and business with one of his colleagues, and Alfred turns to his niece. Y/N stands watching the house with an entranced, almost mystified look; the very one she bore moments ago, as his friend left. She twiddles with a loose thread on the picnic blanket. Alfred speaks.

“Something bothering you?” He asks as he notices the somber expression taking form on the young girl’s face. Y/N’s head turns. She stares at him silently, briefly, and then turns away with a shake of her head.

“No.” She says. “I’m…” She falters slightly, before regaining the pep in her voice. “I was just thinking about my interview with Bruce, whether I should submit it now or wait till school re-opens.”

Y/N then turns to her uncle and smiles, but it doesn’t meet her eyes.

And just from that—just from that vacant glint in her eyes, and the somber mask on her face, and the way she’s trying so hard to make it look like nothing is wrong, Alfred can tell something nudges at the back of her mind that Y/N refuses to voice. But he won’t push.

He won’t demand. If she chooses not to tell him, he decides, then it’s best he doesn’t pry any further. “Why the rush? Just hand it in when you get back home.”

“You really think so?” Y/N meets his gaze. Her face is twisted in one of her unsure smiles as she fiddles with the thread around her finger.

“I do. Come now. Lunch is almost ready.” Alfred says, and then, resting his arm warmly around her shoulders, he guides her back into the house.

Bruce is nowhere to be seen when they get back. He’s left a note; apparently there was an emergency at the office, and only his hands could handle the weight of the situation, so he left, claiming to be back late evening and advising not to wait up for him Alfred doesn’t really care—he’s used to Bruce running of, sometimes for entire days even— but, when he sees the disappointed look on his niece’s face when she reads the note, something twists in him.

He can’t keep quiet anymore.

Y/N fists the piece of paper in her hand, breathes in for a moment, and then regains her composure. She goes to set the table. They’re having stake for dinner. Stake, and a side of truth-serum.


He’s been noticing things about her. Little things.

Like the way she chews her breakfast in the morning, the sound of her voice each time she says his name, and even, as shameful as it is, the curve of her spine.


When Bruce gets back, he can feel the literal ache in his bones from work. Harley never went easy on him, not ever, and so he doesn’t know what exactly he was expecting when he showed up at the bank and there she was, holding a bloodied revolver to one of the cashier’s heads. Taking her down was a chore, but he did it.

Normally after such tedious turns of events, Bruce would want to take a hot bath, climb into bed and sleep away the gnawing pain in his abdomen….But tonight is different. Tonight, something calls to him. Someone.

Is she asleep?

Rolling up his sleeve, he checks his watch. Nine. Y/N always goes to bed at ten or so, right after she crammed a bit of calculus for school and editing her CV, and Bruce figures she must be up. Maybe. Possibly. If she isn’t, then he doesn’t want to make the mistake of waking her with a boisterous knock at the door.

And yet still…that won’t stop Bruce from trying.

His knock at her door is ginger, reluctant and he hopes that he’s not disrupting her rest. Apparently not. Y/N pulls the door open, and their gazes meet. Bruce smiles briefly. Tiredly. He can’t muster up the strength for a grin.

“Evening.” He greets. “Can I come in?”

Y/N looks up at him, eyes wide and surprised like she didn’t expect him here. Bruce spots a blush crawling up her neck to the tips of her ears. He’s too tired to analyze it though, and instead, waits for a response.

But it doesn’t come…

“Uhm….” She blushes even harder this time. His eyes then regard Y/N curiously as she fumbles for words.


“Now’s not a good time.” It’s not Y/N’s voice. Bruce turns, and Alfred is standing six feet away, clad in his day-clothes reeking of smoke and with a look that says he’s out for blood.


Surprised to see him, Bruce’s brow furrows. “Alfred?”

“It’s late and Y/N needs to rest. I expect you’ll be leaving now.” He says…threatens? Alfred never threatens Bruce. Ever. The most he’s gotten for him is snide sarcasm and quick wit.

