women's in boston was on and we watched a bit of it

Chris Evans Fic: The Hinting Game

Anonymous request coming to you all the way from Greece!

Have fun on vacay!!! Can you do a cute Chris Evans one of him hinting that hes ready for kids! Thanks 💙

***


In hindsight, you realised the hints had been coming for a while but it had just taken you some time to realise it. Thinking back, the first time, you were both at a Patriots game. Chris had dragged you to the merchandise shop at the stadium and while he spent the obligatory amount of time fawning over sweatshirts and deciding which one he should buy this time, his attention eventually turned to the kids section, his eye caught by an infant-sized romper type garment. ‘No. 2 Patriots Fan’ was in big writing taking up most of the space on the front but in brackets underneath: ’(but only because my dad is No. 1)’.

He held it up on its little hanger and looked at you which an open-mouthed expression of excited surprise.

‘Babe… how adorable and perfect is this?’

You just raised an eyebrow in a ‘my boyfriend’s such a dork’ kind of way and replied nonchalantly, ‘Yeah it’s cute. It’s a bit small for you though. Shame there’s no really little ones in our circle at the moment.’

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Cliche

@chasingawaythefoosa asked for a rock star/manager au

*Added ao3/ff.net links*


Also on FF.NET/AO3


Killian Jones was such a cliche.

Black leather, brooding good looks, eyeliner. The works.

Emma Swan teased him about it constantly.

It was what had made him so popular on the Boston circuit. That and the fact that he was a hell of a singer.

Quite how Emma had ended up managing the roguish Brit was a bit of a convoluted tale involving mutual friends, low funds and too much vodka. Turned out though that she was good at it. So good, that every weekend Kilian was booked solid, playing to packed crowds with his small back up band. There were even enquiries coming from further afield, tentative requests from record companies and, yes, groupies.

Which was who she was fighting through at The Rabbit Hole one Friday night after a killer set that had lit up the room and left a small gaggle of ladies lingering by the door that led backstage.

“‘Xcuse me,” she huffed, wriggling through the mass of hairspray and cheap themed cocktails. Tiny, the bouncer, nodded her through the sacred door as the other women pouted and complained.

“More this week,” he observed as she passed by.

“Yep,” she quipped, side-eyeing the one trying to slip Tiny a ten to let her go through. “Same old, just more of.”

Backstage, the band members were packing up their equipment, but Killian was sat alone, his ever present hip-flask dangling between his fingers.

“That was a good show.”

He looked up as she approached, his smile warm and genuine.

“I messed up a few chords in that last song.” There was a frown as he took another drink.

“Like anyone noticed.” She pulled up one of those cheap orange plastic chairs that seemed to congregate in spaces like that, and sat beside him. “You have quite the group waiting for you.”

She nodded towards the door and he twisted his mouth. “Not tonight Swan.”

Emma raised her brows. He usually liked to spend the last hour or so in the bar, picking up a few numbers, or just women in general.

Come to think of it, it had been some time since she had actually seen him leave with someone.

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Zach Werenski #4 - Appendicitis

Anon asked: Hey! This is gonna really specific! could you write a zach werenski one( your together but not official) where your playing hockey for the Boston pride, and your like warming up for a game when you have to go to the hospital for appendicitis? Then when you wake up he’s there( maybe some of his team is too), and just cute fluff from there! Thanks:)

I will be honest. I started this story in I think four different ways before I landed on this opening. These stories keep getting longer and longer I swear. I hope that isn’t an issue Anon. I know people like longer stories but I don’t want anyone getting bored with it. I also wanted to make this prompt a continuation of I think it was my first Zach Werenski one but the story didn’t flow as well. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!


You met Zach Werenski after a game in Boston when he stumbled upon you waiting outside of the home locker room for your cousin and roommate Brandon Carlo. You were wearing a Boston Pride jersey as opposed to a Bruins one which is what you assumed made him stop and talk to you.

“Right city, wrong team,” you heard from behind you.

“Or right city right, right team depending on how you look at it,” you retorted before turning and coming face to face with a defenseman from the team yours had just beat.

“And how’s that?” he asked.

You gave him a tight lipped smile, “well it’s my team so.”

A look of surprised crossed his face, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“No one tries to offend anyone; it usually happens by accident.”

He hitched his gear bag higher on his shoulder and stuck his hand out for you to shake.

“I think we started off on the wrong foot. I’m Zach.”

Your mother raised you to not be rude so you shook his hand but didn’t offer your own name. You didn’t think you’d be seeing him again and thank goodness for Brandon and his perfect timing because you were saved from having to deal with the already awkward situation. He exited the locker room and raised an eyebrow at your still joined hands. You dropped yours quickly and wiped it on your pants.

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Five Minutes More (Chris Evans x Reader)

Originally posted by eme-themeatball

A/N: So I saw this cute af wedding prompt and it was all I’ve ever wanted to write, so here’s some fluffy goodness to make up for the horrendous angst I’ve written before, and the smut that’s going to come- pun totally intended. 

I listened to two songs while writing this- ‘You Always Hurt The One You Love’ by The Mills Brothers and ‘Five Minutes More’ by Frank Sinatra. 

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Fic: As a Door Closes

Here is the latest part of my Heartlines AU story. I hope you all enjoy it.

The rest of the chapters (and my other work) can be found here 

As always I’d love to know what you think.

—————————————————————–

Originally posted by jlbwedding


She opened the door and Jamie was speechless. Claire was always beautiful, more than beautiful, but looking at her right now he simply could not formulate thoughts into speech. She wore a tight fitted black sequinned gown with a high neck and capped sleeves. A slit ran up one side revealing an expanse of creamy leg and strappy silver sandals. But her head was the biggest shock. Normally Claire favoured natural looking makeup, muted tones in browns and greys, her hair either haphazardly restrained or a riot of curls which grazed her shoulders. But today she looked entirely different, her whiskey coloured eyes looked even more tigerish with an application of flicked up eyeliner and her lips were an enticing cranberry red. Her hair, normally such a riot, fell in sleek, smooth waves down to her breasts. She looked at him shyly. “What do you think?” She gave him a little swirl revealing a low back. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly and she laughed. “Oh good, you like it!” He watched her sashay down the path towards the waiting car, swallowing audibly.

The event was a combination of wealthy donors, local businessmen and hospital staff. As it happened, because of this Jamie knew at least as many people as Claire and he was kept more than busy shaking hands, answering queries about Lallybroch and talking shop. Claire moved round the room, chatting, smiling and generally trying to encourage the great and good in attendance to cough up some money to help refurb the ailing pediatrics wing. Prior to choosing General Surgery Claire had rotated through the department and had been sorely tempted by a career in that speciality. As it was she had gone another way, but she was often called upon by the department when a general surgeon was needed and she had campaigned passionately for the wing in its bid to upgrade its facilities. Jamie watched her work the room. Her smile was simply radiant. He was struck again by his sheer fortune that such a wonderful woman was his. His pride in her and her achievements was endless and to see her here, tonight, amongst her peers, he thought his heart would burst with it. He lost sight of her for a moment and he scanned the room, his height giving his an advantage. She popped up beside him holding two glasses of champagne. “I managed to charm these out the waiter. He didn’t want to give me any as they are having terrible trouble rounding everyone up to go into dinner” Her face was flushed slightly from the champagne and it gave her a glow that made her look even more lovely. She hooked an arm through his. “I forgot to ask. What happened to the kilt I was promised?” Instead of the aforementioned kilt, Jamie was wearing a bright blue three piece suit. Single breasted with a sharp white shirt and blue tie he looked magnificent amongst the sea of black tuxedos, his red hair and towering height making him stand out even further. “Well, the last time I wore a kilt to an event like this I spent half the night bein’ asked what I wore underneath it an’ the other half fending off women tryna find out for themselves. I figured I’d save myself the bother this time” he laughed. “Are ye disappointed?”

