(when she gets home)

Injuries

Originally posted by stark-industries

Tony Stark x Reader (Requested by Anon)

Heya 😊 would you maybe do a fic where Tony stark gets quite badly injured but doesn’t tell the Reader because he feels like he should be able to protect her and so doesn’t want her to think he is weak. But the reader can see he isn’t okay and finds out about his injury and helps look after him and reassure him? Ta!

“Tony, you should tell (Y/N) about this when you get home. That way she can help you out and around the house so you can heal faster.” Natasha told him, only to have him shake his head.

“No, I don’t want her knowing about this,” He gestured to the fresh stitches that covered his chest and stomach, “She’ll worry too much and she doesn’t need to.” He grumpily declared as he sat up slowly.

“Tony, she needs to know,” Steve demanded as tried to help the grumpy man into a sitting position, “You can’t just leave her in the dark. What if something happens and she doesn’t know what to do because she doesn’t know what’s wrong?” Again, Tony shook his head before pulling a shirt over his head.

“I’ll be fine.” He grunted out before standing with a groan and walking out the front door of the hospital to where he met his car that was being driven by Friday.

“Two days, I’m going over there to ask (Y/N) how he’s doing and if she doesn’t know by then, then it’s on him.” Natasha said and looked to Steve who nodded in agreement.


When you heard Friday declare Tony’s car pulling into the garage, you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed with relief. He had ran out for a mission almost two days ago and you hadn’t heard anything from him since. You waited by the elevator for him and when the doors opened you couldn’t help yourself from jumping towards him and wrapping him up in a hug.

Keep reading

2

nine in the afternoon // panic! at the disco

“My mom has been really sick for 50 to 60 percent of my life. She had a nervous breakdown when my father left, and she ended up in a psychiatric ward. Then she had breast cancer twice while I was young. I was her only child so it was a lot of pressure. While my friends were at the playground, I’d be coming home to pick my mother up off the bathroom floor. I’m newly married now and have a child on the way. But I still have to worry about her all the time. She never remarried, so I’m all she has. She’s on oxygen now. She was so sick during my honeymoon that I had to call the hospital every three hours. Every evening when I get home from work, she has a list of things for me to do. If I don’t visit for a few days, she tells me how selfish I am. She’ll say: ‘Forget it. I’m fine without visitors. Don’t come back.’ I don’t know what I want to happen. But I’m starting a new family. And I’m at the point where I’d like some freedom to live my life.”

Supercorp au where kara goes to help barry and oliver but in her down time she borrows felicitys computer to research some of the differences between her earth and their earth. She misses lena so she decides to do a search for her doppelganger but theres no record of a lena luthor ever existing. Kara realizes that the luthors never adopted lena on this earth so she has no idea what her name might be. After googling various combinations of ‘lena’ 'genius’ and 'amazing jawline’ with little success kara gives up.

A few days later when all the fighting has concluded kara is hanging out with team flash at barrys place and preparing to go home. The tv is on in the background and something catches her eye. A beautiful pale woman dressed in medieval clothing. She asks cisco about her and he starts telling her about the character, kara interrupts him and asks who the actress is. He says her name is katie mcgrath.

sgt pepper explained
  • sgt pepper: the beatles are having an identity crisis
  • a little help from my friends: ringo wants drugs (and the boys got him)
  • lucy in the sky: the john lennon equivalent of hanging his son's drawing on the fridge
  • getting better: wtf yeah i guess it is
  • fixing a hole: paul has chores
  • she's leaving home: paul john and george martin's lonely hearts club band
  • for the benefit of mr kite: scary circus (normal circus)
  • within you without you: george and george martin's lonely hearts club band
  • when i'm 64: things we said today but with grandchildren on yerr knee
  • lovely rita: faul's thirsty for the lady who killed paul
  • good morning: john went for a walk today (oh boy)
  • sgt pepper reprise: the beatles try to convince us once again that it's not them but they're gonna have to try harder than that
  • a day in the life: was george even here
2

i feel so bad for my modern au rey

anonymous asked:

What if Jamie wasn't an outlaw when he met Claire and Jamie could court her properly? How would Claire react to that when if she was still trying to get home?