But from the way the elder man’s eyes are narrowed, and the protectiveness of his stance….well…apparently Alfred is threatening Bruce.

For what?

“Go to sleep, Y/N.” Alfred says over his shoulder.

Bruce turns, but all he’s met with is the hurried shut of a door in his face, a gust of wind billowing at him. He turns to Alfred. “Is something wrong?” Bruce asks.

And Alfred doesn’t respond as he walks away, leaving Bruce tired and confused and nebulous in the middle of the hallway.


She’s been noticing little things about him.

The way his eyes are narrower when he’s concentrated, or the shy look he gets when she finally gets him to laugh. Even his smiles…

His smiles. She mentally rolls her eyes. Y/N feels like an absolute maniac for knowing each and every one of them and what he’s feeling when he wears them. And she reminds herself, everyday, of the un-importance of taking note of each and every one of these trivial little details, but….

It’s hard not to.


Gaddam! The tension!

All will most likely be resolved in the next installment, which will probably be the last, depending on how things pan out in my mind and how much of it I write. In the meantime, if you enjoyed this, don’t forget to like, reblog and/or follow to stay updated when part 4 is posted, and maybe even have it dedicated to you.

Have a nice day!

just us two - luke hemmings (part 4)

Luke knew that parenthood was never going to be easy when his girlfriend left him standing in the delivery ward with their baby clasped in his hands. his 5 year old daughter striking up a feud with the son of a coldly beautiful single mum was not a complication he had anticipated though. nor was falling in love with her.

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 

Luke spent the next week in a now sickeningly familiar mix of excited anticipation and guilt. No matter how hard he tried to distract himself with work and with Luna he still found his thoughts straying back to Y/N. The week passed in a blur of constant motion until it was Sunday morning and Luke once again found himself nursing a large cup of coffee after a sleepless night.

‘Morning daddy.’ Luna chirped as she came and pulled herself into his lap.

'Morning baby, did you sleep well?’ Luke asked after he had placed a kiss on the top of her head.

'Uh-huh.’ she nodded happily, turning to look up at him. 'Today’s the day we’re going to the beach isn’t it daddy?’

'Yes it is, clever you for remembering.’ he chuckled, feeling himself grow happier instantly at her innocent enthusiasm.

'Of course I remembered!’ she exclaimed. 'We’re going with Sampson and me and Sampson are friends now.’

'Well I’m very glad you were so grown up and sorted out your differences. Now come on scoot that cute butt I need to go and pack all our stuff up.’ Luke said, swinging Luna off his lap and back onto the floor.

'Does that mean I can watch cartoons while I have breakfast?’ she asked with expectant eyes.

'Only if you save an episode to watch with me.’ he smiled, soon laughing as she dashed into the living room calling out a thank you behind her.

Luke busied himself finding suncream and beach towels and bathing suits and spare clothes and rubber rings and the hundreds of things it took for a day at the beach with a 5 year old. After loading up the car he finally sat down next to Luna on the living room floor, offering her a bowl of cheerios as he did so.

'So which episode are we on?’ he asked, nodding towards the TV as he took a spoonful of his own bowl.

'Kim is just about to save Ron daddy shush!’ Luna said excitedly around her mouthful.

'Lu-lu, what did we say about talking with our mouth full?’ he reprimanded her lightly.

'Sorry daddy.’ she giggled, mouth still full of cereal.

'What am I gonna do with you?’ he shook his head, unable to stop himself from laughing as well.

'Is me walking in on your shirtless going to be a regular occurrence Hemmings?’

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Sunset Surprise

Request:  Can you do a fluffy school love stories in hogwarts? Newtxreader of course :3 both hufflepuff and both have interest in animals 🙂

~Fluff yay! I haven’t done something at Hogwarts yet, so let’s give it a go! I hope you enjoy!~

“Newt! Hey Newt!” you called out to him as you ran down the hallways of Hogwarts.