“Well, a little bit,” she answered tilting her head to one side to look at him. “But on the other hand you look sexy as hell in that suit, so I can’t complain too much can I?” She gave him a lewd wink which made them both laugh and he drew her to him and kissed her on her forehead.

“And you, Mo Nighean Donn,” He said, “I canna begin to say how wonderful you look. Ye’re always the most beautiful woman in the room, but tonight, well, I keep having to pinch myself to make sure I’m awake.” Her colour heightened a little more, but her response was cut off by the the boom of the ever jocular chief of surgery.

“Claire, Claire. I hardly recognised you without your scrubs and cap! Isn’t it fun trying to spot everyone in their civvies?”

He kissed her lightly on the cheek and she turned to introduce Jamie. He shook Jamie’s hand warmly.

“This is Dr Grant, our chief, this is Jamie, my…” she paused slightly as she cast around for the right title. They’d only know each other three weeks and whilst what they had was clearly serious, they’d not yet gotten round to defining it in any way. “…my partner” she settled for, looking at Jamie meaningfully.

“Partner,”  he thought “Aye, that’ll do for now, but one day…”

This thought was abruptly cut short, by Dr Grant turing behind him and pulling forward a couple about Jamie and Claire’s age. “This is my nephew, David.” He said smiling broadly, “He’s a property developer. And this is his fiancee, Geneva.”

Jamie felt the heat rise in his face and Claire coughed slightly as she took a too big gulp of champagne. Geneva’s chestnut hair was swept back from her face and she wore a flowing tulle gown with a slight princess skirt in a soft blush pink. She also wore a very large, if conventional, diamond which she had not been wearing the last time the three of them had come face to face. She looked ethereal and stunning. She also looked uncomfortable and embarrassed, clearly not enjoying this impromptu reunion any more than Claire and Jamie. David, a handsome man, with dark hair a soft brown eyes, also appeared somewhat discomfited by this meeting. He may or may not have been aware of the show down in Jamie’s living room, but it was obvious he knew who Jamie was. He moved slightly closer to Geneva, placing a hand around her waist. Claire recovered herself first.

“Oh how lovely. And what a beautiful ring. Have you set a date?” The corner of Geneva’s mouth lifted slightly as she answered. “Oh, not yet, but we’re hoping for next summer. We only got engaged last week, didn’t we darling?’ She turned to David. “Oh, yes, just last week” he replied. Dr Grant laughed loudly digging poor David in the side. “But how many times did ye have to ask the lass? What was it four times before she finally said yes to you?” David smiled blandly, Jamie developed an acute interest in the pattern on the carpet. Thankfully the waiting staff took that moment to get assertive and they were promptly rounded up and herded into the ballroom.

Fortunately, Dr Grant’s table was over near the front of the room, whilst Jamie and Claire, along with a host of other hospital staff were tucked away near the back.

“Keeping us hidden” said Geillis, archly, flipping red hair over her shoulder. “But still, least we’re much nearer the bar here” She waved a red nailed hand in the direction of a waiter beckoning him over. Next to her, her new boyfriend, Josh sat looking slightly bemused and very much under her spell. Jamie was thrilled to at last have a chance to meet all the friends that Claire had regaled him with stories of. Her friend Joe Abernathy, who had transferred here from Boston, the indomitable Mrs Fitz, who despite clearly having a first name, no one called anything else, including her husband a jocular highlander with a big laugh who had clearly not suffered the same concerns as Jamie as he wore a kilt in eye catching MacKenzie tartan. Timid little Mary who spoke quietly but after a few drinks it turned out had a fondness for rude jokes and a huge dirty laugh. These were the people who he knew were important to Claire. As someone with no blood ties, this was the closest she had to real family and he was acutely aware of what it meant that she had wanted him here, with her and them tonight. The night was a lot more fun than he had expected. He found that he had an easy rapport with Claire’s friends who made him welcome, and with the exception of Geillis, who Claire had warned him about, none of them felt the need to grill him too intently. They danced until Claire begged for mercy, her high heels finally getting the better of her. Moving off to the side he drew her close and kissed her deeply. “Shall we go home now, Mo Nighean Donn?” he murmured into her ear.

“Oh yes” she replied. “I might not be getting the chance to find out what a Scotsman wears under his kilt, but I’m still pretty interested in what might be going on under that suit” She tugged his earlobe gently with her teeth and he gave a shudder. “I’ll just pop to the bathroom and then we’ll leave”

He waited across the hall for Claire, fiddling with his phone. A blur of pink caught the corner of his eye as the statuesque figure of his ex wife strode purposefully into the bathroom in which Claire had just entered.

Claire had been in there for a while. So had Geneva. He’d seen David go by looking for her, but offered no information. He stared at the door willing it to open and for Claire to come out. He couldn’t hear any shouting. Or screaming. That was something he supposed. Surely if something terrible was happening he’d hear it. But still what were they both doing in there. The door opened and Geneva exited, catching Jamie’s eyes briefly. He tried to make out the expression behind them, but she was gone too quickly. Another minute later, the door opened again this time bringing Claire with it.

Jamie’s eyebrows were almost under his hairline. “And what was that about? Should I be worried? She’s no been telling you what a terrible man I am has she?”

Claire laughed at Jamie was surprised to feel his heart and stomach both unclench a little. She stood on tiptoes and kissed him lightly. “Let’s go home and I’ll tell you everything”

She sat facing him on the sofa in her living room. She’d kicked off her heels in the hall and her hair was starting to kink slightly.

“Well, I don’t think you need to be too concerned with Geneva from now on Jamie. We had a good chat and I think things are going to be ok on that front.”

“Oh yeah? How can you be so sure? We’ve been seperated for over 4 years and she turned up at my house because she’d heard I’d been kissing someone. She’s no exactly rational.”

“No really, Jamie. Just listen”

As Claire had stepped out of the cubicle she had walked straight into Geneva.  Dodging round her to wash her hands, she had become aware of the fact that Geneva was clearly there to speak with her. She waited for a beat.

“C..Claire?” Geneva began unsteadily, clearly searching for the words. “I just wanted to say… I’m sorry. For the other day. It was, it was… unacceptable.” Claire opened her mouth to respond but Geneva raised her hand imploring to be allowed to continue. Claire nodded.

“Jamie was right. It was pride. I was so angry with him. For so long. I felt cheated by him. When we got married I wanted it to be a certain way. But it wasn’t. So I tried to change him. To make him into what I wanted him to be, rather than simply accepting that he wasn’t what I wanted any more than I was what he wanted. And he, being the honourable man he is left. He couldn’t live a lie, he couldn’t be less than his true self. And I was so angry. For almost 5 years it’s eaten away at me. He’s the only thing I’ve ever failed at. That I haven’t been able to bend to my will as it were. And so I couldn’t let go. Even after I met David, who is everything I was looking for in my marriage to Jamie and couldn’t find, I still didn’t let go. I didn’t let Jamie go. I knew, deep down that he would feel the weight of the failure of our marriage whether it was his fault or not and I used that to hurt him. Whilst I was living my life and being happy elsewhere, and Jamie was right about that, David does make me happy, I kept on punishing him. And all because I couldn’t admit failure. When my friend called me and told me she’d seen the two of you. I don’t know what came over me. It was like all the anger and bitterness of the last four years were just poured over my head. I wanted to rip my skin off with it. But I saw then , the way he looked at you. The way he never, ever looked at me. But I do have someone who looks at me like that. David has been asking me to marry him for years and I’ve always said no. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I couldn’t bear for Jamie to feel like he had permission to move on. And I’m sorry. I’m so very fucking sorry.” The profanity seemed out of place coming out of the mouth of one so perfectly coiffed and softly spoken. She seemed a different person to the wild eyed, object flinging woman of only a few weeks earlier. She looked at her hands and adjusted her ring.