Anon asked: what do you think it would have happened if Jamie and Claire didn’t have to get married? Do you think our hero could have find a way to marry the Sassenach or at least, make her fall in love with her without all the amazing sex?

Mod Note: I genuinely did not intend to continue this story (despite many requests), but I am finally bringing one of my first Imagine pieces out of the archives to explore these intriguing prompts! A bit of a slow burn on this one, but hang in there with me! -Mod Bonnie


Hail Mary

Part I  Part II


Part III

The canteen hit Jamie’s jaw squarely with a sharp THWOCK.

“A mhic an diabhoil!” he snarled, looking wildly around and finding the culprit at once. “Damn you, Murtagh, what in God’s name was that for?!”

“To see if I could get yer gob to close all the way,” the usually-dour clansman said with a smirk, arms crossed. “A wee brown-haired lass seems to have broken your hinge this morning.”

Murtagh saw the canteen coming and ducked, laughing as it clattered against the nearby tree. “Careful, ye wee smout—that’s the good whisky!”

Despite Jamie’s annoyance, the corners of his mouth were twitching as he returned to finish unlashing the bundles from his saddle; and, conveniently, returning him to the sight of Mistress Beauchamp carrying a bedroll to the place she’d claimed for her lean-to.

The man was right: Jamie hadn’t been able to stop looking at her all day: sidelong as they rode; catching her eye as they stopped for water; training his gaze on back of her head when she nudged her mount past his on the road to speak with Ned. Always and completely: she was all he saw, this day.

He had been drawn to Mistress Beauchamp from the first—when she mended his shoulder; when he held her at Leoch; but now…Christ, he was all but consumed by her; and how could he not be? Having slept with her in his arms? Remembering the scent of her hair? Now knowing the shapes of her under his hands; what it was to hear sounds of desire from her lips as she moved against him, seeking?

And above all, to know that she had stayed. Aye, she had slept in his arms, but any lass might have done the same with any man, to save her own life….but upon waking this morning, she was flustered, had made to rise, and yet at the barest suggestion, she had stayed there in his arms for nigh on an hour, waiting for the rest of camp to awaken. They both had assumed pretense of sleep, but neither of them had allowed themselves to drift away. Her breathing had stayed quick; he could feel it, warm and shallow at the base of his throat. She surely had felt his heart thudding away, with her ear resting so near it.

No, they hadn’t slept; nor had they spoken. They’d held one another

And there, at the last, he’d brought one hand—shaking—to softly, gently, slowly come to rest on the curve of her head. She’d gasped and made as if to—say something? Move?  Christ, touch him back?

And just at that moment, the camp had come alive. Before he could blink, she had gotten to her feet and the day began as it always did. Boiling water; folding, packing; bannocks and whisky; back on the long road through the glens; all just as it was every day.

But today, he couldn’t stop looking at her.

At Mistress Beauchamp, who had slept in his arms.

But God, he had to stop thinking about her. She was the finest woman he’d ever met —but he could offer her no future, as a wanted criminal. None. He wouldn’t subject her to the dangers a life with him would entail. He had to stop thinking about her.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her.

“Ye did a good thing, Jamie, lad,” Murtagh said, yanking Jamie back once more from grim reverie, deep brown eyes watching him. “Keeping the lass last night as ye did. You’re the only one that could ha’ done it for her properly.”

“Aye,” he coughed, “well, I… she….” He cleared his throat uncomfortably, unfurling his tent canvas.  “I’m glad to’ve been of service to her.”

Murtagh made a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a harrumph.

“And what’s that supposed to signify?” Jamie snapped, tugging at his stock. Hadn’t Claire nearly frozen to death last night? Then why, by Bride and all the saints, was the gathering evening so bloody HOT?