The curly-haired boy glanced up from his potions book with a grin as he sat in the clock courtyard. He knew your voice anywhere.

“Hey Y/N.” he said, closing the book. “What’s up?”

“We should go to the lake. It’s so pretty today.” you sat beside him on the stone bench, bumping into his shoulder.

“Should we?” he looked up at the sky, squinting. “We have class soon.” he looked back at you.

“I know, how about later? I would hate to miss transfiguration anyway. Dumbledore is the best professor I’ve ever had.” you stated. Newt nodded, smiling.

“He really is.” he sighed. “How about the lake right after dinner? Then we can work on our assignments tonight.” he said.

“That sounds perfect.” you said. Your robes blew in the gentle breeze as you both sat there, looking at each other.

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yoongi scenario | if you weren’t my first love (pt. 1)

Next Part >

 a letter to convince you that I loved you first 

genre: angst, romance
word count: 3.2k

Yoongi sat down. Yoongi rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. Yoongi picked up a pen. Yoongi wrote:

Dear Y/N,

I remember you told me that love only happens once in a lifetime – you told me that there’s only ever one chance for love, and all the rest are pretend loves. When you first said that to me, I thought you were crazy. But now, looking back, I think there may be truth in your words. And I guess that means that if you were my first love, then you are my only love. Before you crumple this letter up, and throw it away, just – don’t. I don’t really have the words to try and convince you not to, but I do have all these things I need to get out, and I can’t do this in person. This is best for both of us. If I get it over with now, then at least I can meet you with a smile on my face. I can be genuinely happy for you, and for him.

I know he loves you, and you love him, but I also know that I loved you first, before he existed in your life. It’s taken me a while to come to terms with the fact that I love you, but I suppose the feeling has always existed. So, I’ll write this, and be done with it. I’ll convince you that I loved you first.

I ask: If you weren’t my first love, then how can I explain the feelings I got when I first saw you, all those years ago? Of course, we were young then, only six years old, and neither of us knew what love was, but, I felt that you were special. You felt it too, didn’t you?

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Take My Hand - Pietro Maximoff

Requested by anonymous. 

“Hey, Tony, have you seen Y/N?” Pietro asked, popping his head into the lab in the Avenger’s tower. Bruce and Tony both looked up from their work to check out the silver haired speedster standing in the doorway.

“You better not have lost my daughter, Maximoff,” Tony said, shooting daggers at Pietro. He gulped and smiled shyly at Tony.

“I didn’t lose her, I-”

“Just can’t find her,” Bruce finished. Pietro sighed and nodded.

“Exactly.” Tony stood up and walked towards Pietro, patting him on the shoulder. 

“Sometimes Y/N just needs alone time. She’s probably up in the den. Upstairs in my apartment.”

“But you’re room is locked. And guarded by Jarvis,” Pietro replied. 

“True. I’ll give you the key, but if she’s not in there, you need to get the hell out of my apartment,” Tony smiled as he jammed the key in Pietro’s hand.

“Thanks, Tony,” he said, dashing off to Tony’s apartment. He nervously turned the key in the lock, relaxing when it opened easily. He took in the luxurious apartment, which was somehow nicer than the entire tower put together. The apartment was coated with expensive paintings and sculptors, and there was scattered technology covering the tables and counter tops. 

He could hear a slight sound coming from upstairs and he tried to navigate his way around the massive apartment. He walked up the spiral stairs that he believed would lead to the den Tony had mentioned. He heard clearer, soft music playing from the door at the top of the stairs.

The door creaked open and Pietro found a wooden paneled room with a couple of comfy couches covered in warm blankets lining the walls. Pietro stepped in and followed the music around the hallway and saw you standing in the center of the room. Looking closer, he saw that you were actually slowly swaying to the music. Pietro smiled and hid behind the wall, glancing around the corner to watch you move.