“Tell Jamie.” She looked Claire in the eye. “Tell him I’m sorry. For all of it. And that I wish him… I wish him joy.” Claire nodded slowly and Geneva smiled, tears in her eyes. Claire unthinkingly reached out a hand and Geneva took it squeezing her fingers slightly. She nodded stiffly and in turned and was gone in a swish of pink tulle and chanel No 5. Claire stood there for a moment, wondering if that had really happened. She took a deep breath and went back to join Jamie.

“So she really said all that?’ Jamie asked incredulous. He had known Geneva a long time and whilst he knew she did have her virtues he wasn’t sure magnanimity had ever been one of them.

“She did” Claire replied nodding. “Whether she meant it, I guess only time will tell, but she seemed genuine” She shrugged. “I’m glad we can put it behind us though. I’m glad that *you* can move on with your life now.

“Aye, aye I can” he met her eyes and held her gaze, reaching for her hand as he did so. “And I so what you to be part of that life, Claire. Next weekend, I ken ye’re off work until Wednesday, will ye come to the Highlands wi me? To Lallybroch?” Nerves were making his accent thicker.

“Jamie, I honestly cannot think of a nicer way to spend my time off.” He smiled a smile of such joy that he looked, for a moment like a small boy. She leaned forward and kissed the tip of his nose. “But right now I want to find out what a scotsman wears under his suit.”

Imagine early mornings and Christmas decorating with Chris.

A/N: Part 3, woot! Links for the mini series will be added soon, there are two chapters to this series. (Baby Fever - Part 1/Part 2) and (Drunk Minds, Sober Hearts - Masterlist) Enjoy. :D

Dodger woke you up at 4:28AM because Phoebe was wide awake and Chris was fast asleep. You didn’t want to leave the comfort and warmth of your bed but you were a parent for the week and being a parent meant sacrifices; so you heard from your mom. Dodger jumped onto the bed and nudged you with his head, forcing you awake and out of bed. You sighed loudly; you were exhausted though you slept in your own bed at an appropriate time, you could only imagine how Chris was feeling.

You pulled your sweater over your head and slid your feet into your fluffy reindeer slippers before staggering down the hall to where your husband and niece were; Chris was curled up on the floor and Phoebe was in her cot, blabbering to herself. She saw you and smiled, holding up her arms as a gesture for you to pick her up. You smiled and let out a soft sigh, stepping around Chris to scoop her out of the cot and into your arms.

“At least one of us slept well.” You chuckled softly, tucking her soft locks behind her small ear. “I know you love Uncle Chris but I’m going to need you to sleep by yourself tonight. Do you think you can do that for me?” She giggled and cupped your face in her tiny hands. “I’m afraid that if you don’t-” you glanced down at Chris and chuckled softly. “Uncle Chris might change his mind about becoming a daddy and we don’t want that, do we?”

Phoebe didn’t know the words to tell you she understood but you knew she did, she was a lot smarter than people thought her to be. Look at how she emotionally manipulated Chris into keeping her company, and he wasn’t her only victim; her dad and her two grandfathers were constant victims. The men in her life were easy to trick, the women- not so much.

“Oh God,” you heard Chris groaned as he rolled onto his back. He looked up at you, wincing though there wasn’t any light. “What time is it?” He mumbled; his voice was laced with sleep. “Am I in Hell?” He asked and you chuckled, watching him hold his back as he sat up. “Why does everything hurt?”

“You slept on the floor, why doesn’t everything hurt?” You teased him, fighting the urge to smile. “I’m going to put you down, okay?” You told Phoebe and returned her to her cot; she laid back down and played with her own feet. “C'mon Cap,” you reached down to help him to his feet. “Let’s put you to bed.”

“Ugh,” he groaned, “what time is it?”

“Last I saw, it was four twenty-eight AM.” You told him and his face scrunched up. “Welcome to parenthood, sweetheart.” You teased, soothingly rubbing his back. “It’s okay, I can watch her while you catch up on some well-deserved sleep.”

“I’ll be fine,” he declined, “just get me some coffee.”

“It really wasn’t a suggestion.” You steered him towards the bedroom, drawing a soft chuckle from his throat; he was definitely grateful he had a wife as wonderful as you. “I know I’m not a child whisperer like you but I think I can survive a few hours with her.”

“I think you can do better than survive a few hours with her,” he smiled and kissed your cheek. “I just need a couple hours, I’ll be down as soon-” he yawned, “as possible. If you need anything-” he yawned again and you chuckled, “just come get me. I can-” another yawn, “always help.” He told you and you nodded, watching him climb into bed and curl up under the covers.

He was out in seconds.
• • • • • • • •
“What do you think?” You asked Phoebe, taking a step back from your mantel masterpiece.

You had cleared one of the shelves in the living room and created a Christmas feature that filled the whole room with the holiday spirit. It had the white Christmas feeling that you were so fond of and you couldn’t wait till the first fall of snow came over Boston. Christmas was one of your favorite holidays, people who knew you well knew you loved it a little too much. Each year you’d buy more decorations, in fact- majority of the boxes in the garage were marked ‘Christmas’. Things got to a point where Chris had to limit you to five new items each year, not that he could resist your puppy dog eyes when you found the sixth something that you just had to have.

“I think you started without me,” you heard Chris’ voice and turned around, smiling. He was wearing his black and white plaid shirt. “How the hell did you do all that while suffering from sleep deprivation?” He leaned over and kissed the top of Phoebe’s head. “It’s nice though, I’m glad you convinced me to let you buy that snowman.”

“Me too.” You hugged him from behind and he smiled, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “How’d you sleep?” You mumbled into his shoulder blade. “You look a little less tired.” You commented and he chuckled, turning around to face you when you released him from your grip. “But you could definitely use a few more hours,” you brushed his beard with your thumb.

“Is that a nice way of saying I look like hell?”

“You couldn’t look like hell if you wanted to,” you told him and pecked his smiling lips. “Do you want some breakfast?” You asked and he shook his head, wiping the drip from the side of his mug and licking it off his finger. “Are you sure? I can make you something.”

“Coffee’s good for now,” he nodded. “So tell me, my beautiful elf.” He raised his eyebrows with a playful smirk, making you laugh which drew a giggle from Phoebe. “What else is there to do to turn this normal everyday home into Santa’s Workshop?”

“We still haven’t put up the tree.” You reminded him and he dramatically gasped because it was unusual for you; you’d usually put it up at the start of December. “Okay, cut that out.” You fought the urge to start laughing when he did. “I’ve been busy with work and my husband doesn’t have the initiative to do things himself.”