“Haud yer wheesht, lad,” Murtagh, now chuckling in earnest at Jamie’s discomfort. “Your secret doe-eyes are safe wi’ me.”

“Not doe-eyes…” Jamie muttered, feeling all of seven years of age.

“Hey.” Murtagh’s hand clapped warm on his shoulder, his eyes suddenly soft and unusually earnest. “She’s a fine woman, Jamie, Sassenach or no’.”

Aye, Jamie thought, watching the wind lift her curls into life as she rifled her wee medicine box, then made for the wood with a basket in hand, she truly is. And I can’t let myself want her.

And then the messenger rode into camp.


He waited until it was nearing sunset, when he knew she would be out gathering her wee herbs before the light went. He made for the loch under the pretext of needing a piss, seeing Murtagh watching him knowingly. Jamie knew without asking or telling that his godfather would keep an eye on the other men and prevent any from venturing in the same direction. He said a prayer, thanking God for the gift of this protector that had watched over him all his life, and continued down the path.

Sure enough, as the woods opened out into the waning crimson sunlight, he found her seated on a low boulder, looking out upon the loch, basket at her feet.

Seeing her, her unbound curls wafting sweetly in the breeze, his throat went instantly tight.

Christ, how could he do this?

Knowing her…. How could he not?

He cleared his throat and sang out with an attempt-at-cheery, “Take care no’ to fall in.”

Her head turned sharply, surprised, but a begrudging smile was already tugging at her lips. “Ned’s nowhere in sight—I think I should be safe.”

“Good,” he laughed—God, how it delighted his soul to laugh with this woman— “Best stay well shot of him.”

“But he’s such a darling!” She pursed her lips to hold back her mirth. “I’m not sure I can refuse him if he comes calling!”

“Well, do what ye must, lass,” he grinned, “I’ll be standing by to hold ye, anytime.”

She made a small sound of kind acknowledgement but looked away, suddenly shy.The silence rang between them so acutely, Jamie could hear the voices from camp, many yards distant.

“I’ve gotten some good news, Sassenach,” he said, feeling the letter in his waistcoat pocket. “I’ve…been pardoned.”

NO!” She leapt to her feet, mouth open and excitement dawning. “Oh, Jamie, that’s wonderful news!” She grabbed one of his hands in hers and squeezed it hard, practically bouncing with her enthusiasm. “God be bloody praised!!! I’m so thrilled for you! Whatever happened to bring that about?”

They sat on the boulder and he explained, grinning from ear to ear, the contents of Colum’s letter. Unbeknownst to Jamie, his uncle had been exercising all his considerable influence to get the accusations against him dropped. By some miracle, he had succeeded, and had sent a messenger at once to share the glad tidings.

Jamie read between to lines to gather that His Grace the Duke of Sandringham had been more than instrumental in getting the matter quietly resolved and Jamie’s outlaw record expunged. Jamie could just imagine the foppish gent drawling: “Anything for my DEAHHRRRR Jamie,” in those thick, unctuous tones, wet eyes glittering with anticipation.

The Duke’s predilections were well known, and such attentions had made Jamie supremely uncomfortable at the time of the man’s last visit. However, God bless him and all his house, if such affections had just saved Jamie from a life of flight and ultimately the noose. 

And ten times the blessing to him if it meant Jamie’s honor was now completely unhindered…that he was completely free to….

“What have ye been gathering, then?” he blurted, feeling his wame clenching in anxiety.

“Good Lord,” she laughed, startled, “you suddenly want to talk about herbs after such splendid news!?”

“My life is my own again,” he said, shrugging, “I want to talk about anything and everything.”

“Cress,” she said affably, nudging the basket with her foot. “Didn’t manage to bring back any last night, after all, what with one thing and another.” 

