after the war is over and the uncles are all dust

mirandatam  asked:

Hm... something about Rey and the ghost of Shmi Skywalker?

Rey is 273 days on Jakku when the woman with the dark eyes and the faint lines around her eyes bends down, and helps her wash the dust and debris from a hyperspace drive port. (Two and a half portions, never let it be said that Rey doesn’t know her worth.) “There,” the woman says, and when she smiles the lines around her eyes carve even deeper. When Rey drags the brush over the drive port, no sand kicks up. “Shiny and new. Go on, now—you can’t let him run out of portions.”

“’m Rey,” Rey says, breathless, clutching the port to her chest.

“Go!” the woman says, and Rey runs. She gets in line just in time to get the last three portions from Unkar. But when tries to find the woman after—

The sand is empty of sentients, and no one seems to know the human woman with dark hair, darker eyes, not even when Rey wanders among the camps and asks for her. Rey is only 273 days, and hungry, and so she eats there, squatted down in the sand outside someone’s tent—scarfing down half-mixed portions because she’s dizzy with starving, and she can’t wait. If the dark-haired woman wanted some, she should have been easier to find.

Rey sleeps that night full—or, at least, what she thinks is full—and dreams of a wattle-and-daub hut, and a woman with dark hair, dark eyes, laughing. The woman’s son sits with sun-bleached hair, his mouth is skewed as he works on a droid to help his mother with the customers that come. Rey helps too, and when he smiles at her, it feels like coming-home.

They are so happy, and Rey wakes crying, even though that is water she cannot afford to lose.


“No, not that one,” the woman says, and Rey drops the part like it burns her hand to touch. She whirls around, and there is the woman with the dark eyes, dark hair. She’s smiling, a little bemusedly, at Rey, at the specific part Rey was trying to extract from the mess of decay and rust.

“What’s wrong with it?” Rey demands. She is six hundred and seven days now, and she thought—

“Navigation systems are fiddly,” the woman says, stepping towards her, and then she is there, close enough for Rey to touch, to—“Biologic growth damages them first, interferes with the electro-magnetic signaling. This has—” she grunts, and the part comes away in her hand. “This has overgrown. It’s not worth installing again, it’ll just send the ship off-course trying to follow all those awful fractals.”

“What good does that do me?” Rey asks, thinking of all the portion she’s lost, if this stranger is right. She’d just wanted—

But the stranger smiles, and her eyes crinkle at the corners. “Come on,” she says, lowering herself to sit on the durasteel floor of the mighty star destroyer. “I’ll show you a trick my unscrupulous master showed me, on how to make it look as though tech has never been damaged.”

Rey spends the whole afternoon with her chin hooked over the woman’s soft shoulder, watching as she shows Rey how to reroute, undo, lay down new electric pathways. She smells like something sharp, the way Rey has always imagined ozone would smell if Rey had ever found the courage to leave the atmosphere. Her eyes are older than her face, that much Rey knows for sure.

“There you go,” the woman finally says, pressing the piece into Rey’s hand. “Good as new. Plutt won’t even be able to tell the difference, so you shouldn’t accept less than five and a quarter portions—”

“What about you?” Rey asks. The woman is warm, and alive, and human, and Rey finds herself hoping she’s her mother. Just to have something, someone. And especially her, with her crinkled eyes, the way she rests a hand against Rey’s cheek like—

“Oh, I’m fine,” the woman says, and Rey’s heart falters. “You will be full, on five and a quarter portions. That’s enough.”

Rey eats alone, eats until she is sick on constituted bread and meat, and she lies in her own bed biting down on her fist to keep herself from crying.


Sometimes, Rey looks out of the corner of her eye, and there she is, the woman with the dark hair and the dark eyes. “Hello, Mother,” Rey begins greeting her at some point, muttered in between breaths as she extracts another part, as she wakes from her midday nap in the shadowy berth of a star destroyer, as she forces herself to stay longer, work harder.

Sometimes, she hears someone murmur, hello, daughter, but she’s not sure. She’s not.


Poor affection-starved Rey, longing for a family, any family, even a ghost. Even the vague shape, even a shadow. Even the hint of a mother, whispering in her ear, droids have always been harbingers of good news, of better things ahead. Strangers may be angels. You are more. Run, go. I will follow you there.

Rey  isn’t sure, really, but in the barracks of D’Qar, Rey tosses and turns, until a cool hand comes to rest on her forehead, her neck. Shhh, a voice that is not quite the Force but might be something similar, whispers. It strokes its cool knuckles over the rabbit-pulse of her jugular. Shh, rest. You have a war to fight in the morning.




Luke has holos of his family—Padmé Amidala and Anakin Skywalker, Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru Whitesun-Lars. But it’s the holo of their their step-mother, Shmi, that stops Rey in her tracks, stops her breathing at all. Anakin’s mother, Luke says, but Rey is holding onto he lightsaber too tightly to hear.

I know her, she says, and Luke goes still, blinks. 


She used to—sing me lullabies, Rey says, because that’s all she can remember just now, the dark-haired-dark-eyed woman—Shmi Skywalker, chosen to be Mother of the Living Force, blessed, holy—humming in Rey’s darkened AT-AT. Shmi singing in Huttese; warm and calloused hands, a rough voice singing of how much she loved, would protect—

Luke catches Rey before she hits her knees, gathers her up to his chest. Shh, Luke murmurs, stroking her hair as Rey sobs. Shhh, it’s all right. Everything will—it’ll turn out right. It’ll be—it’ll be right.

Rey feels a cool touch at her forehead (impossible, Luke’s hands are hot at her waist, and—) and she sobs again, feeling hollow, feeling like she’s come home, somehow, impossibly. It is a war, she shouldn’t feel….

Shh, Luke and his grandmother whisper together, cradling Rey against the bulwark of light they represent. Shh.

Dawning In Dust: Part 1

Claire awoke abruptly, gasping for air. The sky was still dark and the air around her small hiding place in a niche of the little hill was still and silent. Her skin was cold and clammy and she raised a trembling hand to wipe the sweat from her forehead. No explosions. No screams. No suffocating weight or bone deep chill. The smell of blood was replaced by the smell of dry earth.

A dream. It had only been a dream. Breathe in. Out. Slower. In…. out…. in…. out.

She rolled onto her side, curling in on herself under the solar blanket that was her saving grace on cold nights like these. It had slipped off while she slept, which may have explained the nightmare. Claire never could sleep well when chilled, especially after her parents died in that car crash when she was small. It had been a cold night that night too. Almost as cold as her parent’s had been when she said goodbye for the last time before the funeral…

“Stop it, Beauchamp,” Claire whispered firmly, trying to relax her shaking muscles. She closed her eyes, trying to focus her mind on something to hang on to until she could relax into sleep again. Warm things. Warmth. Frank’s lips against hers…

Claire flinched involuntarily. No, too painful. Something else. Anything else. Campfires. The sun in Egypt, high and hot as a furnace over one of her Uncle Lamb’s archeological dig sites. Fresh tea. Hot baths.

Claire almost groaned at the thought. Yes, that would do. She breathed out slowly, imagining how the warmth of the water used to seep into her muscles. The steam would have coated her face like her sweat did now and she breathed in and out again, imagining the scents of candles and soap. There would have been nothing to worry over, no shifts to get to at the hospital, no dinner parties with Frank’s colleagues. Just time and space for her mind and body to go blissfully blank for a bit. Claire vaguely registered that the solar blanket was warming her again before her muddled mind gave in to sleep once more.


Claire Beauchamp Randall was never a woman to panic. Being raised by her eccentric archeologist uncle and therefore being voluntarily toted around the world from a young and impressionable age did much to dispel emotions of this type from entering her mind. Joining the British army and becoming a nurse when the Last World War was declared only solidified her ability to emotionally detach as needed. She was, however, realistic.

She bent at the edge of the stream, wanting nothing more than to drink greedily and damn the consequences. It had been almost two days without water and the mere sound of it lapping against the bank made her swallow. Claire sighed, pacifying her thirst by swishing a handful of water inside her mouth and spitting it out again before gathering small sticks for a fire. She ran her damp fingers through the curly mass of her hair, tying it back and out of her way.

If her unusual upbringing taught her anything it was that ill prepared food,drink, and medical supplies could kill just as well as a wild animal or person could, albeit much slower and sometimes more painfully. She thought the stream might be safe enough, but couldn’t take the risk. At one point, most water sources around the world had been destroyed or filled with chemicals as a weapon.

While Claire didn’t think Scotland had fallen prey to those tactics, being so far removed from the centralized sources of conflict, she had to proceed as she would anywhere else. After all, rumors still circulated of continued conflict and uses of force, despite the fallout of technological civilization. Groups of wanderers coming together to make their own new civilization and social structure of sorts. Claire avoided what appeared to be large encampments of people for that very reason.

The only person or thing she could trust was herself and, for all she felt safe in this quiet forest of trees, Claire allowed herself a rare moment to let that reality sink in. She’d come to terms with her parents’ deaths quite readily, being young and thrust into new worlds unknown. The vague memories she had of them were pleasant ones and she kept them locked safe away in what she pictured as a small, ornamental box in her mind.