“Excuse you,” he scoffed and chuckled simultaneously. “My initiative to do things has been ruined by you,” he said and you laughed because you knew exactly what he was talking about. “Do you remember the first Christmas we had together as a married couple? You were out of town for work and I thought I’d surprise you by decorating-”

“You don’t have to finish the story ‘cause we both know what happened and I don’t need a reminder of how bitchy I was,” you told him with a roll of your eyes.

“And you said I did it wrong and did it all again yourself,” he ignored you and finished the story anyway. You winced and he chuckled, grabbing your cheeks and squeezing your face. “But it’s alright, I knew you were a raging perfectionist before I married you.”

“And yet you still married me,” you teased him.

“What can I say?” He shrugged nonchalantly with a small smirk on his lips. “I’m a sucker for the crazies,” he winked with a click of his tongue. You laughed and playfully shoved him, causing him to lose his grip on your face. “Are we going to decorate this tree or what?” He asked, laughing. “Christmas is like- eight days away.”

“Trust me, I know.” You pointed at the countdown calendar on the fridge; Chris bit back his smile and shook his head. “Yes,” you nodded, rubbing your hands together. “Let’s get down to business. The tree’s in the backyard, I’m glad we got that sorted otherwise we would’ve been stuck with a stinky faux one.”

“For a person who hates bugs, I thought you wouldn’t mind a stinky faux one.”

“Not for the most wonderful time of the year,” you shook your head with a wide grin.

Phoebe clapped her hands together, giggling excitedly and drawing the attention of you and Chris. Chris put his mug down on the table and picked Phoebe up, bouncing her with a wide smile on his face. “Are you a Christmas nut like your aunt?” He chuckled when he saw you roll your eyes. “It’s okay if you are, just be cute with your crazy and you’ll have any guy fall at your feet. Look at your aunt, she’s insane and she got me didn’t she?”

“You’re lucky I don’t swear around children,” you told him and he laughed. “Just go get the tree, you jerk.” You tossed a plush Olaf ornament at him and he swiftly caught it, laughing even harder than before; Phoebe grabbed it from him as he lowered her back into her high chair.

“You know I love you,” he smiled.

“You’re lucky I love you,” you teased, pulling away before he could peck you on the cheek. He smiled one of his heart fluttering smiles and nodded in agreement; you melted on the inside and met his lips for a tender kiss. You were definitely lucky to be married to him, and eventually the mother of his children.

Tagging: @widowsfics @m-a-t-91 @xoxomioxoxo @imaginesofdreams @ateliefloresdaprimavera @katiew1973 @winter-tospring @shamvictoria11 @caitsymichelle13 @michellekeehlmello Tags are still open, inbox me if you want to be tagged. Part 4 will be up soon, stay tuned. :)

whatfallsaway  asked:

If you are still taking prompts. I love love love early or middle MSR flirty banter, seemingly innocent phone-play that takes a turn resulting in mutual happy endings. 😍

Ok this was so hard (excuse the pun) to write which is why it’s taken so long to post. I’m so sorry! (and also I’m sorry for what you’re about to read because it is not good!) I guess I really should have more phone sex before writing about it ;) 

NSFW below the cut

Mulder paused in his typing as he heard his cell phone ringing from across the room. Abandoning his report, he got up from his chair, padded over to the coffee table and grabbed his phone, answering it as he flopped down on the couch. “Miss me already?”

“I hate people.”

“All people? Every single person in the whole world wide? What did they do to deserve this hate?”

His question was greeted by silence on the other end of the line. “Well…” Scully’s familiar voice eventually rung out. “Maybe not all people. Maybe just men over the age of 55 who like to call me “sugar” and “sweetheart” and “little lady”, when we both know I’m equal if not superior to them in terms of qualifications.”

“Oh I’m sure you’re superior in every way.”

“Don’t make me hate you too.”

Mulder laughed. “Sorry. So how it is going otherwise?”

Scully was attending a medical conference in Boston and was scheduled to give a talk the following day. She’d only been gone three nights already, having stopped off on the way to catch up with an old school friend, but Mulder missed her.

“Well, aside from being surrounded by misogynistic men who either ask me what time I’m serving dinner, who I’ve left my kids with or…” she added in horror. “When I’m due.”

“What?”

“See!” Mulder cringed for many reasons, but particularly that his barren partner, who desperately wanted children but was unable to have them, was mistaken for being pregnant. “My shirt may have been a little tight earlier but -”

“You are not fat Scully.”

“Thank you. Try telling that to those assholes.” She sighed wearily, and Mulder could hear the tiredness on the other end of the line. “Two more days.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Me either.”

“Oh really?” Thankfully she’s not too tired to play. “Miss me?”

“I miss you in my bed.”

“I think what you’re supposed to say is “I miss you every minute of every day, and life just isn’t the same when you’re not in it.””

“That too of course.”

“I miss being in you bed too,” she admitted somewhat shyly. Her words went straight to Mulder’s groin.

“It’s been a week Scully.” Before her trip they were on a case, which was so intensive and consuming that they barely had time to sleep, let alone do anything else.

“You’re counting?”

“Maybe.”

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omgcp makin’ magic au 1/?

When Jack woke up that morning, falling down a literal hole into a new world hadn’t exactly been on his to-do list.

“You okay there, hun?” A man asked, holding out a hand to help Jack up.

“Not…really…” Jack said, looking around in a daze, hysteria blooming in his chest and closing up his throat.

The man looked distraught, and began pulling at Jack’s arms and chin to look him over for bumps and bruises. “You don’t seem to be bleeding,” he said after he was done. “Where does it hurt?”

For the first time since falling, Jack focused enough to properly look at the man. He was small and lithe, with golden hair adorned with flowers. He wore the oddest sort of tunic, and – were those wings sticking out of his back?

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Eros - Bar AU Chapter 10

DISCLAIMER: THIS PIECE IS A MYSTIC MESSENGER AU.  IT IS HEAVILY INSPIRED BY THE AMERICAN SITCOM CHEERS, A SHOW CENTERED AROUND A BOSTON BAR CALLED CHEERS AND IT’S REGULARS.  EVEN THOUGH I HAVE TRIED TO KEEP AS MUCH OF CANON PERSONALITIES WITH ALL THE MYSTIC MESSENGER CHARACTERS JUST REMEMBER THAT IT IS AN AU AND A FEW THINGS MAY BE DIFFERENT THAN IN GAME OR YOUR HEADCANONS. THIS HAS BEEN FUN TO PLAN AND I HOPE YOU FIND A BIT OF JOY READING IT!  

PG13+ FOR SWEARIN’ AND BOOZIN’.

CH.1 PT.1 | CH. 1 PT. 2 | CH. 2 | CH. 3 | CH. 4 | CH. 5 |  CH. 6 |CH. 7 | CH. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11


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I’m so deeply invested in Charity and Vanessa it’s ridiculous - I haven’t been this deeply invested in a ship for about 5 years since I first started this blog for Lorraine Donnegan / Nikki Boston on Waterloo Road. I’m a regular Corrie viewer and was quite excited about Rana / Kate but honestly caught two seconds of Charity / Vanessa and realised that they were going to be my real obsession.

I guess I’m just a sucker for a bitch who’s a bit vulnerable under the surface - it’s what I’m drawn to. The Carla Connors and Lorraine Donnegans of the world. That’s why I love Charity, she’s exactly that, she’s a total fucking bitch but you feel like there’s something a bit more vulnerable under the surface.