She paused suddenly, furrowing her eyebrows. She was leaning on her hand, the fingertips just inches away from his plaid on the rock. 

When she spoke, her voice was soft and full of feeling. “Thank you again for…for everything. You were so—wonderful about it all.”

Jamie felt his chest swell. “Think nothing of it, lass. You’ve saved my poor hide more times than I can count these past weeks. It was about time that I should do ye a service in return.“

“Did you get any real rest? I’m afraid I must have given you a dreadfully uncomfortable time. ”

“Och, dinna fash, lass. It was just fine.”

It was the best night of all my years, mo ghraidh.

“Mistr—”

No. Not Mistress.

Claire?”

Even sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, facing forward as they were, he could see her straighten and stiffen at the tone in his voice.

“I find meself—” he said, trying to force his lips to move at his bidding, but finding them slow and wooden,  “—that is—”

Help me, woman. See what’s in my heart. Surely ye ken it already.

Thank the Lord it came out sounding calm and clear:

I care for you, Claire.”

She stopped breathing. The breath actually left her, for more heartbeats than Jamie knew. The absence of it—that rhythm of her that he’d memorized, he now realized— was like whisky thrown on the fire within him, the flames roaring instantly up in fear and anticipation. He wanted so desperately to take her face in his hands so he might look into her golden eyes while telling her all his heart…but his hands were shaking and he didn’t think he could get out the words if he moved.

“I care for you as I’ve never cared for anyone in my life,” he said, mustering his courage only by focusing only on the wonder of the person beside him. “Your wit, your courage, your pigheadedness,” he laughed, his whole body glowing with sudden warmth. “The–” He clenched his hands in his lap, staring at them as if they held the proper words. “– life in you Claire, is unlike anything I have ever encountered. I havena been able to get ye out of my head since the first day we met. And then last night…”  

He heard her lips part and a long intake of breath, then a soft, inscrutable, “Jamie…”

“I ken I’ve perhaps no business saying such things. Even though I’m no longer a wanted criminal, I’ve no great wealth, and perhaps I’m nothing you ought to trouble o’er.“ He shook his head, hard. “But surely…surely ye ken as well as I what there is between us, Claire.”

He screwed up his courage and turned to face her. She was staring down into her lap, hands clasped. Her lips were pressed tight, her expression, for once, unreadable.

“I canna believe I’m alone in feeling it…this…whatever it is between you and me.” He laid a hand slowly and tenderly atop hers, his heart pounding.

She jumped when his hand touched hers, and with a jolt, Jamie saw that she had been twisting her golden ring round and round her finger.

Jamie stood at once and raised his hands in a gesture of apology. “Forgive me,  lass….”

Fraser, you dolt, have ye no sense to spare a thought for what the lass is going through?

“I’m so sorry, Claire,” he repeated. “I—I ken—that ye still grieve for your departed husband.”

Her lips went tight and Jamie saw her blink several times, hard.

“It…. isna right that ye should forget him, or even try to. If ye loved him, he must have been a good man. But I–I should–”

Courage, man. COURAGE.

“…It would be my honor to see to the care of his wife.”

Finally, she looked up, sharply, her eyes wide. She spoke in barely a whisper. “What?”

Will you marry me, Claire?”

She simply stared at him, in utter shock.

He went to his knees in front of her in the oath-giving posture, relinquishing all caution and all fear. He exhaled heavily with the relief of letting the feelings for her wash over him. “I care for you—"

I love you, he wanted to scream.

“—and now that I’m a free man, I wish to give ye everything I have. My name—my clan—the protection of my body….Claire, they’re all yours, now and forever.” He reached for her hand, trembling, dying to touch her. “If you’ll have me.”

“No.”

Jamie felt as though she’d pushed him backward into the icy lake. He opened and closed his mouth, unable to find the words for the pain ripping through him.

“I’m sorry, Jamie. I can’t marry you.” She bolted to her feet, took up her basket, and made quickly back toward the camp.