Uncle Lamb had been killed in a bombing raid toward the end of the Last War while he was lecturing at University. At this point, any thought for civilian lives was shot to hell in the attacks on schools, libraries, cinemas, and any other manner of public gathering place. British military had been evacuating mainland Europe when it happened. Claire didn’t find out until she went to Uncle Lamb’s flat and found it dusty and vacant, all belongings looted. He’d died two weeks before.

Frank. The thought of her husband brought her right hand automatically to her left, fingers caressing the simple gold band on her ring finger. Claire had made it home during the evacuation. Frank had not. They’d had little contact throughout the War, partially due to the need for secrecy and partially due to the breakdown in communication technology after the data viruses were set loose. Uncle Lamb always joked that technology would be the end of man.

He was right, Claire thought. She bent to her studiously arranged pile of twigs and dry sticks, pulling the flint and small knife out of her cargo pants pocket. She was about to strike the first spark when a shot rang out, echoing through the trees overhead and all but making her heart stop.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” she gasped, ducking low and gathering up her pack. Too loud to be a pistol. Not automatic though… Another shot, this one closer and accompanied by yelling from two different directions. The last thing she needed was to get caught in the middle of territory dispute.

Claire ran, keeping as low as she could while trying not to slip down the bank and into the water. She grabbed her canteen to keep it from making noise as it thumped against her side. Another shot, this one even closer….


She’d ran smack into a man hiding in the trees. He grabbed her and wrapped his arms around her to keep her from falling. Or perhaps more, as Claire discovered, to keep her from escaping. She thrashed in his arms.

“Let GO of me you bloody..”

Claire turned, ready to slash at his face, but ceased fighting abruptly. Her first thought was that he was Frank, but that thought vanished as quickly as it took him to shove her to the ground. She felt her palm scrape on a rock of some sort and her pack fell off her shoulder. She sat gaping at him like a landed trout. Seeing him now, she knew it wasn’t Frank. Still, the resemblance…. lean body, brown hair, handsome, and his eyes…

“Who are you?” Claire asked, hoping her voice sounded steady.

“I might ask you the same question and with considerably more justification,” the man replied, moving to stand menacingly over her.

“Just what do you think..?” Claire began, trying to stand up. The stranger put a hard hand on her shoulder, forcing her back down again.

“I am Captain Jonathan Randall, British Army. And you, madam, will stay put.”

Claire had to repress the urge to stand and salute. Instead, she kicked him hard in the shins and whirled to make another run for it. All the air left her lungs as he tackled her to the ground.

“Oh, like that is it? Well…” Captain Randall turned her over, gasping, onto her back and pinned her arms above her head in a viselike grip. Black dots clouded her vision as he put his face within an inch of hers. “Who are you and what are you..”

Whatever he’d been going to ask got cut short as a figure stepped out from behind the nearest tree and clocked Captain Randall in the back of the head, sending him toppling to the side. Claire gasped for breath, the dark spots overcoming her. The last thing she remembered before she gave into them was looking up and seeing a pair of slanted blue cat-like eyes.

Top 25 Larry Fics of 2016

I read a lot of fic and the majority of it is larry. I like making lists and I like larry so I thought I’d do some minimal research of the top 25 larry fics published/completed in 2016 in order of least to most kudos (with links). All of these fics are top notch so you should all check them out!

An honorable mentions list will probably come soon, because there are so many brilliant fics that don’t reflect in their kudos.

25.) I Love You Most by @alienproof (11k)

Friends with benefits has always been enough for Louis. Until, of course, it isn’t.

24.) Just Like the Wolf Before He Bites by @crazyupsetter (11k)

He’s loud, Louis is, and that’s far from unusual for him, but the volume of it still has Harry pulling back the curtain. There’s a half-formed thought in the back of his brain about telling Louis off, because it’s fucking half three in the morning, but then.

But then Harry’s eyes get stuck on the soft glint of Louis’ stubble in the light, and he’s making his way across the room before he even realizes it.

Louis, for his part, just tips his chin up to give Harry space and keeps talking, waving the joint in his hand around for emphasis. He doesn’t even bother to greet Harry, going on with his story to his semi-rapt audience, just settles a hand in between Harry’s shoulder blades and pushes him down firmly.

Harry just. Relaxes. His eyes slip closed, pushing his entire face into that spot underneath Louis’ chin, where his hair is still growing, neat and prickly. The scent of Louis’ cologne drifts into Harry’s nose, light and fresh, and it’s calming. Comforting. His breathing syncs up with Louis’ quickly, and Harry feels so much better than he had five minutes ago he almost wants to cry.

Keep reading

Feeling strange again. I heard the music in my ear,
two lackeys hitting it up on the sidewalks, feet clicking

and it was bound to be jolly. I shut up and thought
about Art. I was going to be a Poet, goddamn

Yessir. I threw it back like liquor. Only that was a massive
lie. I was only seventeen - imagine - newly minted 

seventeen, still soft, still stupid. But the world hollered
like a mad dead thing. I wanted to dance. I hurt myself 

with it, the wanting. How do you explain a thing like
that? It was all very crazy. I sat next to this boy

in English class, every two days. I fell in love. I was
ready to rip open the sky. Touch touch touch; that was all

I could ever think about. My body like a chimney
soot all over the insides. I wrote about it in the afternoons,

thought about him on the train. Everything muffled
except that awful music. I dreamed I was a fish, or maybe

a whale, stoppered in a very big jar. I was fined fifty dollars
I grew cancerous hands. After a while, it all turned

to dust. In the end I shook off my own skin, a perfect 
reptile. Stormed out belting some sort of war song.

Interruptions (Thomas Jefferson x Reader)

Word Count: 1675

Genre: Mostly fluff…humor?

Request/Summary: “[{(MODERN AU)}] Can you plz do a tjeff x reader where you’re Washington’s niece and you invite Washington and everyone from the offices to a festival that you are helping out with. Then, Thomas starts to flirt with you, but Washington gets really protective.”- @winniepoohffg​ (this request was originally sent into @daveeddiggsit​ (check out her blog if you haven’t already, look you can just click on it right there. go homies. I belive in you. k I’ll shut up now) but I stole it because her requests are closed (: )

Pairing: Thomas Jefferson x Reader

AU: Modern

Warnings: One or two dirty pick up lines, probably cussing

A/N- Thank you so much for letting me steal this @winniepoohffg​ sorry this probably kinda sucks, I tried my best, I just loved the idea so much, I couldn’t help commandeering it. Also sorry this took forever.

Standard TJeffs a/n: Yes, I do write Jefferson but keep in mind that I think historical Jefferson was an evil dick. I write for Jefferson from the play

Originally posted by fuckyeahdaveeddiggs

“What do you need me to do?” You asked your uncle.

“Thanks for helping, (Y/N), can you put these on that table over there?” He requested, piling several boxes into your arms so you could barely peek over them to see where you were going. After you set them down on the table, you opened the top of one of them to see several holiday decorated cookies stacked on display inside.

“Hey uncle George? You want me to set these out?” You called across the room.

“That would be great!” He responded. You set out each cardboard box one by one on the table, tearing off the lids to put the various sweets inside on display. Afterward, you went back to your uncle, who was now hanging up a cluster of fake mistletoe in the doorway.

“Do you… have anything more… festive to wear?” He asked you, eyeing your jeans and gray sweater.

“At your place.” You replied.

“Here are the car keys.” He dropped the keys into your hand. “Come back in half an hour looking like all the best parts of December threw up on you.”

You slipped into the dress you’d brought along on your trip to spend the holidays with your uncle, you didn’t have much other family, and he’d invited you to come, so you did. The dress had a short flowing skirt that hung around your mid thigh, a scarlet bow was sewn around the waist and the back dipped low, some might say it was a bit revealing, but this wasn’t your office party.

“This isn’t gonna be completely gone for at least four years.” You muttered to yourself as you applied glitter eyeshadow. “But hey, I’m all ready for next year now.”

You hopped back into the car and drove back to the office, the stairs proved to be more of a challenge now that you were in three-inch heeled booties, but eventually you made it back up to your uncle.

“‘Kay, what’s next?” You asked, noticing that you still had a little bit before people would start arriving.

“Hey you’re back! You look great. Can you finish labeling these and listing all the allergens? I already wrote them all but you know full well that no one can read my handwriting, so if you could just make it look neater, that would be really helpful.” He recited, gesturing to the sweets on the table.

Just as you had finished labeling the last box, the first person arrived. He was tall and had curly hair that poofed nicely all around his head. And let’s face it. He was as hot as a thousand suns clustered in hell. You stood up and brushed imaginary dust off your knees from kneeling on the floor as you’d written the labels. His eyes not-so-subtly scanned your figure as he made a beeline for you.

“Thomas Jefferson.” He introduced himself, leaning down to press a kiss to your knuckles.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N).” You breathed.

“Ah. Jefferson you’re here, if you wouldn’t mind helping me with something?” Your uncle interrupted. “I need someone tall.”

“But we’re almost the same height.” Thomas muttered confusedly.