You began spinning gracefully, the delicate black dress you wore twirling against your hips. Pietro remembered a story you told him long ago about your former dream of becoming a prima ballerina. You had taken classes for many years, all the way through high school, but after your father’s kidnapping, you lost interest. The ballerina was still inside of you, he noticed, your toes still pointing perfectly, your legs never missing their mark. 

Pietro smiled, your relaxed movements calming him as well. Pietro was surprised he didn’t know you were still dancing. He would like to come and watch you dance everyday if he could. You were doing a long set of twirls when Pietro saw you lose your footing. He sped up, catching you before you could scrape your knees on the wooden floor.

“Oh my god,” you said, looking Pietro in the eyes. He smiled and help you stand up straight. You placed a hand to your chest, hoping to calm your speeding heart. “I didn’t hear you come in. I didn’t know you could come in.”

“Tony gave me a key. I was looking for you.”

“Well you found me,” you said, walking across the room, running a hand through your hair. 

“You dance beautifully,” Pietro said, complimenting you.

“Thank you, Pietro.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were still dancing?”

“I didn’t want anyone to find out.” 

“Why not?” Pietro asked, walking towards you. 

“My dad didn’t want me to quit dancing when I did. He thought I gave up because he got hurt.”

“Why did you quit?” he asked, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him. 

“After he created the Iron Man, I wanted to do something that would change the world like my dad was doing. Dancing just didn’t see as important.”

“That’s very noble but you should be able to do what makes you happy.” You smiled and looked up at Pietro, placing a kiss to his cheek. 

“I am doing what I love. Or more like who I love,” you whispered. Pietro smiled and pulled you close to him.

“Can you show me some of your dance moves?” he asked, cuing up the music again. You smiled and help Pietro position his arms on your waist and began slowly swaying again. 

“Can we keep this a secret from my dad?” you asked, leaning on his shoulder.

“Of course,” he said kissing you softly. 

“I love you,” you said, pulling away and relaxing on his shoulder again. Pietro’s throat vibrating as he began singing along to the music.

Wise men say, only fools rush in. But I can’t help falling in love with you. Shall I stay, would it be a sin, if I can’t help falling in love with you.”

Haha. Did you guys seriously think that I, Leo, wouldn’t get mushy and sentimental on New Years? Not a chance! Since I knew I wouldn’t be here on New Years itself, I got up extra early to do something before I left, and trust me, it is ridiculously long. So I hope you’ll forgive my sentimental mush and simply enjoy it for yourself and for everyone else. Now since I run two active bagels with a variety of folks, I’m going to smoosh this into one thing for both since welp, the other is a side bagel [ @nyota-sungura ] and I follow you all from here anyways! Shh shh I know its an excuse, just let me love you okay? Now granted, it hasn’t been the best year, we can all agree that 2016 has p much sucked– But the people on the other hand, are brilliantly beautiful and lovely.

So what I’ve done isn’t a bias list, its an appreciation note. Will everyone be listed here? Probably not, but that doesn’t mean I appreciate you any less than I do someone that is. It only means that I know these people, so take this as your chance to kick the door to my inbox down and say hello so I can get to know you too! Lets get started, shall we? Cracks knuckles, I hope y’all are ready f’er a real long list of reasons as to why I love y’all, because it is 4am and I have coffee and no hesitation!

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Social Anxiety

BAM! First vicxine fic! I think. Anyway, here it is. Mostly edited. I’ll fix it later. And a little big. New chapter coming soonish. It’s in the works. Enjoy this one and please let me know how you feel about it. Remember, likes are nice but reblogging shows that you care. Fanfiction writers aren’t paid. This is done out of love. Our payment is the joy of our fellow fans.