“Claire—please wait—I–”

This couldn’t be happening. This just couldn’t be.

He rose on shaking legs and tried to follow, reaching for her arm. “Sassenach, stop, please—I’m sorry if I was too—I just thought we—”

She threw off his hand and faced him only long enough to say coldly:

You were mistaken.”


Mistaken.

It should have been a night of celebration; should have been the most joyous occasion of his life–to know he was a free man, could go home at last. 

But it was hell, every moment, her words tormenting him as he played each memory he held of her over and over in his mind, every time they had ever spoken, touched, laughed, or cried together, culminating in the breathtaking intimacy of the previous night. Was it lust deluding him? Was it pure, lecherous desire for her body that had colored these memories and called them love?

No.

NO, damn it all!

He knew his heart. And hers—Christ, it danced across her face so freely, that—No, he was not mistaken.

Perhaps she was frightened; perhaps it was too soon.

But he was not mistaken.

It made seeing her flitting about all evening, smiling and pouring whisky liberally all ‘round the fireside — the collective mood of festivity ostensibly in honor of his pardon — all the more galling. She laughed and joked with the lads, chatted at length with Ned Gowan over documents, and generally charmed the whole camp with her golden eyes and glorious smile…everyone except him.

She’d spoken to him only once, when she offered him drink— “For you, Mr. McTavish?”— but she wouldn’t look at him.

She didn’t even know his real name. She didn’t want to know his real name.

He had wanted to drink, but hadn’t—couldn’t allow himself the escape of oblivion. This was his penance, to survive the long hours of the evening, watching her; the longer ones of silence and desolation, seething, hurting, long after the rest had fallen into their deep whisky-slumber. He needed to think with a clear head—to feel this, to understand.  

Christ, if he could only understand why…! If she felt for him as he for her, why deny him so cruelly? Claire was shrewd, but he’d never known her to be that. Surely she had some reason. Surely, if he could only speak with her…

In the dead of night, the grief and the pain nigh unbearable, his ears pricked up. Someone moving surreptitiously about camp.

Clasping his dirk, he slowly sat up high enough to survey the clearing. Geordie, supposed to be on sentry duty, was sound asleep and Jamie gave a silent prayer of thanks to see Claire moving quietly in the direction of the loch.

Tomorrow, they would reach the crossroads and meet once more with Dougal and the rest; there would be more folk for her to tend; more folk to observe their behavior; to hear about their unorthodox night together. He HAD to speak with her tonight.

He followed quietly, but when they were far enough away to be out of earshot of the sleepers, he spoke. “Sassenach?”

She jumped and whirled, and he instantly raised his hands palms forward. “I’m sorry—” he whispered. He came slowly toward her. “I’m so sorry, lass, I didna mean to frigh—” 

He froze, seeing her clearly now in the moonlight. “…You’re running.”  

It was not a question. She was wearing her traveling cloak, and the bundle she clutched clearly contained her medicine box. Her eyes were wide and her nostrils flaring with deep breaths. She was pointed toward the road, in the opposite direction of the horses.

“And on foot?” His voice was flat. Dead.

She shrugged stiffly, tensed as though ready to bolt. “Didn’t want to risk waking the men.”

“Where?” he croaked. Why?, he wanted to scream.

Her eyes were defiant, wide with alarm and determination. “Back to where I came from—same place I’ve been trying to go since Dougal took me captive.”

“Ye canna just go, Claire,” he said, trying to sound dismissive.

Her face was stone. “I can. I will.”

“Claire, I willna let ye do this.“

“Didn’t realize you were my jailer. What are you going to do, clap me in irons?” She was backing slowly away from him and his desperation was mounting with every pace.

“It’s wild country out there! Wolves and—brigands, and—” He was petrified, heartbroken, grasping at straws to keep her from vanishing. “At least–let me accompany you to your destination—see you safe!”

A sob rising in his throat. Christ, dinna leave this way.