“Come on, no time for conversation, let’s go.” Washington beamed, dragging Thomas to the other room. You stared at his poofy hair bouncing as he walked away but it didn’t take long for your eyes to drop down further.

“You mind if I call you google?” His warm breath near your ear sent shivers up your spine, “Because you’ve got everything I’m looking for.”

“Ah, we’ve begun with the cheesy pick up lines.” You said, turning to face Jefferson. Now it was your turn to not-so-subtly scan his figure, and you couldn’t say it wasn’t more than worth the effort.

“(Y/N), how’s it going?” Your uncle stepped in front of Jefferson, pushing him backward in the process. You raised an eyebrow skeptically, he was definitely up to something.

“Great.” You drawled sarcastically.

“Good, good, why don’t you come meet Hamilton’s wife Eliza, I’m sure you two will really hit it off.” He offered, dragging you across the room. You looked back over your shoulder at Thomas, who was scowling intently at his boss’ back, gripping his plastic cup so tightly, his knuckles grew pale. You held back a laugh as your uncle came to a stop.

“Mrs. Hamilton, this is my niece (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” George introduced you. You smiled politely at her and held out your hand for her to shake.

“It’s great to meet you.” She beamed as she shook your hand, you glanced back to where Thomas was standing previously, but found it empty.

“Yeah…” You nodded awkwardly. Silently begging your uncle to leave.

“I’ll leave you to it.” He finally read your thoughts.

“Ha. That’s what my sister said when she set up my husband and I.” Eliza reminisced, staring off into the corner of the room.

“Cool. I gotta go… do… something…” You told her. “I’ll talk to you later?”

“See you around.” She smiled. You left her and walked back over to Jefferson, who was now eating a cookie and standing by the table.

“Hey, you like sleeping? Me too. We should do it together sometime.” You smirked as you stepped in front of him. The cookie dropped out of his hand and he tried to hide his strong blush. You burst out laughing at his reaction but the blush only grew

“Cheri, I think we’ve begun a pickup-line war.” He decreed slyly.

“Oh bringing out the french I see. I’m still gonna win.” You bragged.

“Go ahead and keep telling yourself that but be prepared to find out just how wrong you are.” He teased. By this time, your noses were only inches from touching each other, having slowly gravitated nearer as you talked.

“Jefferson.” A new voice interjected.

“Goddamnit. What do you want?” Thomas groaned, stepping away from you.

“Washington asked me to get you.” The man who’d interrupted shrugged.

“You’re so annoying, Hamilton.” Thomas muttered as he walked past his coworker, shoving his shoulder.

“Mature as ever.” Hamilton sneered under his breath. “So you’re the bosses neice. Hot.” He commented.

“You’re name was Hamilton right?” You queried.

“Alexander Hamilton at your service.” He bowed flirtatiously.

“Interesting. I just met your wife.” You told him, raising an eyebrow in warning. The color drained from his face for a half second.

“Huh.” He nodded. “See you around then.” After that he bolted away as quick as he had come.

You sulked your way over to the next room but got stopped in the doorway.

“Je vais faire semblant que c'est une ligne de ramassage chaud parce que vous ne pouvez pas me comprendre.” Thomas murmured into your ear.

“Et je vais faire semblant de ne pas te comprendre pour ne pas écraser ton cœur délicat.” You responded with a smug grin.

“I will admit, the French is hot, no matter what you’re saying.” You confessed with a shrug.

“I could say the same for you.” He shrugged. “Look up, angel.” You turned your gaze upward, above you was a small cluster of leaves, white flowers scattered amongst the green with a scarlet ribbon tied around the two or three stems.

“Hmm, that’s interesting.” You hummed, hooking your arm around his neck. His hand spread out on your lower back and pulled you against him. Your eyes fluttered close as your lips drew nearer to one another.

“Oops! Sorry!” Your uncle apologized, crashing between you two with a large box in his arms.

“It’s fine.” You fumed. “Do you need help with that?” You growled.

“Nope.” He smiled.

“You can’t seem to see over it, let me help.” You snapped, walking over to help your uncle.

“What are you up to?” You hissed once you were out of hearing range of Jefferson.

“What do you mean, what am I up to?” He asked innocently.

“Every time I start to get somewhere with Thomas, there you are.” You stated.

“Thomas? You’re on a first name basis?” He grumbled, setting the box down on the floor by the door to the stairs.

“Yes. We are.” You responded indignantly.

“Look, you’re my niece… and he’s… well he’s…”

“He’s what?”

“He’s… Jefferson.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“I just… I don’t want to see you hurt. He’s broken a lot of hearts.” Your eyes widened. It wasn’t as though you weren’t expecting him to be a somewhat-player, but it still somehow managed to surprise you.

“Look. I really like him, and I won’t let myself fall into that trap. I promise.” You bargained.

“No.” He shook his head.

“What? Come on. You can’t stop me, I’m not a little girl anymore.” You narrowed your eyes.

“How are you going to stop yourself from falling in love with him?” George argued.

“I’ll know when he doesn’t feel the same and back out, that was it’s not so abrupt. And what makes you think I’ll fall in love with him?” You retorted.

“I’ve seen the way you look at him, it’s bound to happen eventually. But you’re right. I can’t just keep interrupting and expect you to stop liking each other.” He conceded.

“So you’ll back off?” You questioned hopefully. He nodded,

“I’ll back off.”

You finally found Thomas and took hold of both his wrists, turning him to face you. You stood on your tiptoes and pressed a firm kiss to his lips, his hands tangled their way into your hair and eventually you melted into a softer, more lov-liking kiss. Maybe George was right. Maybe you were bound to fall in love with him eventually. Maybe he would break your heart. He began to pull away and you plastered a smile onto your face.

“I felt like we weren’t done.” You shrugged.

“Well I can’t say I disagree. Surprised my boss didn’t interrupt again.” He mumbled.

“I took care of it. He’s a little too overprotective of his sister’s daughter, I’m not ten.” You agreed.

“Wait, you’re his niece?!”

I Think He’s My Soulmate

Originally posted by marvelgifs

Peter Parker x Reader

I Think He’s My Soulmate

Author: Morgan

Prompt: Okay, so we had a few Peter Parker soulmate au’s requested and Hannah’s writing one, but I was having FEEEEEEELS so have this one too.

Note: Soulmate au. Because I am a ho for them. A ho, I tell you. Also, let’s pretend that everyone is happy and unaffected by the Civil War. Yay!

Warnings: None?

“Ummmm, Uncle Clint?” it wasn’t often you called your uncle, but this was a special occasion. It was your sixteenth birthday, and because of that, your soulmate tattoo had finally appeared. It scared the crap out of you at first sight, given the fact that it looked like a large spider was crawling up your wrist.

Of course, it being your birthday didn’t mean you could stay home from school, so you were standing in the courtyard just after school had ended, calling your only connection to the Avengers at the first opportunity you had.

“Yes, sweet child of my sister?”

“Do you think you could arrange for me to meet Spiderman?”

“Um, sure. Why?”

“I’m 90% sure he’s my soulmate. And also, it’s my birthday, so…”

“Wait, go back to the first reason.”

“My soulmate tattoo showed up today and it’s a spider. It’s exactly the one that’s on his uniform. And if all soulmate tattoos work this way…” you lowered your voice, looking around. “Then he knows about my powers too.”

“Okay, okay, calm down. Can you come to the Facility today? I could introduce you. But he’s gotta be on his way here. He’s staying for the weekend. I’ll check his wrist and text you, okay?”

“Okay,” you nodded. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you later then.”

“Thanks Uncle Clint. I owe you.”

“No prob, kiddo.”


“Parker, lemme see your wrist.” Clint walked over to the teen as soon as he walked into the Facility, his overnight duffle bag hanging from his shoulder.

“What? Why?” Peter tugged his sleeve down over the tattoo that had appeared a few months before on his birthday.

“Peter.” Clint tilted his head. “I know you’ve got your soulmate tattoo. Let me see.”

“Um…” Peter paused, taking a breath before pulling the sleeve of his hoodie back up his arm. There were four symbols arranged in a diamond etched into his wrist. It was a flame, a leaf, a gust of wind, and water waves. “I…I think my soulmate is the Avatar, Mr. Barton.”

“That’s what I thought.” Clint nodded. He sent you a text as quickly as his thumbs would move. ‘grab your overnight bag, (Y/N). You’re spending the weekend with the Avengers’


Your parents were okay with you spending the weekend with your uncle. You didn’t tell them the other reason you were going to the Facility, but they sort of had an idea. Clint himself borrowed one of the quinjets and flew to the tower to meet you and take you back to the Facility.

“What did he say? Did he say anything?”

“Not much before I left. He just said, and I quote, ‘I think my soulmate is the Avatar, Mr. Barton’. And then I left.”

“What’s he like? Is he tall? Short? Nice? What does he look like?” you bombarded him with questions, but Clint only smirked.

“What’s the fun in telling you, kiddo? You’ve gotta find out for yourself.”

“Uncle Cliiiint.”