I’m loving this storyline so far. I like way Charity effortlessly made Vanessa her prey and dragged her to bed. You’re not sure why she’s doing it, whether it’s to cause chaos or purely because she’s attracted to Vanessa but she’s certainly doing it. Vanessa has no idea why she’s doing it, she’s unsure of her own attraction to women and even if she did like women she wouldn’t go for someone as ridiculous as Charity - or would she? She could blame it on being drunk but she went back for more stone cold sober and she knows she’s enjoyed every second of it. 

I really enjoyed Charity’s little hurt face that we caught hold of for a few seconds when she was holding two mugs of tea watching Vanessa walk out on her for a second time. Then deliberately trying to regain her composure by making a joke of it and being deliberately antagonistic telling Vanessa that she’d be back for more. As much as it was unfair of Charity to out Vanessa in the pub in the way she did I kind of enjoyed it. One, for the fact she seems so unabashed about her own sexuality. Two, because I can’t help but feel that she was offended that Vanessa was honestly going to parade about with a man in her pub after spending the night before with her. Especially after getting Paddy to fight her battles the morning after, which I think bothered Charity. In a strange way I also think perhaps Charity was trying to do her a favour (however ill advised) because when Vanessa says ‘you’re loving this aren’t you, humiliating me?’ she looks genuinely affronted and hurt. 

I just really hope that this storyline pans out the way I want it to. According to the spoilers Vanessa is going to be going out on on a date with her sister’s friend Amanda, think she’s hot but think she’s boring. I hope that Charity finds out about it / sees it and does not know how to react to it. I hope Charity is jealous and that she’s not sure how to play it now Vanessa seems more comfortable with dating women as she can no longer make cheap digs at her sexuality to get her attention and muster some sort of reaction out of her.  I want Charity to be annoyed that Vanessa’s dating women but not her because she doesn’t see Charity as a viable dating option - just someone she wanted to sleep with but is embarrassed that she did sleep with.

I want Vanessa to go back to sleeping with Charity because she can’t resist her but continue to be dismissive and Charity to continue being her abrasive over the top rude self but also be obviously catching feelings for Vanessa. I want Charity to be the one to be emotionally vulnerable first, trying to fight it but not being able to at all.

I’ll be so angry if Charity is just a gateway into Vanessa dating other women as there’s so much potential with Charity and her.

imusuallyobsessed  asked:

Olicity in a turn-of-the-century frontier town. (I'm watching "When Calls the Heart" and it's stuck in my head.)

The sun was high in the sky and the dry dust swirled around his booted feet as Oliver Queen, Star’s sheriff, walked through the streets of his town.  At this time of day, crime was limited mostly to men getting charged too much for the rotgut they swilled in the saloons along the optimistically-named Glade Street.  So that meant he could leave his deputy, Roy Harper, watching the jail while he paid a visit to his sister and took her to lunch.  

He nodded at the townfolk who greeted him and did his best to steer well-clear of women like Miss Helena and Miss Susan.  They were both fine women, of course, but Oliver wasn’t ready to settle down.  Not when he had his sister to bring up and a town to protect.  Not when he was still atoning for what he had done during the War Between the States.

Soon, he arrived at the small house he shared with his sister.  Taking off his hat as he stepped onto the porch, he opened the front door and called out, “Speedy?”

“In here, Ollie!”  His sister’s voice floated out of the room their mother would have called a parlor, but which they called the sitting room.  Since after all, they weren’t back East anymore.  

“Thought you might want to get lunch with your brother, if you wouldn’t be too embarrassed–Oh.”  

Thinking his sister had been alone, Oliver hadn’t thought anything of tugging his shirttails free of his pants and unbuttoning a few buttons while walking into the sitting room.  He had sweated through his shirt in the dry Arizona heat, so he knew Thea would insist on a fresh shirt if she was to go to lunch with him.  

But his sister wasn’t alone.  There was a young woman, with blonde hair twisted haphazardly into a knot, wisps escaping around her pink-and-white face.  Behind her spectacles, her eyes the color of the sky were wide, and her naturally pink lips were parted in an O at the sight of him in his unkempt state.  

“Ollie, really?” Thea asked as Oliver quickly put himself to rights.  He nearly dropped his hat until his sister plucked it from his grasp and stepped away with it.

“You could have given me a warning,” he muttered at Thea’s back before turning to his sister’s guest.  “Beg your pardon, ma’am.  I didn’t realize my sister had a visitor.”  

“No … no, it’s quite all right,” the young woman said, sounding rather dazed.  That made Oliver take another look at her, wondering if perhaps the heat was getting to her.  She had the look of someone newly arrived from the East; perhaps she was feeling light-headed?

Thea returned from the hall and said airily, “Oliver, I’d like to introduce Miss Felicity Smoak of Boston.  Miss Smoak, this is my brother, Sheriff Oliver Queen.”  

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Oliver said, nodding to the young woman.  “Welcome to Star.”  

“Thank you,” Felicity said, fidgeting a little with the handkerchief in her hand, before rising to her feet.  “I don’t want to intrude upon your no-doubt-limited time together as siblings, so this seems like a perfect time to conclude my visit–”

“Oh, no,” Thea replied.  “If Ollie’s gonna take me out to lunch, he can take you out, too.  That way, you can explain more about your problem and he can start to help you.”

Oliver knew at this point he should protest Thea’s high-handed treatment of not just himself, but Miss Smoak, too.  Yet … there was something about the woman in front of him, in the bright blue dress.  Some spark about her, even though he had only just met her, that made him want to get to know more about her.  And after all, if she had some business that required the sheriff–well, he was the sheriff.  

“I couldn’t possibly–” Felicity began, but Oliver held up a hand and she shut her mouth so hard, her jaws clicked together.  

“Miss Smoak, I don’t know much what Boston’s like,” Oliver said, gazing down at her.  She was so much shorter than he was, yet her presence seemed to fill up the room.  “It’s probably not that different from Philadelphia, where Thea and I were born.  Yet out here on the frontier, people take care of each other.  We help each other.  And we certainly give newcomers a warm welcome.  So please, allow me to treat you to lunch and help you get the lay of the land.”  

She bit her lower lip, her white teeth sinking into her very plump, very kissable bottom lip.  Oliver swallowed, trying to get his thoughts–and his body–under control as he waited for her response.

“Thank  you so much, Mr. Queen.  Sheriff!  I meant Sheriff Queen.  Although I do regret that I might have need of your services as sheriff, instead of just getting to enjoy lunch with you.  And your sister, of course.  I–I would gladly accept your invitation.  ‘Your’, in this case, being both yours and Thea’s invitation.”  Felicity took a deep breath, her face going even more pink.

He couldn’t help staring at her, a small smile growing on his face.  For an Eastern girl, she wasn’t polished to a boring perfection, this Felicity Smoak.  She would be the last kind of girl his mother would have wanted him to become acquainted with.  Yet in that moment, Oliver Queen realized he was going to become more than acquainted with Felicity Smoak.

Someday, she was going to be his bride.

Soulmarked

Summary: Emma Swan just wants to be loved for who she is, and not because someone feels obligated to love her. It’s just her luck that she has a soulmate somewhere out there, while she’s already in love with someone else.
Rating: M (for moderate sexual content)

This story is my OUAT Positivity Gift Exchange present for @ilerya82​! It was so lovely getting to know you this past month, and I love how much we have in common when it comes to our love of OUAT (and gummy candy and fall OMGGG). You mentioned a bunch of tropes you liked, including one of my all-time favorites (friends to lovers) and one I hadn’t taken a stab at before (soulmates). I really hope that you enjoy this story; I had a lot of fun writing it, so I hope it’s at least as fun for you to receive it!