A hoarse gasping as he reached for her.

“Please, mo chridhe–”

Ice in her eyes. “I don’t need your ‘protection,’ Mr. McTavish.”

A knife in his gut.

‘…the protection of my body, Claire…
…yours, now and forever.’

The sound of his heart breaking.

She was leaning into her frenzied defiance. “I did have a life before I fell into your lap, you know!” She realized what she’d said, blushed, and stammered angrily. “I mean—into the–hands of the whole bloody clan. I had a LIFE,” she repeated, “and I’m far past due to return to it!”

“Aye,” he said, low and precise, shaking with anger. “you’ve made it exceedingly clear that there’s nothing whatsoever keeping you here.”

She had the grace to look abashed. “Jamie…” He saw the muscles of her face and throat working furiously; the regret in her eyes. She even took a step toward him and made to touch his arm. “Jamie, please, I’m so…so sorry for—”

He shrugged back from her touch and skirted silently around the edge of camp. She followed him, hissing out his name, but he did not slow his pace until he reached the horses. He located her mount and unhobbled it, leading it a hundred yards away from the others, picking up saddle and gear as he want.

When she at last caught up with him, he plucked the bundle from her arms, fastening it perfunctorily to her saddle.

“Jamie, wait—”

Her face was upturned to him, so white and so perfect it made the pain writhe within his chest. He marshaled his features into his mask of impassivity and gave a cordial nod. “I wish ye the best of fortune in your life, Mistress.

She reached for him, pleading. “Jamie, listen, I—”

He pressed the smaller of his dirks into her hand. “Goodbye, Claire.”

And without a backward glance—though he wished to throw his arms around her and beg her, beg her not to leave—he turned on his heel back toward the fires, listening first to the silence, then the jingle of harness and the sound of hooves going quietly off into the night.

He didn’t sleep that night. He couldn’t. He lay awake, breaking apart, wrapped in a blanket that still held the scent of her hair.


[to be continued]

Imagine Bernie lingerie shopping for Serena and getting super awkward about it. Because Bernie has only ever really had practical M&S or Tesco or army issue underwear, but she knows Serena loves shopping in the specialist lingerie shops and wants to make sure she gets her a perfect set. But she can’t help but feel that maybe she’s being too gay??? What if the assistant thinks she’s staring at the mannequin and not the bra?? Flustered Bernie amongst the lace underwear regretting every life choice she has ever made. And then she finds a perfect leopard print set and she knows Serena will look smoking hot in it and her mind wanders and suddenly she realises she’s fondling a piece of material and hastily looks to see nobody noticed. Then finally when she gets to the till, the assistant asks if she’s got the right size Bernie panics because oh my goodness the underwear is clearly not her size but how does she explain she’s buying it as a gift without seeming weird and when she finally gets home and Serena eventually models the set Bernie basically weeps in relief because she was so traumatised by the whole lingerie shopping experience. idk I just have a lot of thoughts about awkward practical am-I-being-too-gay Bernie underwear shopping and overthinking everything when literally nobody else in the shop is paying her any bit of attention.

the gang is all here

(also, while reminiscing about it being this time three years ago that Chalo arrived in the U.S., my dad reminded me: “When you left for Malawi I asked only two things of you: 1) don’t go in the lake (because all the advice told you not to), and 2) don’t get a dog (and if you do, do not bring it back with you). You did both.”)

Saw this children’s shirt when I was down in Disney and all I can think of is Ben dressing his and Rey’s toddler daughter in it and proudly carrying her around.

(“Together, little wampa… together we shall rule the galaxy.”

“What about Mama?”

“…she shall rule the galaxy with us.”

“But Mama’s the boss.”

“…okay, Mama shall rule the galaxy and we shall get ice cream and make sure the house is clean for when she gets home from a long day of galaxy-ruling. Deal?”

“Can I get sprinkles?”

“Gotta ask the boss of the galaxy on that one.”)