“(Y/NNNNNN),” he chuckled, ruffling your hair. “You’re worse than your cousins.”

“Shut up.”

The quinjet touched down under an hour later. Clint walked into the Facility with you by his side. Your guest pass dangled around your neck by a lanyard as you were escorted to your room. You had stayed here a few times over the years, but not since Spiderman had emerged.

Your room was waiting just as you had left it, right next door to Wanda’s room. There was a knock on the doorframe. Wanda brushed a lock of her hair over her shoulder, going in for a hug.

“Hi Wanda!” God, you loved Wanda. She was like a daughter to Clint, making her like a cousin to you. Not long after, a streak of silver rushed in and trapped you in a Maximoff sandwich. You loved the twins.

“What are you doing here, (Y/N)?” Pietro asked. “I thought you weren’t coming up until winter break.”

“My soulmate tattoo showed up.”

“Let me see.” Wanda insisted, pushing her brother away so she could see your wrist. She gasped softly at the sight of the black spider. “Do you want me to introduce you?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.” your heart was racing. It was real. It was really happening. Your soulmate was here and he was a superhero. Pietro raced ahead of all of you, leaving you, Clint, and Wanda in the dust. You got to the living room, where Peter was sitting at the table finishing his Algebra homework. He pushed his reading glasses up his nose.

As soon as you walked through the door, he twitched, looking up. Spidey-sense, you figured. He had mad reflexes, that much Clint had told you, but you had never seen his face. God, he was a cutie. Warm brown eyes, tousled brown hair, a kind nervous smile and soft pink lips to go with it. He was super cute. You smiled, waving shyly and when you did, he caught a glance of the tattoo on your wrist.

Peter’s jaw dropped. You had never seen anyone get up so fast. He practically ran to you, looking at the tattoo in disbelief. Somehow, he had known the moment you walked in, but this mark was confirmation.

“H-hi,” he introduced himself nervously. He gulped, trembling just a little bit. “I, um…I’m Peter. Peter Parker. S-Spiderman. I wondered when you would show up, um…”

“(Y/N).” you stated. He offered his hand, immediately regretting it. You were his soulmate and the best he could do was a handshake? Stupid, stupid, stupid. “(Y/N) (L/N). I’m Clint’s sister’s kid.” You shook his hand, smiling. God, he was super cute. Your nervousness had worn off, but Peter felt like he was going to explode. He didn’t want to mess this up.

“I…I’m sorry, is it okay if I hug you? I’m sorry, you’re just super pretty, and I’m really bad in romantic situations, so-”

You rushed into his arms, holding him close. He was so warm, and you could feel his body shaking. He laughed nervously, wrapping his arms around you.

“So um…my tattoo is the four elements. Does that mean you’re the Avatar?”

“I can control the four elements, yeah.” you laughed. “Who knows? I could be.”

“Ah, young love.” Tony walked into the living room. “Finally found your soulmate, Parker?”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded, still clinging to you. “I did.” He sighed, whispering into your ear. “Can I just hold you forever? I don’t want to let go.”

“Sure,” you chuckled, snuggling deeper into him. You buried your face in the crook of his neck. “Sounds like a plan to me.” You were stuck together like magnets, unable to tear yourselves from each other. It was a bizarre feeling, like time had finally started after all of these years, like two halves of a whole were finally reunited. Something clicked, and suddenly everything was right in the universe.


Later that night, you were sitting in the lounge with the Avengers, some movie about mutant superheroes fighting a big blue ancient mutant or something was playing on the screen. You and Peter were seated beside eachother, his arm around your shoulders, and your head resting against his chest.

Peter’s free hand absentmindedly traced the tattoo on your wrist, still not quite convince that today was real. It felt too good to be true. But here you were, snuggled up to him. The other Avengers only glanced over and smiled from time to time, happy that their little spider had finally found his soulmate.

“Am I an okay soulmate?” Peter whispered, looking to you for reassurance.

“Are you kidding me? You’re the best.” you laughed, pressing a long kiss to his cheek. Peter’s face flushed red. He smiled.

“I can’t be the best.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you are.” he stated. You chuckled.

“Dork,” you nudged him gently. “But a cute dork.”

“So um…are you…are we dating now? Am I your boyfriend?”

“If that’s all right with you, yeah.”

“Okay. Good.” Peter smiled, pulling you closer. “I like the sound of that.”

“So do I.”


The weekend passed in a flash. It went by so fast you felt like you had whiplash. But before you knew it, you were back in school on Monday, waiting for the day you would get to see Peter again. You had arranged to meet a few weekends later at his apartment, but you had exchanged numbers and had been texting all day between classes.

You were standing at your locker after school, grabbing the things you needed to do your homework when your phone vibrated. You checked it. A text from Peter.

Turn around.

You read it, heart racing. You’ve never turned around so fast in your life, but there he is at the end of the hall, looking at you in disbelief. He ran as fast as he feet would carry him, engulfing you in his arms.

“You go to Midtown?” you asked. He nodded.

“I saw you like four times today, but I was never sure it was you, but it is, and-” you cut him off with your lips. They were even softer and smoother than you imagined. He melted into the kiss, letting out a blissful moan while his hands grabbed at your hips.

When you pulled apart, Peter took your hand. You slung your backpack over your shoulders.

“Well, since you’re here, do you wanna come back to my apartment now? Meet my Aunt May? We could work on homework or watch a movie or cuddle or-” You pressed a kiss to his cheek, causing them to flush red.

“Yes. I’d love that.”

Oath | Ch.13 | Jungkook

Genre: Angst | Mafia!AU

Members: Jungkook | You/Reader | Yoongi | Taehyung | Namjoon | Hoseok | Jin | Jimin |

Summary: What if one day everything you ever wanted is taken away and your whole world comes crushing down? If you were to forget today, who would you be tomorrow?

Originally posted by kookieluvcookies

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Word count: 3848

Having heard the commotion, Jimin was desperately looking for any sign of survivors. He tried to look through the thick smoke but it was impossible.

“What the fuck was that?! Is everyone safe? Answer me, damn it!!”

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anonymous asked:

hi! i absolutely love your boy with a scar series and i've been wondering the past few weeks how the series would have gone down if ron was the chosen one? or hermione?

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches,
 born to a family who has thrice defied him,
 born as the third month dawns.
 And the Dark Lord will mark him as an equal
 but he will have power the Dark Lord known not.
 And either must die at the hand of the other
 for neither can live while the other survives.
 The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord
 will be born as the third month dawns…

Ronald Weasley was born, sixth of seven children, on March 1 1980. His little sister, Ginevra, was born in August of the next year. He had never known his uncles, Gideon and Fabian Prewett, who had died opposing the rising tide of pureblood fanatics while a young Molly had still been in school.

Ron’s eldest brother, William, called Bill, started Hogwarts in September 1981 under the shadow of war. While Bill ate pumpkin pasties in the Great Hall that Halloween, Tom Riddle, called Voldemort, murdered Arthur and Molly Weasley in their own home. He failed to hurt their youngest son, except for the lightning scar that Ron would carry for the rest of his life. Molly and Arthur left behind seven children.

In this world, James and Lily Potter did not die on October 31st in Godric’s Hollow under the broken safety of a friend’s betrayal. They were rarely at home, in those months before the war ended. Harry spent his first year of life in Order bases, babysat by those not out on mission– Arabella Figg, squib; Mad-Eye Moody, nursing a broken leg; Remus Lupin resting between stints undercover.

James and Lily did not go into hiding. Peter Pettigrew did not betray their confidences and lead the Dark Lord to their home, but he did whisper secrets and strategies. The Death Eaters ambushed a recon party Peter had compromised and, trying to get the rest of his team out, James took an Avada Kedavra to the chest.

James lived a few weeks less than he would have, if he had died instead on Halloween on the floor of his own home. But Lily limped home from that battle, her arm around Sirius’s shoulders, his around hers, both of them holding each other up. When they reached the Order headquarters, she pushed past condolences and shock and strategic meetings, all the way to where Harry was napping in a back room under Mrs. Figg’s anxious eye. Sirius went to tell Remus, and Lily sat at the foot of Harry’s bed and cried.

After the war, after the Weasleys had been buried, and the champagne had been drunk, and the newspapers had announced the end of their terror, Lily took her son and went back to her closed-up home in Godric’s Hollow. She unboarded the windows and swept the floors. Sirius changed the dusty sheets on every bed and they both bullied Remus into napping on the couch with Harry while the two of them did the work.

Lily slept in her bed alone, except for nights when Harry had bad dreams. Charms had been one of her best subjects in school, and she had used and used it in the long days of the war. Curses and hexes came easy to her tongue. She practiced conjuring butterfly lights for Harry, who reached after them on wobbly legs. When the Ministry reached out to Order veterans, she signed up for the Auror program, Sirius on her heels.

The six youngest Weasley children were bundled up and sent to the nearest relative, a Prewett cousin with a wife and two small children of his own. Charlie, ten, saw the pinched panic around their eyes as the six redheads walked, wobbled, or were carried through the front door into their three-bedroom house. He made sure to linger when Mrs. Prewett changed Ginny’s diapers and helped Ron with potty training, so he would know how when they sent them away. Fred and George, four years old, taught their cousins the swear words Mother had always tried not to say in front of them.