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Mark Gatiss on being disease-free and IMMORTAL

@idioticonion and I did this interview in 2005 (after ‘The Vesuvius Club’ was published but before 'The Devil in Amber’). I don’t think it exists on the interweb anymore…

What made you decide to turn “The Vesuvius Club” into a graphic novel. And just how “graphic” will it be…?
God made me do it. Actually, I knew how much Ian Bass loved  comic books and I just suggested to Simon and Schuster that there might  be some interest in a graphic novel. They did some costings and said  ‘off you go!’ Ian then had to compress a huge amount of work into a very  short space of time, I really only had to approve the ‘script’. It’s a  teensy bit graphic – one page in particular is raising eyebrows – but we  don’t want it shrunk-wrapped at W.H.Smiths where no-one can have a  browse. There might be an ‘adults-only’ sticker on it but I
really don’t  know what all the fuss is about. You can have sex on live TV now.

Early references to “The Vesuvius Club” suggested  that it would be set in the late Victorian period - and the tone of the book rather indicates that the time period was changed at a very late stage. Why was this?

That’s true. I’d envisaged a high-Victorian setting, 1895 for  choice, the
perfect Conan Doyle year but I realised that I’m far more in  love with the Edwardian era and became quietly possessed by the whole  Art Nouveau feel of the thing. Having said that, it’s obviously a  pastiche of lots of different styles, incorporating Holmes and Fu Manchu  etc. I deliberately kept the date vague so I can play about with how  old Box is.

Have you made any more progress on “Devil In Amber”? Is it still set in the 1930s? And will Charlie Jackpot appear in it??
It’s ‘THE Devil in Amber’! This is like ‘League’ of Gentlemen all over again! I see the book is even on Amazon with the definite article missing! Rant over.

I’ve done a very detailed outline of the  next book and have written the first two chapters. It has a vague  late-‘Twenties setting and will be a wintry story in contrast to the  sultry tone of the first one. As to who’s in it, well…All I’ll say is  that Box has a rival agent called Hugo Furst snapping at his heels…

You’ve written and recorded a large number of audio dramas. Do you have anything more coming up in this area?
No ‘Doctor Who’s planned. Too busy with the real thing! Have  just finished recording the second series of ‘Nebulous’ for Radio 4, though. I’ve been asked to play Gold in ‘Sapphire and Steel’ again.

Writing for Doctor Who was seemingly a  lifelong ambition for you. Now that that’s been realised, what’s your  next burning ambition? (apart from actually playing the Doctor of  course!) And is it strange writing for David Tennant, since he’s a good  friend of yours?
I’d love to play Jacob Marley in ‘A Christmas Carol’. That’s a  childhood
ambition. It’s actually really helpful knowing David because I  can hear his voice (albeit Scottish) in my head when I’m writing. The  whole thing is a challenge, though, because the re-invention has been so  successful but now we’re kind of re-inventing it again!

Bisexual characters seem rather in vogue at the  moment - after Lucifer we know have the dashing Captain Jack Harkness.  Do you think this is feeding on the prevalence of slash fiction in  certain genres? You’ve admitted to reading slash - any you’d recommend??
Is Slash fiction a story that’s someone’s weed on? All I know about this
dubious practice is that someone handed me some sheets of  foolscap on the last TLOG tour and I was fairly astonished to read of  Chinnery’s amorous encounters with Ross. We had a good laugh on the bus.

PROBE is very popular among League of Gentlemen  fans - for various reasons. But why on earth was THAT shot of Reece  getting out of bed in “Devil Of Winterborne” kept in (minute 21, for those who haven’t seen)?? And have you ever  tried the PROBE drinking game?
‘For various reasons’. What can that mean? I haven’t seen them  in years and I’m sure they’re pretty ropey but we were all finding our  way. Tread softly, for you tread on my dreams…
I don’t know which shot of Reece you mean but if he was getting  out of bed, can you see his tackle? I have mostly very fond memories of  those days, of working with Jon Pertwee and a fairly idyllic summer at  that school location at the height of Brit-Pop. Ah, youth…
As for the ‘drinking game’, I don’t know what that is. I only drink when alone. Or in company. Or if the day has a ‘Y’ in it.