(Big thanks to @swankkat for the beta-read!)

FFnet/AO3


Emma Swan felt like she couldn’t escape soulmates.

There was Mary Margaret, her adoptive sister, who met her soulmate David in college when she was dared to steal something from Regina’s dorm room and accidentally broke into his instead. There was also Regina, whose mother’s classist attitude meant that she didn’t feel comfortable openly dating her soulmate Robin, whom she’d met on the first day of freshman year, until they’d all graduated and she wasn’t dependent on her mother’s money. There was Ruby, who’d joyously slept with virtually every single person she met, and then just as joyously enjoyed monogamy when she met her soulmate Dorothy. There were even Mulan, Aurora, and Phillip, who’d made the news more than once as one of the few examples of polyamorous soulmates willing to go public.

And there was Emma herself.

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anonymous asked:

Hi, I was curious if you had any book recommendations! I'm in a reading slump and your previous recs really helped me out, so I was wondering if you have more to share.

Yes! I have been reading A LOT recently because I… am unemployed… and I have nothing else to do.

I just read A Legacy of Spies, the new John le Carré book, for @overinvestedpodcast, and loooved it, though I would recommend reading/watching Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy and The Spy Who Came in from the Cold first. I also recently read A Perfect Spy, le Carré’s best book, or so everybody says, and I believe them. It is SO GOOD. Also extremely long in a very satisfying way. You can really dig into it.

Conversations with Friends is the debut novel by an Irish wunderkind writer, Sally Rooney, who is YOUNGER THAN I AM, to my immense horror; I read it in a day. Really wonderful. On the totally opposite side of the spectrum, I just read Uprooted by Naomi Novik which I thought had some problems but found really really fun and which I inhaled. I hadn’t read anything like that in a long, long time and it really transported me back to my childhood. I ordered a few other fantasy books which I am looking forward to reading to ~rediscover my youth. (The best book of this type remains Daughter of the Forest by Juliet Marillier, though, 4 EVER & ALWAYS.)

I also finally read The Art of Fielding, by Chad Harbach, which I had somehow never read before, and found it immensely flawed but also I literally read it in one day and it is almost 600 pages long. I COULD NOT put it down. There were a lot of American novels that came out in/around the 2000s that all had a similar sort of bouncy prose style that is a little bit reminiscent of the 19th century novel, and indeed the books themselves were very long and convoluted in a Dickensy way. And most of them were very flawed but YOU COULDN’T PUT THEM DOWN. I’m thinking of Kavalier and Clay, Middlesex, Freedom/The Corrections (straddling the aughts), On Beauty (Zadie Smith is obviously English but this is her most American book), and surely something else I’m forgetting… but anyway The Art of Fielding is so EXACTLY one of those books. Like half of it is a total disaster, and the other half is perfect. Also I love baseball so that was a big plus. But I don’t think you have to love baseball to enjoy the book.

If you DO love baseball then The Echoing Green: The Untold Story of Bobby Thomson, Ralph Branca and the Shot Heard Round the World, by Joshua Prager, is super fascinating and entertaining (even if he really needed a better copy editor…). Shut Out: A Story of Race and Baseball in Boston, by Howard Bryant, is also excellent and depressing and actually I think would be really interesting even if you don’t give two shits about baseball, particularly if you’re from Boston (as I am). The Good Soldiers and Thank You for Your Service, by David Finkel, are great books about the military and PTSD, the latter especially. (I have been reading a lot of books about war and baseball and so they are basically… all by men… someday I will start reading books by women again… someday… specifically when Jennifer Egan’s new novel, Manhattan Beach, comes out. I CAN’T WAIT.)

Also I reread all of His Dark Materials and it was just as good as I had recalled. J’ADORE.

PS I have a bunch of messages that have accumulated over… months… from when I was locked out of my account, and someday I will reply to them. Somehow despite not having anything to do (except read) I seem to find myself perpetually occupied, and then the emails don’t get sent, and the messages remain in the inbox, and so on and so forth. But anyway: it will happen!

The Art of Going Solo

I do a lot of things alone, and it’s the best thing ever. I’m a particularly big advocate for solo travel, especially for single women, because it will absolutely change your perspective on the “strong, independent woman” narrative. There’s nothing more independent then running around Northern Italy with no grip on the language and no one else to lean on but your own strong will. If that doesn’t teach independence, I don’t know what will.

I was talking to a coworker last week about solo travel, and my intention of doing it again soon in a country where I do not speak the native language. We gushed over travel stories, and she said to me, “It’s so amazing that you can do that kind of thing alone, I wish I could.”

I’m sure I gave her the weirdest look in the world. I almost replied, “You totally could. All you need to do is buy a ticket and not invite anyone else.” Luckily, I just nodded my head and encouraged her to give it a try, espousing the same rhetoric about its life changing properties.

This comes up so often when I speak to other women about my life experiences. I’m told by some astrologist fanatics that this is because of my Gemini nature, but I find myself craving change every year and a half or so. I feel like my life gets predictable and boring. One of my favorite quotes from a HONY post reads, “I want to feel like a tourist in my own life again.” This was exactly how I felt when I moved to Boston, and I suspect how I’ll feel at the completion of my graduate program here.

The truth is, I do a lot of things alone. I go to dinner alone, I’ve been to the movies alone, I frequently try to attend concerts alone, and on Saturday’s I take long walks around the city, often with my camera, and you guessed it, alone.

So many folks think this is a really weird quality. I’ll tell them my plans to do something that weekend, and they’ll immediately ask who I’m doing it with, and I’ll just respond with, “myself.” They always shoot me this knowing look, like I didn’t elect to do this solo, and that someone must have bailed on pre-made plans.

Here’s one thing I’ve learned: there is no shame in admitting to yourself that some of your favorite moments in your life have happened while no one was watching. When no one else is there to comment on your actions, emotions or reactions, you are free to act how you truly want to act. I’ve never felt more strong and self-assured than when I hiked to the top of a mountain in Italy by myself (and soon fell about 10 ft. down said mountain, but that’s beside the point) or when I traveled to Poland alone to pay homage to Holocaust victims at Auschwitz. There was nothing more freeing than looking around me at the John Lennon Wall in Prague and not seeing anyone I knew, and not having to worry about someone ruining that experience for me by saying “oh, this is just a small wall of graffiti,” when I found it beautiful. I even find empowerment by taking a Saturday afternoon to go to the Boston Common alone and read, because I can take all the time I want to soak in how amazing my city is.

I feel the need to put out a disclaimer that I do love spending time with my friends and family. I have photos of them all over my apartment and office, and nothing warms my heart more than remembering the hysterical laughter of my best friends, or eating my mom’s home cooking with family at Christmas. I’m not a recluse who hates the world (alright, maybe I am a little bit).

Here’s my lesson for the week: take some time to be truly alone, even if it just means spending the majority of the weekend doing things you want to do, and doing them without other people. If you really don’t think this is your cup of tea (try it a few times before you knock it), continue encouraging your friends to try it, and don’t give them a hard time when they tell you that they’re spending their free time that day alone.

Tune in next week, follow the blog or the Facebook page (facebook.com/anothermisguidedmillennial) for more misguided suggestions from yours truly.

exit(/in), pursued by a swan

Merry Christmas to my darling Gutter Flower Secret Santa, @captainswanismyendgame! Jenna, it’s been a delight, and I hope I was sneaky enough! I hope you enjoy this one. 