The first set of Prewett cousins lasted until Bill came home for the summer. Ginny was bigger now, waving grasping hands and saying sparse words and cackling whenever Fred and George did anything clever. They passed them on to another house of Prewetts, with a damningly and temporarily white couch and a library they weren’t supposed to go into. Charlie taught Bill how to do diapers. Fred and George made goofily horrified faces to convince Ron and Ginny to swallow down their broccoli.

They bounced from home to home– always Molly’s family, never Arthur’s, whose mother had been disowned for marrying a blood traitor. Charlie went to school next, and Percy stepped into the responsibilities he and Bill had left behind them. Ginny got into scuffles with cousins who tugged her hair and called her missy. Ron got his first chess lesson from a great-uncle they lived with for three quiet weeks.

When Charlie and Bill could get Professor McGonagall’s permission, they Flooed home on the weekends to teach their brothers and sister to fly in the yard behind the clean little house with its pristine couch, in the weedy one behind their great-uncle’s cramped little home in magical Oxford, or in the acres of rolling pasture behind their spinster aunt’s home out in the country.

For the year and a half they lived with their squib accountant cousin and his Muggle wife out in Chesterford, they had to sneak far out afield to find someplace safe to fly.

Fred and George got very into Sunday morning Muggle cartoons. Bill stood beside the couch, watching figures move on screen, and thought about how much his dad would have loved that. Bill didn’t say anything, though, because Charlie was old enough to remember himself, and Ron was staring happily at the screen like he didn’t know he’d once had a father who had wondered about the telephones and televisions and microwaves they all knew now how to use.

Percy went to Hogwarts next. He gave shrill, stern, panicked instructions to Fred and George for the weeks before he and Bill and Charlie left. He cornered them one last time on Platform 9 ¾, the train whistles shrieking in the background.

Bill and Charlie were jogging around with Ron and Ginny on their respective shoulders, playing Spot-the-Wizards-Among-the-Muggles. “There, an owl!” shouted Ginny. “Found one!”

“Look at that one’s hat,” Ron said, but Charlie said, “Nah, kiddo, I think that’s just fashion. Remember Aunt Jenny’s shawl?”

Looming over the twins narrowly, Percy continued, “And Ginny won’t eat–”

“Her greens,” said Fred. “We know.”

“So you gotta hide them places,” said George.

“Or make funny faces,” said Fred. “But it’s so hard for you, Perce, you already look funny just as you are.”

“You need to take this seriously,” Percy squeaked, hugging his folded set of hand-me-down robes to his chest.

Charlie came over, swinging Ginny down to the ground, where Fred took her small hand absently. “You just keep an eye on them, okay? It’s gonna be fine. Cousin Stew seems nice enough.” Cousin Stew was, but he only lasted four months. Cousin Agnes, who came after, was nice enough, even if she did insist on table manners for everyone.  

Percy sent anxious letters home full of questions and checkups. Charlie got some extra pocket money, working for Hagrid on the grounds, and sent home every sweet he could buy from Hogsmeade.

When Bill was seventeen he graduated from his last year at Hogwarts and then he took his siblings back to the Burrow. Ron was seven years old, and Ginny six.

They unboarded the windows and swept out the dust, scoured the rusted pots back to shining. (Well, not quite shining.) Bill and Charlie were the only ones who could vaguely remember whose room had been whose, but they just let the others run up and down stairs and claim the ones they liked best, and then they ironed out the squabbles that resulted.

Ginny took the room at the top of the house, right below the lonely old ghoul in the attics. Ron chose a ground floor bedroom whose windows were nearly swallowed by vines and flowers. Charlie fried up eggs in their mother’s kitchen for their first breakfast.

Fred and George were discovering all the interesting corners of the house and Bill was having a hard time swallowing his eggs, because his little brothers were discovering, but when he had walked through these creaky old doors it had felt like coming home. He ate as many mouthfuls of egg as he could handle, and then he dragged them all out to the broomshed to see what had survived.

The other shed outside the Burrow had been their father’s, filled with Muggle junk or treasures. Boarded up like the rest of the house, it had been left there for years. Mice had gotten to some of their father’s notebooks, and mold to a few secondhand Muggle textbooks, but the old Ford Anglia had been hidden under a tarp and a dozen stasis spells.

Ginny liked to hide out there. She’d open one of the car doors and climb inside, going through the papers abandoned in its glove compartment, the years-old hard candies there. The bulky owner’s manual was there, too, but it would be years before she would do more than just doodle on its pages.

In a couple years, Fred and George would head off to Hogwarts, too, and Ron would run after the train, waving, while Bill held Ginny (who was getting too big for this) up on his shoulders so she could see. They were waiting, impatient, these two last Weasleys, to go to Hogwarts, too. Bill reached out for Ron’s hand, and then they all headed home.

In this world, there was another little boy waiting impatiently for a Hogwarts letter to come. Harry knew there was magic in his world. He would never live in a cupboard under any stairs.

In this world, Sirius would never call Harry ‘James.’ Sirius changed his diapers. When Lily took Harry to ‘bring your kid to work’ day Sirius let him tumble into the giant fountain and soak himself to his gleeful bones.

Sirius listened patiently through six year old Harry’s obsession with broom manufacturing, and his seven year old obsession with dinosaurs. Lily and Remus bought Harry Muggle books on stegosauruses and pterodactyls. Sirius read them with him on the ugly, garish rug he had bought James and Lily once as a joke, and which they had kept just to torment him.

James had hated cornflakes, and Harry loved them, especially if he could drown them in chocolate milk. Harry’s hair was always messy, not because he mussed it for show, but because as a child he’d fallen into the habit of tugging on it while he was thinking. He loved to fly just as much as his father had, and Sirius taught him how in the big yard behind the Godric’s Hollow house.

Sirius called Harry 'kiddo,’ 'little monster,’ 'sauerkraut,’ 'boppet.’ He called him 'Harry.’ He never called him 'James.’

Lily brought her work home, boxes and papers and scrying spells all spread out over the old Potter heirloom of a dining room table. Most nights she brought her Auror partner, too, and Sirius bounced Harry on his knee while they poured over open case files and complained about coworkers.

They had started with filing broom speeding tickets and other people’s paperwork, before they had gotten their first robbery, their first curse, their first murder, their first Dark wizard to hunt down and capture.

Now, between arson investigations and tracking down the Lestranges, they dug up the cold case of Peter Pettigrew, terrorist, fugitive, and read through it in their off-hours like a bedtime story.

The Ministry didn’t like werewolves, but that didn’t make this any less Remus’s fight. He slunk through Lily’s back door, bones stark under his exhausted skin, and told his friends what he had found. They made him drink hot tea and eat vegetables and get some sleep in a soft, safe bed, but they didn’t stop Remus when he went out again.

Lily didn’t believe in hiding things from the children. Harry grew up knowing his father had died scared, and brave, and well. “Lily,” James had said. “Take the others and go. I’ll try to hold them off.” Harry knew that sometimes his uncles sat with carrot soup and whiskey and talked about Peter until late in the night.

Harry grew up knowing that sometimes the people who love you betray you, and that sometimes they stick around and teach your kid how to brush his teeth and how to tie his shoes and how to fly.

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Not Quite Tea Time (F!Corrin x Leo)

“Kana, pick up your sword again. We’re not stopping until you get the drill right at least once.” Leo lowered his arm, watching with a tinge of annoyance as Kana huffed and picked up the sword he had carelessly tossed aside in a small fit. “You wanted to join this army. I won’t have you dy-… I won’t have you being unable to fight like a member of the army.”

“Mama taught me how to use a sword, daddy… I can fight.” Kana crossed his arms, making sure his grip on the sword wasn’t hindered by doing so. “She’s a good swordfighter.”

“She also taught you to defend and not to attack.” Leo gave a sigh and walked closer to Kana, placing a hand on his younger son’s shoulder. “We need as many able fighters as possible, loath as I am to admit it. You have a lot of skill, but that skill will be useless without proper training.”

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Man Out of Time

“Hey, Uncle Bucky, when’s daddy coming home?” 

Bucky looked up at me ‘you still haven’t told her?’ his blue eyes asked while his lips said nothing. It had been six months. He looked down at the chubby-cheeked little girl with a sad look in his eyes. He didn’t have it in him to lie to her, to give her a sense of false hope and he certainly didn’t have it in him to tell her the truth and break her little heart either. He ruffled her dark curly hair before joining me in the already cramped kitchen. I was cooking dinner. He leaned against the counter and watched as I circled around the kitchen, chopping things that were already chopped and washing things that were already washed; doing anything not to look at him.  

“You need to tell her the truth.” He whispered softly, forcing me to turn around and find him standing behind me. I looked over at my three-year-old daughter playing with her tea-set on the carpet of my living room. Every time I looked in her big blue eyes, I saw him. They were his eyes; kind and gentle.