Why are you so obsessively suspicious of morticians? The great Bernard Spilsbury is turning in his grave…
As Box says in ‘The Vesuvius Club’, like choir-masters, you  have to suspect them a little, no? ‘Now what shall I be?’ says the Young  Person. ‘An architect? A doctor? A dancer? No! I’ll voluntarily fiddle  with corpses!’ Besides, I knew one once and he told me such stories…

What’s happened to all the trappings of a Victorian  gentleman you used to affect? The lab.. the velvet suit… has your  fascination faded?
I love to dress up. Always will. However, I long ago realised  that you can feel stylish and comfortable without having to pretend it’s  the Golden summer of 1913 all the time. I spent far too much of my youth wanting to be older and dressing accordingly. What a twat I must  have appeared! As for the laboratory, it was a similar case. I’d always  dreamed of having such a room then, once I’d done it, it was like a  folly. I’d show visitors round it but it was never used. I’ve now split  up the contents around our new house because it’s nicer to live with these pretty things all around you.

Would you rather suffer from consumption or the pox?
I remember being terribly excited when Jeremy Dyson caught TB  in the early ‘Nineties. I insisted on referring to it as Consumption.  Personally. I’d rather have neither and remain disease-free and  IMMORTAL.

Don’t make me say it twice, Mulder

For @leiascully‘s XFwriting challenge: Stars

They’d been walking for miles. Scully couldn’t feel her toes, she couldn’t feel her nose, she couldn’t feel her fingers. What she could feel were the ice crystals in her hair, the damp cold of her shirt under her jacket and the jagged bubble of irritation that, any minute now, would burst to issue a ‘what the fuck are we doing here, Mulder’ speech that she’d been rehearsing for the last 45 minutes.

           He stopped, checking his surroundings. He looked up, sniffed the air and had the gall to smile at her. One of his goofy, cutesie, oh-so-fucking-sexy smiles. My God, he knew when to pull out all the stops. It was like babies. They learn to smile at the six-week mark so that parents don’t kill them when the sleep deprivation fades from novelty to chore. She watched his lips. She was always watching his lips. But this time she watched them as they split into the smile, then, when he caught her watching, pursed into a little kissy pout. Clearly, her expression wasn’t as frozen as she imagined. Either that, or it had frozen into her best ‘Scully’s not impressed’ face.

           He plunged his hands into his coat pocket and shrugged. “Come on, Scully. It’s fun. Admit it.”

           She puffed out a breath that clouded in front of her. “What’s fun about traipsing through a forest in the near dark and in almost freezing temperatures, Mulder? Remind me.”

           He walked towards her, pushing his head out on his neck and waggling his eyebrows. “I can remind you about what we used to do in the forest on dark nights, if you want me to, Agent Scully.”

           She crossed her arms over her chest, daring him with a quirked eyebrow. He was towering over her now, and truth be told, it made her feel slightly giddy, as though his mere shadow enveloped her and warmed her from the inside out. She knew he often used his height advantage to intimidate suspects, but to her, it signalled strength, trust, protection and love. He had to bend to talk to her, to whisper, to kiss.

           “We’ve hunted all manner of strange and arcane mysteries.” His breath was hot on the side of her face. “Aliens, mothmen, vampires. Our life has been nothing if not an exciting quest in search of life on the fringes.”

           She snorted. “Mulder, we got wet, we got injured, we got scared. We found more frightening examples of ‘life on the fringes’ in the Hoover building.” She stretched up, pecked his cheek and pushed past him. “Now, will you admit you’re lost and that this has been an exercise in demonstrating just how old and unfit we are these days?”

           He caught up with her in a couple of strides, pulling her in to his side. “We are not lost. And we might be the wrong side of fifty, but I can honestly say,” his eyes grazed down the front of her body, “you’ve never looked so fit.”

He winked and she couldn’t help but smile.