A post-Dust Storm AU.  A rising talent in Nashville, Killian Jones locks eyes with Emma Swan from across the room. There’s instant chemistry, but he’s still nursing the heartbreak that brought him here, and she’s fresh out of an engagement. Just maybe it’ll turn out differently this time, though…

Rated T for some salty language and innuendo, and ~1500 words. 

On Ao3.


It’s an odd thing, Killian realizes, being so at home in a bar when you don’t drink. But here he is, all pre-show nerves and adrenaline, still with that undeniable sense of belonging even through the stress.

He tells himself he doesn’t need a beer to get him through this, that it’ll be fine without it. On some level he knows it will be–it’s been a year since he turned back to his music, and now he’s here headlining this show.

He takes a deep breath to steady his racing heart and runs his fingers through his hair before replacing his beanie.

He’s ready.

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The Boston Hour (3/?)

In which Belle is an Antiques Roadshow super-fan and Gold is her favorite appraiser.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: The appraisal.
RATING: T
WORDS: 3,108
A/N:  These dorks were quite popular on TMI Tuesday this week. You can check out the Q&A in my [fic: the boston hour] tag. :) 

[Part One] [Part Two] [Read on AO3]

“Why don’t you tell me about what you’ve brought here today, Mrs French?”

“Oh, no– No Mrs.” Belle rushed to correct him, jumping at the opportunity to point out her relationship status. “I’m not seeing anyone. …I mean married. I’m not married.” She clarified, setting her book on the table with trembling hands. “…Not that I’m uh, seeing anyone either. Because that statement is also very true.”

Rumford’s brows hiked upwards and his mouth hung open. It looked like he was about to say something, but instead the color of his cheeks just deepened. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “Please, ah– accept my apologies, Miss French. I… didn’t mean to presume.”

“You know– it’s fine.” Belle said with a swat of her hand. “You can uh, call me whatever you want, Mr Gold.” She smiled, and in the corner of her eyes caught Ruby struggling to hide a burst of laughter.

“…Oh.” Rumford’s lips remained rounded by the syllable for a moment before slowly curling into a grin. “Of course.” He cleared his throat loudly and focused his attention to the book. “Well then, let’s get into it, shall we?”

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Imagine being bullied about your figure and Connor standing up for you

Originally posted by jiruchan


A/N: A request by @native-snowflake, who wanted a Connor x Voluptuous Assassin! Reader! I hope you like it!

“Hey Connor, are you heading to New York?”

It had been a long while since you last tagged along with Connor when he went somewhere. He was busy hunting Templars, as were you (It’s kind of what Assassins do), but your targets never aligned, at least not in location. You were hoping that since you had nothing to do, Connor would allow you to accompany him.

Connor seemed like he was going to say no. He often told you that it was “too dangerous” or “not necessary”.‘Too dangerous’? For an Assassin? Pah! If that wasn’t a terrible excuse, nothing was.
It made you all the more determined to go. One day you’d get him to say yes.
And it looked like today was the day.

“I suppose I am just heading to fetch some items for Ellen and Lance…” He considered. Apparently deeming that ‘safe enough’, he nodded, “Your company would be a most pleasant change of events.”
“Does that mean you prefer my company over your father’s?” You asked, a hint of playfulness in your tone. Connor took it seriously, “I do. Greatly.” He answered, making your face heat up. Did Connor even realize when he said those things it made it infinitely harder to talk to him because you got so flustered? Perhaps he found it funny.

Mounting your horses, you both headed out towards the Frontier, you waving to the Homesteaders you passed. Together, you rode for New York.


“New York is always so busy. Is it ever a hard transition for you after riding through the forest?” You tried to strike up a conversation as you entered the outskirts of the city. Connor shook his head, “The first time I was ever in a city was when Achilles took me to Boston to pick up lumber. I was very awestruck then, for I had never seen so many people together so close. But now I am used to it, it is natural for me.” He old you honestly. You couldn’t argue with that, “I’ve grown up in the city for a lot of my life, and still the noise of city life always sounds so loud after the quiet of the Frontier.”
“If we do not stop the Redcoats,” Connor said with a hint of foreboding, “The Frontier will become much louder.”

Connor led you to the marketplace, where he dismounted at a water trough and helped you off your horse (not that you really needed help- but Connor was being polite, and you liked how gently he held your hand). “Wait here, I will be back with the supplies for Ellen.” You blinked in surprise, “I can just come with you, you know.” Connor shook his head, “You do not need to. I will be back shortly.”
You sighed in irritation, “Fine, but I’m going to the tavern!” To yourself, you mumbled, “I might as well get comfy if he’s not gonna let me even accompany him to the marketplace.”

Sitting down, you took a small sip of wine. You were careful not to drink too much, although some men in the tavern did not pay much mind to what they drank, and it was obvious who was drunk.

One man in particular, an off-duty redcoat, staggered up to you, a bottle in his hand, his face red, and his breath- scratch that, his whole person- smelled of alcohol.

“Ay there, miss. Wah’s a lov'ly lady like you doin’ 'ere?”
You had no patience for drunk men, especially drunk men who tried to hit on you. “Waiting.” You replied curtly.
“Waitin’? For who?”
“Someone sober.”
“You got somethin’ 'gainst me?”
“You ARE a drunk stranger.”
“So? I thought fat whores like you took what they got.”
You were taken so off-guard by this your mouth just fell open in shock, “Excuse me?” You asked assertively.
“You heard me. I figured since you were here and you’re…” He made a sort of figure eight gesture with his hands, in regards to your curves, “I just assumed…”
“Well, you 'assumed’ wrong!” You spat at him before standing up and heading towards the door.
But the man persisted, “Now you wait one moment, miss! I am a soldier in the British Army! You can’t just walk 'way on me!”
“Watch me.” You practically hissed. You weren’t self-conscious about your weight. In fact, you were proud of your figure. You were strong, flexible, and fast, as well as smart and resourceful. You didn’t have to be thin to be a good Assassin on the field.

The man grabbed your arm, “You listen here-”
You didn’t let him finish, elbowing him in the face. He toppled backwards, blood starting to run from his nose, “Hey! I’ll get you for that!” His noise attracted other redcoats attention, and once they saw you elbow him, they rushed to his defense. One guard who stopped near the drunken guard took a few sniffs and looked at him, “Thomson, are you drunk?”

You had no weapons except your hidden blades (Like you were expecting to fight when you were supposed to be going to the market!) but that didn’t stop you from readying yourself to fight.

Suddenly, a flurry of white and the glint of a tomahawk cut down the guards, and in a few moments, redcoats were lying in their own blood. Connor had pinned 'Thomson’ to a wall, “You have no right to treat Y/N that way. You should respect all women, especially her!” His grip on the man tightened, and Thomson tried unsuccessfully to wriggle out of his grasp, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” He cried, “Please! Let me go!”