“…and what is the truth, Buck?” I asked callously and watched as Bucky’s features changed. He couldn’t say it. He thought that if he didn’t say it, it wouldn’t be true.

Steve Rogers was gone.

I knew what I was getting in to when I decided to start a life with him. I could deal with the long missions because I always knew he’d come back to me. I could deal with being on the run with a toddler and a brainwashed assassin because I had him with me. Every day that passed, it was becoming harder and harder to sleep without him, to breathe without him, to live without him. He was my everything…

Retrospectively, I should have not let him go on that mission. I should have made up an excuse about why I – no, why we needed him at home. Steve assured me that Bucky would have his back even though it was just a standard op. I will never forget the look on Bucky’s face when he knocked on my door.

“Where’s Steve, Bucky?” I had asked; excited to see the love of my life. I had prepared his favourite dinner – a pot roast – and wore the red dress that he loved so much. Our baby girl – Sarah James – waddled over from the couch and clung to my leg, looking up at her forlorn uncle Bucky. “Why don’t you go watch some Zoboo, sweetie?” She cheered as she bounced onto the couch and turned on the TV. I gestured for him to follow me to mine and Steve’s shared bedroom. After I shut the door behind us, Bucky couldn’t hold it together anymore. He sank to his knees and sobbed helplessly. I knelt down beside him and enveloped him in my arms. He clung on to me as if I were a life raft and he was drowning.

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.” He repeated over and over again into the crook of my neck.

“Tell me what happened.” I demanded, my voice broke towards the end.

‘Steve went back for some hostages a-and h-he couldn’t… the building… I tried to…” That was all he could get out through his sobs and it was all I could bear to hear.

I was mindlessly stirring the meatballs around in the pot, thinking about how my life had gone to hell in less than a year.

“You ready to go, doll?” Bucky spoke suddenly and pulled me out of my thoughts. Sarah was resting on his hip with her arms around his neck, her diaper bag hung from his shoulder and a bright pink ball was clasped between his metal fingers.

“Where are we going?” I asked in confusion and he furrowed his brows together.

“I asked you if you wanted to take Sarah to the park and for ice-cream and you said ‘yes.’” Bucky reminded me but I had no recollection of the conversation. I went along with it anyway.

I sat on a park bench and watched as Sarah chased Bucky around the park. He jogged away from her just fast enough to evade her reach until she finally grabbed his leg and he lifted her off the ground. She cooed excitedly as he tossed her in the air before setting her down again. ‘Again, again.’ She cheered, waving her hands about for him to toss her again. He made her promise it would be the last time before he spun her around and tossed her into the air. Her happy shrieks echoed in the wind and I couldn’t help but smile longingly.

“I’m going to sit with Mommy now, okay?” He asked and she nodded before running towards some birds.

“Not too far, Sarah!” I called after her but I don’t think she heard me. Bucky sat down next me to and I instinctively laced my fingers through his. “Thank you for all this, Buck.” I smiled warmly before scooting closer to him. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and we watched as Sarah kicked the pink ball around in the grass. She began running faster and faster. “Slow down!” I yelled but she didn’t hear me and the ball got caught under her leg. She tumbled forward and landed on the grass. Bucky was about to run towards her when she picked herself off the ground and dusted the leaves off her dress. She waved at us before chasing after her ball again. It had rolled onto the other side of the park.

“There’s no need to thank me, it’s what Steve would have wanted.” Bucky planted a soft kiss on the top of my head and held me against his chest. I could feel the steady beats of his heart against my cheek. “Sarah is a tough one, she reminds me of Steve.” Bucky observed and I couldn’t help but smile. At least, there was a part of Steve that I still had left.

“Where’s Sarah?” I asked suddenly, looking around the playground for my baby girl. She was nowhere to be seen. I began to panic. “SARAH!” Bucky and I called out in unison. 

How had she disappeared so quickly?

“Sarah!” We shouted again and we saw her collecting her pink ball from a man in a blue jacket and a white t-shirt.

She threw her arms around his waist and I couldn’t see his face but I could tell he was smiling.  Sarah ran back to Bucky and I. We hugged her tightly but Bucky kept his eye on the stranger to make sure he wasn’t a threat. The man was walking away. There was an air of familiarity about the way that he walked. I looked up at Bucky, both his fists were clenched tightly. He was thinking of going after the man. “Hey Buck, she’s okay… we’re okay, just let it go.” I murmured softly, grabbing his hand and pulling him back down to join our hug.  “Sarah, what did I tell you about talking to strangers?” I scolded when I finally let go off her.

She looked at me through big, doe eyes before handing Bucky her ball.

“The man said his mom’s name was Sarah, too…” 

A/N: This felt like it was all over the place. I hope you guys like it. What do you guys think?   

The great fan-theorying 2016 - Vision and Wanda (post-Civil War)

First of all, I would like to point out that back in August last year I got the whole plotline concerning Wanda and Vision in Civil War right. 

Some quotes from my post/fan-theory from a year ago:

If because of the explosion, she (Wanda) gets arrested and put out of commission, that would explain why she’s not in either line-up. Possibly means the rest of the movie is about trying to get her out, since Cap knows what really went down and that she doesn’t deserve to be locked up…

…Which means that likely he’s (Vision’s) the only one who can be in charge of guarding her and/or making sure she doesn’t take over the guards’ minds.

Leaving Wanda and Vision alone.



I grew up on Wanda and Vision comics, because my dad was a huge sap and actually collected their miniseries as well as West Coast Avengers, which was then passed onto me. I also keep up with the current comics to see what Marvel intends with their relationship now, including their kids (if you’re new to the ship, oh boy is that an interesting chestnut of information for you to digest!).

What’s more, I have a script-writing background, and I’m currently in the media industry. It’s kinda my job to write stories, keep stories straight, and assess them objectively. Theory-crafting is my job, lore-mongering is part of my skill-set.

And with Vision and Wanda, you gotta go through like 40 years worth (not counting the last few months even) of history and drama, good and bad, to figure out where the MCU wants to go.

Lucky for you, I grew up on this shit. It’s second nature for me to keep it all straight.

This gonna be a huge post, people. This post will be about me addressing some stuff about how they are portrayed in Civil War, some stuff linking to their comic counterparts, and I’m actually going to include my theories about Marvel’s end-game plan for these two, and this includes looking at other material/media in association with the MCU that has come out (video games, comics etc.)

For newbies to the ship, I’m going to link to some primer material as well, because you guys gotta get introduced to Billy and Tommy. Strap in!

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For anon…this is an Aladdin AU of Star Wars. Enjoy

Luke walked through the markets with his hood up. He had never been to the markets before: his Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen believed it to be too dangerous. That’s what they always said, resulting in Luke barely having gone anywhere too far from his home.

A little boy looked at the bread rations sadly. Feeling compassion for the little boy, Luke walked over to the merchant. When the merchant wasn’t looking, he gave the boy a bread ration. The little boy grinned before running off with the food.

“Hey,” the merchant barked, “You gonna pay for that?”

Before he could do anything, Luke was grabbed by his arms. He began to plead with the man.

“No, please! If you let me go, I can go get the money from Beru!”

The merchant grumbled to himself while pinning Luke’s arm down and raising his blade. Luke’s eyes widened drastically.

“No! No, please!”

Before anything could be done, a young woman stepped between the two. She wore old clothing that was patched in several places. She gripped the man’s weapon hand fiercely. She reached and grabbed the blade from him while shaking his hand. She handed the blade to Luke, who immediately hid it behind his back.

“Thank you, kind sir, for finding him!”
“You know him?”
She forced a sigh. “Yes. He’s my brother, and he’s a bit gone upstairs if you know what I mean.” Luke’s eyes widened with insult. “Now, come on, brother. We must get going.”

Getting the hint, Luke started walking away. Unfortunately, another merchant saw the exchange. She spoke up.

“That woman’s a thief,” she cried to the male merchant.

With that, the young woman pulled Luke into a sprint as several “officers” began to run after them. She kept her hold on him as she led him through the market. The pair dodged down one alley before entering the main road once again. They skid to a stop as several officers were in front of them. They turned around and sprinted up some stairs. The young woman kicked open the door and continued to climb to the top of the building. Several officers pursued them. Luke and his would-be rescuer stopped on the middle floor.

“Now what?” Luke questioned.

Grinning, the woman gripped his hand and dropped out the window. Luke was barely able to process anything before he fell into a pod. The woman kicked it on before driving out of the alley, leaving their pursuers in the dust.

“Woo!” she cheered.
“Are you crazy?” Luke yelled.
“Always have been,” she teased back.
After some time of driving, Luke spoke up. “I’m Luke.”
She grinned as she slowed down. “Y/N.”
Luke glanced down sheepishly. “Thank you for saving me.”
She stopped in front of a small hut and hopped out. “Eh, it’s easy to outrun those guys.”
“You’ve done it before?” he asked while hopping out as well.
“Only when I have to. They’re slow on their feet and they don’t know the streets all too well. They’re actually from another system. You always get in trouble?” she chuckled.

Luke smirked a bit. Now that his adrenaline slowed down, he noticed how beautiful his savior was. Her smile was bright. She pulled out a couple bread rations, eating one quickly. Noticing Luke’s shocked expression, she spoke up.