The clearing was ahead. She could see it. It was the strangest thing. The brightness of it, in the deepest, darkest part of the forest. No wonder he was excited. This was Mulder at his best. At these times, all his optimism, hope and wonder at the world, no matter how cruel it could be, merged to make him childlike and innocent. Her jaded view of their situation lifted as she watched him there, surrounded by light, happy.

           “Come here, Scully. It’s warmer.”

           She shook her head. “I don’t want to tread on your toes. This is your moment, Mulder.”

           “But I don’t want to be in the spotlight by myself.” An aura lit the top of his head, stray hairs electrified, taking years off his face. He looked just like that idiot yelling in the rain from all those years before. He held out his hand to her, an offer of peace, trust and love.

           She walked forward, reaching out and twining her fingers through his. She stepped into the beam of light, not sure if it really was warmer, or if it was like a placebo to their frozen bodies. He squeezed her tighter to him.

           “Astral experiences are meant to be shared,” he whispered into her ear.

           “This isn’t an astral experience, Mulder. This is some kind of gaseous combustion.”

She knew he would look wounded. This was part of their dance.

He pouted again. “You have no imagination, Scully.”

“And you have no concept of reality, Mulder.”

“Reality is overrated. You should know that by now.” He kissed her hair and nuzzled into her neck.

           She squirmed against him, muffling a sigh into his chest. “Nevertheless, the reality of our situation now is that I’m freezing, hungry and tired, and no amount of imagination is going to remedy that.”

           He nodded. “I’m sorry. I just wanted you to see this. And you have to admit that it’s pretty spectacular.” He held out their joined hands and the light sparkled over them. They looked like holograms, like spirits, like they melded into one another on some ethereal level.

           “I’ll concede that this is better than mothmen and vampires.”

           He pulled their hands in again and kissed her long and deep.

           “You know what would be even better?”

           “Better than astral experiences?”

           “Way better, Scully. Look up.” He tilted her head to the sky, dotted with silvery stars. “Marry me. Then when we come here next year our rings would catch the light. Imagine that fireworks display.”

           She took a moment to study the night sky before lowering her gaze and bringing their bunched hands up to her mouth. She pressed a kiss on each of his knuckles.

           “What do you say, Scully?” His voice rasped against her cheek.

           “I say that this is so you, Mulder. Proposing in a forest clearing that is lit up by some kind of chemical anomaly.”

           “And this is so you, Scully. Analysing and rationalizing instead of just accepting.”

           “Are you asking me to be spontaneous, Mulder?”

           He chuffed out a laugh. “Is it so hard? Just once. For me.”

           She chewed her lip. “You know there have been many romantic lines written about stars and starlight. And all I get is a ‘marry me’.”

           Smiling, he quoted, “When he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine, That all the world will be in love with night, And pay no worship to the garish sun. Romeo and Juliet. Better?”

           She shrugged. “Not bad. Yours is the light by which my spirit’s born: - you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars.”

           “Ah,” he said. “E E Cummings. Beautiful.” He kissed her again. “But I’m still waiting for an answer.”

           She held his gaze. “I like the night. Without the dark, we’d never see the stars.”

           He frowned a little. “That’s familiar…I can’t place it. A movie, maybe. I can imagine Grace Kelly sitting on a verandah, saying something like that.”

           She chuckled. “Bella Swan, Twilight.”

           He groaned. “Sculleeee. There’s nowhere to go after Twilight.”

           She studied his face, all shadows and angles in the strange light. “Have I got you backed into a pop culture corner, Agent Mulder?”

           “I didn’t know you were into YA novels, Agent Scully.”

           “It’s amazing what people don’t know about their partners, romantic or otherwise, Agent Mulder.” She play-punched his shoulder. “And it’s time we headed back.”

           “You’re stalling. You owe me an answer.”

           “You owe me a foot massage. I’ve lost all feeling in my toes.”