Connor stared angrily for a few moments before releasing the man, who stumbled away hurriedly. You cleared your throat, “Uhm… Thanks. You didn’t have to do that, though. I could’ve handled it myself-”
“I would not let that man disrespect you. No woman deserves to be harassed, for any reason. These men are foolish for not realizing that.” He turned to you, anger quickly turning to concern, “Are you alright? Did he hurt you?” You shook your head, “I’m fine, he just pestered me, is all.” Connor shifted his weight awkwardly, “I am glad to hear it. If he had hurt you… I would not have let him off so easily…”
You raised an eyebrow, “Really? Why not?”
Connor seemed to unintentionally blurt, “Because I care for…you.” He realized what he said halfway through saying it, but didn’t stop himself. You smiled, hope and relief written all over your face, “You… You do?” You asked eagerly. The Assassin nodded slowly, “I… Yes.”
Your chest swelled with joy. Was this all a dream? “I care for you too!” You told him excitedly. He smiled, genuinely smiled. It was a beautiful sight. “I… This is… Good. I mean, great.” He was at a loss for what to say.
You giggled, “Indeed it is.” Glancing at the horses, you sighed, “We should head back. Did you get the supplies you needed?” Connor seemed to have forgotten what you meant, but blinked back into reality, “Oh, yes, I did. We… Should be heading back.” He was blushing! How adorable!

“Yeah, don’t want them worrying about us, huh?” You asked with a smile, playfully nudging Connor. He just smiled again and followed after you. He really did care for you, more than words could express.

anonymous asked:

Remember that awful day Claire had when Bree was still a baby? The one when she was fighting with broken heating and then stormed out when Frank was surprised that she wasn't ready to play the perfect, dolled up hostess for his friends? Imagine that instead of coming home with Frank after spending some time in the chapel Claire unexpectedly bumps right into Jamie on the street.

[Liv says: This is set in the same verse as this fic where Jamie’s “ghost” visits Claire in the 20th century. Both fics stand alone though, so there’s no need to have read the first one! :)]

For hours I had knelt in darkness, feeling my desolation give way to the peace of solitude. Frank and I had fought at home – a daily occurrence nowadays, with contempt and resentment like extra parties in our marriage – and I had come to the church in search of escape. Escape from Frank’s snarling reproach. Escape from my daughter’s cries. But most of all, I craved escape from the loneliness that afflicted me, and the knowledge of where I was and who I had lost.

Loneliness, of course, flourishes in quiet, but somehow the hard slate tiles provided the solace that I sought. My temples no longer pounded and my heart had given up its angered drumbeat, abated by the outstretched arms of Christ. He hung above me, absolving my sins and giving me strength where I was weak.

The church bells rang three solemn chimes, and I did a final sign of the cross. With one last look at the Blessed Sacrament, I nodded to the shadowed figure waiting in the narthex. He began his own holy vigilance then, assuming my place as lone guardian over the monstrance.

Thinking of what awaited me, I took heavy, reluctant steps towards home. My sense of calm vanished in the Boston night, and my bones felt more chilled than ever. Visions of Frank materialized in the shadows, and I saw him as he had been three hours before: standing reproachful in the doorway, lamenting my inability to manage simple household tasks. I had burned the roast, dirtied the kitchen (and myself), and generally failed to make our home suitable for his guests. The scorn in his eyes had spurred me to hysteria, thrusting a screaming Bree into his arms and running towards the car without a mind for wifely responsibilities. Roasts and kitchens and dinner parties be damned.

I dreaded facing his ire – and my daughter’s accusing eyes. Rare was the night I did not cradle Bree to sleep, feeling the soft and warm weight of her in my arms.

Fleetingly, I considered turning around and sleeping on one of the church pews. Its cold surface would be warmer than the bed at home. Side by side, Frank and I would lay there like corpses, bound only by the hapless fate that kept us together.

“I ken I’d find ye here, lass.”

I stopped, jolted by this interruption of my thoughts. Seeing no one, I continued on my way; but the sound followed me, floating gummous through the night.

“Sassenach,” it spoke again. This time I shrieked, for I saw the red-haired man sprawled casually on the bench. “Don’t ye know better than to ignore an impatient Scot?”

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I used to lie a lot about where I was when I was a teenager. Sometimes it was to see my boyfriend but a lot of the time, it was just because I needed to be alone and I had no means of doing so otherwise because of how many commitments I had. I burned out at 18 because somehow, it didn’t get through my head that it was physically impossible to do everything that I was doing, academically, interpersonally, extracurricular wise and not lose myself beyond what I had done and accomplished. For somebody who has a reasonably strong sense of self at almost 21, I was nobody at 17 and that terrified me because I had all these conceptions of who and what I had to have accomplished and when I wasn’t capable of meeting those arbitrary standards, I was completely devastated.

I wasn’t a very happy teenager if you’ve gathered; I spent an entire summer in Boston when I was 16, crying and learning to write and crying again, which reasonably disturbed my boyfriend at the time who was confused at why I wasn’t okay since I had no real reason not to be. There’s something very bolstering to me about “Carmen” because it’s proof that I wasn’t alone when I thought I was so very alone and it isn’t the least bit voyeuristic in its account in spite of how it has been interpreted. In most of the narratives, written and in reality, the girl that this song is about ends up dead, often in ugly ways that involve her being violated by men (because that’s what the pretty girl deserves for the sin of being pretty right?) but the lovely thing is, I’m not dead, I’m alive, I have sparkly silver nails, and I’m writing this for you today.

When you’re a certain type of person, the unfortunate fact is that people care about your personal life. I used to get off on the fact that people at least superficially cared about me and my life because deep down, a lot of my acting out was because I wanted to prove that I mattered to more than just myself or rather, that I mattered to somebody because honestly, I definitely didn’t care about my own well-being for the longest time. I wanted to see who would care if something happened to me and there were so many people were watching it happen and not doing anything and I don’t know if I’ll ever have the poise and elegance in me to forgive them for it. I am not somebody who lacks spite; I hold grudges and forgive the wrong people and refuse to acknowledge the humanity in others at times when I was so bereft of my own. It was a twisted goal because honestly speaking, I wasn’t alone at all and it was proof how dysmorphic my mind had become that I believed it. I had a boyfriend who I loved a lot once upon a time, I’m the only daughter of two parents who did everything in their power to make sure I was okay, and I had friends who legitimately loved me and still do.

“Carmen” is about the public breakdown, which I know so very well. Sometimes people just lack the empathy for other people in pain especially young women of a certain look and persona because they’re jealous of what these girls are and can be if they put their minds to it. The girls are beautiful and desired, charismatic and loved and they have no reason to be unhappy so when they are, they must obviously deserve the pain. The thing about craving external validation was that I wasn’t allowed to be unhappy by myself and process my grief in private; people used to read my blog obsessively to find out what drugs I was and was not doing, who I was and was not sleeping with, and the funny thing is that on some level, the observation kept me from going too far. At least, not more than once or twice. I am very good at smiling and talking other people down, pretending that there is nothing wrong even when there abjectly was; it was a form of rebellion that I got away with hurting myself. 

“Carmen” is a very interesting song for me to listen to now after the worst of my adolescence is in the past (hopefully anyway), not to say that I don’t have my own host of issues still, but because I feel like I’m looking at a baby sister, an entirely different person than who I am right now. I used to tiptoe around the question “Do you want to die?” for a very long time, and many people asked it of me. The fact was I don’t think I ever wanted to die because honestly, death is so very permanent; I just really wasn’t a fan of living for years on end. Now, I think I’m better in many ways, my emotions aren’t as big and wild, I’m calmer and less on edge, and I can write about the person I used to be without making excuses for how I acted, attempting to either minimize or dramatize my account. Perhaps I’m not as interesting as I once was but I’m safer and ultimately happier which I have to prioritize over the glamour of who I used to be. In the words of Victoria Justice in “Here’s 2 Us,” “I’m a player, I’m a hater, but I swear you’ll never know, I got a smile on, I’m an ex-con, who just got off parole.” I very much expect to lose just as many times as I win at this game we call life, but I’m going to be okay.