“I only take what I need. It’s not that easy to eat with a job like mine.”
“What do you do?”
“Fix droids that come in,” she paused and head back toward the pod, “Anyway, was nice meeting you Luke. Stay outta trouble.”
“Wait! Will I see you again?”
Y/N shrugged. “Who knows, kid?”

With that, she sped off. Luke watched until he could no longer see the pod. He smirked to himself as he thought of the ‘street rat’ that saved him.

Want to Request?

Imagine growing old with Obi-Wan

Originally posted by bienbenita

When We Were Younger - Older Obi-Wan/Ben Kenobi X Older Female Jedi Reader X Luke Skywalker

Written By: @sakuraaeris1497

(Y/F/N) - Your First Name

(Y/L/N) - Your Last Name

(H/C) - Hair Color

(E/C) - Eye Color

(L/S/C) - Lightsaber Color

Author’s note: This was a fourth anonymous request made to, but now I am a contributor to their blog as a Star Wars imagine blogger. Therefore, I decided to help them out by writing requests that they couldn’t get to. I apologize if this is very short because I really had no good ideas except this and if it totally sucks, then I really apologize. But please enjoy anyways! 😉

(Luke Skywalker Point of View)

It had been a few moments since I first met Ben and (Y/F/N) Kenobi. They had told me about my father Anakin Skywalker and the old stories of the Jedi before Darth Vader destroyed them with the help of Emperor Palpatine and the Galactic Empire. Ben and (Y/F/N) were the only survivors of the Jedi Purge alongside an old friend, Master Yoda. I kinda feel terrible for them because I don’t know what it’s like to lose all my friends and family like that. However, when I found out that I could use and sense the Force, then I actually began to want to learn from Masters Ben and (Y/F/N) about how to use these newfound powers.

One day for our daily lessons, Ben made me wear a bowl-looking helmet on my head to get rid of my eyesight so I would use the Force to fight. After hours of training by fighting a robot that shot lasers at me, (Y/F/N) decided to let Ben and I take a break as I sat down with her. After a few minutes of settling my sore legs and learning how to breathe again, I looked towards (Y/F/N) with her graying hair arranged in a braided bun and her eyes becoming more gray with age. She was still attractive even for being as old as my aunt and uncle, so I often told her as such like I did today, “You know, for a Jedi who’s been living here for twenty years or so, you still look good.”

With that, (Y/F/N) began to laugh as she slapped her knee with her outstretched palm before she made a small jest, “Oh, Luke, you never cease to amaze me…You should’ve seen me and my husband when we were in the Order before we became old and gray.”

“I heard that!” Obi-Wan/Ben replied sarcastically as (Y/F/N) responded with her own sarcastic jab at the top of her lungs, “I know, that’s why I said it loud, old man!”

“Oh, I’m old?! You’re the same age as me! Look at yourself, Mrs. Wrinkles and White Hair.”

“Ok, you know?” (Y/F/N) responded back with her hands on her hips and her head tilted to the side before she continued her thoughts aloud, “I’m tired of your sass, Mr. Ow-My Back!” At this point, I couldn’t stop laughing at these moments between the sassy old couple as they turned to look at me before Ben asked, “And what do you think you’re laughing at, Skywalker?”

“He’s just a crusty, crotchety old man, Luke, honey. Just ignore him.” (Y/F/N) responded jokingly before Obi-Wan gave his wife a tender kiss on the lips. I thought it was cute to see old people kiss, or anyone kiss for that matter, but then again, it was just awkward to see my teachers kissing in front of me.

After I coughed against my will to get some dust out of my throat, (Y/F/N) turned to me before she sat down next to me while I asked her, “Mrs. Kenobi?”

“Yes, Luke?”

“I was wondering if…while we took a break…you could tell me more about you and Mr. Ben’s days as a Jedi?”

After thinking for a few minutes, (Y/F/N) decided to speak with me as she sat closer to me with my hands in her lap. As soon as she started her story, the older woman didn’t stop as she set the scene, “We lived in this big city called Coruscant where Senators from every nation had a voice to rule the Galaxy and the Jedi were around…All Jedi started as young as toddlers to learn the ways of the Light Force, including me and Ben. Younglings were what we called our youngest Jedi while Padawans were the older students, but we all learned under Jedi Masters…Back when we were younger, when my hair was (H/C) and my eyes were (E/C), I met Ben when his hair was a healthy shade of auburn and his eyes were as blue as the skies overhead.”

“Ben with red hair and blue eyes?! You can’t be serious.”

“But I am, it’s the honest truth. You can just ask him yourself…Anyways, where was I? Oh yes!…For many years, we fought with our lightsabers of blue and (L/S/C) alongside your father and his blue lightsaber…In fact, Ben was your father’s teacher and they got along so well that they were almost like brothers or father and son. We saved so many people and fought so many enemies. We even faced a few Sith Lords over the years and we even participated as soldiers in the Clone Wars…I loved dear little Anakin like my own son and I…It was so sad when Vader killed him.”

“I’m so sorry…” I replied as I put a tender hand on her shoulder while she patted my head before she stroked my cheek with her small, wrinkled hand, “Bless you, child. You are as sweet and kind as your father, and just as handsome…Sometimes, when I see the way your blonde hair curls around your neck or the way your blue eyes twinkle in the Sun, I see Anakin again…”

Then, (Y/F/N) began to tell me all sorts of stories in regards to her and Ben’s adventures. She was such a great storyteller because she could paint a complete picture of what happened during things or who was involved, even the smells and sights of everything that happened. Just hearing about the Jedi flying starships to all these different worlds and fighting in grand battles made me want to go on adventures like they did. The Jedi sound so cool and I wish that they were still alive and thriving. It’s a shame that people like my dad are gone and people like Yoda, Ben, and (Y/F/N) have to live in hiding. That’s why I’m determined to be a Jedi just Iike my dad, to save the Galaxy from the wicked Emperor and Sith Lord Darth Vader. That’s why my hope is that I’m strong enough to do this task and learn the ways of the Jedi to the best of my ability, just like my father before me.

The Unpredictable

Hello may I request a new gen era imagine/os with Teddy Lupin ? Something all fluffy and cute you choose the plot, ty dearie❤️ by anon


we’re both ‘team leaders’ at a summer camp for little people and you may be hot but goddammit my collection of twelve-year-olds are going to beat yours into the dust…

adjusted to my tatses

Teddy Lupin had to say he was quite proud of the Quidditch team he had managed to arrange. He had finally found a use for the abundance of cousins he had. 

He and his very good friend Y/N Wood were both about to start their seventh year that September, and so they had decided to make this the best summer of their lives. Every week they made up a new compeition and each day was spent in the other’s company. It was the middle of August and the biggest comeptition yet. 


Both teens took the game very seriously, Y/N a bit more so. Although, who could blame her? Her father was Oliver Wood for Merlin’s sake. He was the best Keeper the League had ever seen and was now his old team’s, Puddlemere United, coach. Unfortunately for Teddy, that meant Y/N had years of training and hereditary insanity about the game under her belt. However, it was something that lead to the creation of The Rules.

The Rules were a list of, well, rules, that Teddy and Y/N had written up on the train ride back from Hogwarts that June. There had been a lot of yelling, swearing, and hexing in order to create The Rules, but in the end both Teddy and Y/N were satisfied with the results. Both teens had a copy on the wall in their rooms.

The Rules:

  • Y/N Wood’s team must consist of all girls
  • Teddy Lupin’s team must consist of all boys
  • Y/N must start training one week after Teddy
  • Both coaches must be present at tryouts
  • Tryouts must be held at the same time
  • The Game must be conducted like a professional game
  • Oliver Wood cannot be referee because he will show favoritism
  • Ginny Potter cannot be referee because she will show favoritism
  • Y/N Wood cannot play Keeper because she has had proper training
  • Teddy Lupin cannot play Chaser because he has had proper training
  • There must mot be any trash-talk
  • There must not be any cheating
  • Whoever wins The Game must admit on bended knee that they were wrong

And that was it. The Rules were on paper. It was Teddy who had accidentaly made it so The Game was a battle of the sexes. Actually, all of their competitions had been a war between the genders. It was started their whole competition thing. 

They had been on the train for about an hour, talking about what they wanted to do that summer. Teddy, being his usual confident self, said, “No matter what we do, Y/N, I’ll beat you.”

“Oh really?” Y/N scoffed. “And why’s that?”

“I’m a bloke.”


“So I have more endurance, more strength, more strategy, and more skill.”

Y/N, however, disagreed. Loudly.

As the friends got off the train, they both had a list of things to do that summer and a copy of The Rules. They had decided that a Quidditch match would be the last competition between them because it tested all of the things that Teddy listed.

One week after returning home for the summer, Teddy and Y/N held tryouts. Not only would whoever made the teams participate in the Quidditch game, but they were also a part of any other competitions that happened over the summer. They had played a muggle game called football, Wizarding Chess, relay races, a game called poker that Uncle Bill and Lorcan Scammander had taught them, and many, many more.