           “When we’re back at the motel, I’ll give you feeling back in your toes, your ankles, your knees, your thighs, your…”

           She held up a hand. “I get the picture, Mulder. Let’s get out of here.”

           He sighed and took her hand, squeezing her fingers as they trudged away.

The car was a haven of dry warmth. They remained silent for a fair distance.

“So, you’re telling me that I could have wooed you back sooner with some Stephanie Meyer? How did I miss that?”

           “You think that because I’m a scientist I don’t enjoy a little romance every now and then, Mulder?”

           “I just proposed to you in an astral shaft. You can’t get much more romantic than that, Scully.”

           “That is true, but it’s a big decision. You can’t expect me to give you an answer right away, just because you chose an impossibly beautiful spot in which to ask me. But I do appreciate the sentiment.” She squeezed his knee.

           “If I had asked you in a scientific way, would you have given me an answer straightaway?”

           “And just what constitutes a scientific proposal, Mulder?”  

           He smirked at her. “I could have got down on one knee in the autopsy bay, with the sound of a Stryker saw for some background music.”

           She giggled.

           “Or maybe we could have shared a stethoscope and listened to the sounds of our beating hearts together.”

           She pushed out her bottom lip. “Not bad, Mulder. Not bad.”

           “Or maybe I should just quote some scientific jargon to reel you in.”

           “Such as?”

           “The nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood…”

           “We are made of starstuff. Carl Sagan. Nice segue, Mulder.”

They pulled up outside the motel, its flickering neon sign shedding an orange glow over the dash in the car.

           “Have you had enough time to think now?”

           She unclipped her seatbelt, leant over to him and kissed his mouth. “Yes.”

           He kissed her back. “And?”

           “Don’t make me say it twice, Mulder.”


part one of this ridiculous secret spy au can be found here


James turns immediately, his smile as bright as the crystal tumbler in his hand. Lily looks leisurely away from his direction after a half-second pause, keeping one ear on his conversation and the other on Peter’s disgruntled muttering.

“ - we’re part of the fucking government, you’d think R&D would be able to build some functional computers - “

She catches Remus’ snigger out of the corner of her eye and looks down at her wineglass, biting the inside of her own cheek. 

“Have I introduced you to Aline Parkinson yet?” she hears Dr. Slughorn ask James, towing a younger woman along with him. James’ smile widens a little.

“I haven’t had the pleasure, no,” he replies, extending a hand to Parkinson. “Edgar Doshi.”

“Gotcha,” Sirius says, gleeful. “God, the last time I saw dear Allie was when I was seven. Poured a tureen full of gravy all over her dress.”

“Jesus,” Lily murmurs back, taking a sip of her merlot. 

“I knew she was fucked up, even back then. I was a precocious child.” 

Remus snorts.

“Can you stop breaking character, please,” Sirius adds, aggravated.

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Pumpkin Spice(x)

Author: @papofglencoe

Rated: E for explicit language and sexual content

A/N: Modern AU. Part 1 of 2. Thanks to @dandelion-sunset for betaing whatever this is at 4am. You’re amazing, my friend.

For @everhutcher, @hutchhitched, @joshs-left-earlobe, and @hutchercougarwife. ;)

The creaking of our front door announces her arrival, followed by the plunking of her car keys as she drops them into the ceramic bowl we keep on the hall stand. Even from the kitchen and over the din of the television I can hear her let out a sound that’s half-growl/half-sigh and completely done-with-the-world’s-shit. I count to ten, waiting for the thudding of her combat boots as she kicks them off into the large pile of shoes that she insists on leaving in the foyer, and then I count to ten again before I start talking.

When I can sense her behind me, leaning against the doorframe, I shoot a look over my shoulder to assess how bad the situation is. “You came home. I didn’t expect you back so soon.” I try not to sound too happy about it, settling for what I hope sounds like pleasant surprise and not heel-clicking, tap-dancing jubilation.

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