At the moment the two teams were tied at eight-to-eight. This frustrated both team captains to no end, and the outcome of The Game weighed even more heavily than before. 

Right now, Teddy and his team were waiting for Y/N and the girls at the makeshift Quidditch pitch at the Burrow. James and Freddie, Teddy’s chosen Beaters, were hitting a bludger back and forth to work off their nerves. Albus, the Seeker, was racing Scorpious, a Chaser, around the pitch. Lysander Scammander and Hugo, that two remaning Chasers just sat in the center, talking. Teddy himself was pacing. He would be playing Keeper, it was his second best position afterall. Just as Y/N would be playing Seeker for the same reason.

At least, that’s what Teddy thought she would be playing. He actually had no idea. They had agreed that they wouldn’t reveal who would be playing what until The Game. Yes, they knew who was on the team, but that didn’t matter much. Each individual person had their own skills that could be best suited for a certain position. However, that didn’t stop Teddy from preparing against the team he thought Y/N had.

Rose would probably be playing Keeper like her father. Roxanne was most likely a Beater along with Molly. Dominique, Lucy, and Lily were all Chasers, with Y/N herself as Seeker. It’d be a very hard team to beat, but Teddy knew that he had prepared accordingly.

As long as he had the team right. 

Which he did. Of course. It was laughably predictable, just like Y/N. All girls were predictable really.

He hoped. 

“Ready to lose, Lupin?”

Teddy turned to see Y/N Wood smirking up at him as she walked towards him, a Cyclone 06 slung over her shoulder. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she wore her Quidditch gear. 

“Keep dreaming, Wood.”

“I don’t need to. We all know it’s reality.”

“Sure. Who plays what on your team?”

“Take a guess.”

Teddy didn’t trust the smirk that was steadily growing on his best friend’s face, and he was right not to. After he recited what he thought her team was, Y/N declared, quite cheerfully, “Nope!”

Then she walked over to her team. 

“Wait, what? Y/N!”

But Teddy no longer had a chance to argue with her. The crowd had arrived, along with the referee, Lorcan Scammander. At first, Teddy had been slightly worried that he’d show favoritism because his brother was a Chaser on Teddy’s team, but that was before he came to the realization that Lorcan was far too lazy to do so. It was the entire reason he hadn’t tried out, and he wasn’t on Slytherin Quidditch team. Plus, as Y/N pointed out, Lorcan fancied Domi, who was on her team.

When she said that however, Teddy had simply blinked and stated that Lorcan had a string of girls who worshipped him, while Domi argued with him daily. Y/N merely replied that it was obvious, and the entire world but Lily was oblivious, including Lorcan. 

But that was besides the point. Right now, Teddy and his team were standing in a huddle as they watched the crowd grow. People would think that it’d be a small crowd seeing as all The Game was was really just a ‘friendly’ Quidditch match. They’d be wrong, however. Weasleys all stood waiting for the game to begin, along with the Scammander Brothers’ family. The Longbottoms were there, along with Y/N’s family. Her father, Oliver Wood, was already in an arguement with Teddy’s godmother, Ginny Potter. Draco Malfoy and his best friend, Blaise Zabini, were there as well, looking extremely prepared to scream Scorpiuos on. A multitude of other family, friends, and family friends were there as well. He’d never admit it, but Teddy found it extremely nereve-wracking. 

Charlotte Jordan, another good friend of Teddy’s and Y/N’s, was there to commentate, and she bounced up to Teddy. “Hello, boys,” she grinned. “Think you’ll win The Game?”

“Of course,” James scoffed. “You don’t honestly think-”

“-that the girls could beat us, do you?”

Teddy had always found it terrifying how James and Freddie finished each other’s sentences even though they weren’t twins.

“Well, I talked to Y/N and she said you guys have been prepping all wrong,” Charlotte said, and Teddy could see the same glint of mischievousness her father, Lee Jordan, had. He had to have it, seeing as it was him who started the Potter Watch, and continued it to this day. 

“What do you mean?” Lysander asked, magenta eyebrow raised in precaution.

“Her team. Teddy’s been coaching you against a team he set up, not one Y/N did. And this is Y/N. She’s always been one to go against what people think. She sees the small parts of people and uses that to her advantage. Did you know she was nearly a Slytherin because of it?”

Teddy swore, eyes widening as he wiped his head around to face his friend who was giving her team a pep talk. She met his gaze over Lily’s head, and, noticing Charlotte, smirked.

“I forgot about that,” Teddy whispered, paniked. He looked back at Charlotte. “You’ve got to tell me how she’s set up her team.”

Charlotte stepped back, thrown off by how much her friend resembled a wild animal in that moment, “Uh, well, she made Lily Seeker because of how freakishly obsevant she is. Rose is a Chaser because she’s good at strategizing thanks to chess. Same with Roxanne. Molly’s Keeped because, and I quote, ‘she’s too bloody stubborn to let the Quaffle pass.’ And then Domi and Lucy are the Beaters because they’re the most likely to be underestimated since Lucy is so sweet, and Domi can’t be bothered to actually try hard enough to make some damage.”

“And Y/N’s a Chaser,” Teddy breathed, cutting Charlotte off. Of course, it was obvious now. Y/N hated being Chaser. She was independent and being a Chaser relied to much on other people for her tastes. Teddy groaned, letting his head hang. He should have thought this through, but he hadn’t, and know he knew that he and the boys were practically done for.

“Right then,” he said, suddenly determined. There was no bloody way he was going to let Y/N win and prove him wrong. “If you could excuse us Charlie, I need to give my team a pep talk.”

Charlotte grinned, saluting him as she walked away. “Good luck, boys!”

Albus, however, was less cheerful. “You’re kidding, right Teddy? There’s no way we can beat them!”

“Sure there is!”

“Yeah, right,” Scorpious scoffed. “Y/N’s got you pegged, adn she went for the least likely team available in order to throw us off. And it worked.”

“Come on, Scorp, we’ve got one thing they haven’t.”

“What’s that?” Although nervous at the prospect at being beaten into smithereens by his older sister, Hugo was to curious to not ask the question.

Teddy threw his arms across Lysander’s and James’ shoulders, leaning in close. “We. Are. Men. No matter what those girls throw at us, we are men. Even if we lose, which we won’t, we are men. We. Are. Men. We. Are. Men. We! Are! Men!”

Teddy’s team slowly joined in on his chant, causing it to steadily grow louder until it could be heard all across the pitch. His grin grew to match the intensity of their chant as Teddy looked at his team. He was extremely proud of them. They had worked hard over the summer in preperation of The Game, and still enjoyed their daily practices. Sure, they were screwed, and Teddy was insanely angry at Y/N for being herself and doing the unexpected, but this really had been the best summer of his life, just as she had promised. 

A shrill whistle broke through their chant, and Lorcan’s lazy drawl followed it, “The Game starts now. Captains shake hands.”

“Nice chant there, Lupin,” Y/N smirked, squeezing harder than Teddy thought her capable of. “But if you want to win you should do something more empowering. Next time try ‘we are women.’”

Teddy smirked back at her, and squeezed in return, “I thought there was a rule against trash talk.”

Y/N rolled her yes. “Like Lorcan would notice.”

Teddy glanced at the blond and had to agree. Lorcan only paid attention when it benefitted him or when he felt like it. He probably wouldn’t give a damn until they were up in the air, and would stop caring as soon as they landed. 

Charlotte’s voice rang through the air. “THE SNICTH IS IN THE AIR AND THEY ARE OFF!”

“I suppose you deserve a congratulations, then.”

“Thanks, we appreciate it.”

Teddy Lupin scowled, glaring at his former best friend, Y/N Wood. It had taken three professional opinions for him to accept it, but the girls hadn’t cheated. Lorcan Scammander had told him that with his usual nonchalance. Oliver Wood had told him that with not-at-all covered elation. Ginny Potter had told him that with obvious confliction, stuck between being disappointed her godson lost and ecstatic that a team of all girls won.. 

At the moment, Teddy and Y/N were sitting next to the pond as everyone else ate dinner at the Burrow. Y/N hadn’t been able to stop grinning after Teddy had kneeled in front of her and all of they spectators and stated, quite clearly, “Y/N Wood, you were right and I was wrong. I was a sexist pighead, and all woman are superior.” It had annoyed Teddy at first, but he was steadily growing fond of her childlike pride.

“Was I right?”

“I already told you that,” Teddy groaned. And he had. In front of everyone.

“Not that,” Y/N laughed. “This summer. Was it the best one of you life?”

Teddy grinned at his friend and nodded. “Yeah, it was.”

“Good, I’m glad.” 

The two sat there in a comfortable silence for awhile, just admiring the view. Fireflies lit up the evening every now and then, and it seemed like Y/N was unable to look away from the surprisingly beautiful pond. Teddy, on the other hand, was unable to look away from her. She had taken her hair out of it’s ponytail and it now rested on her shoulders. Teddy had the rather bizzare desire to run his hands through it.

“Hey, Teddy?”

“Yeah, Y/N?”

“I think I have an idea to make it even better.”

She turned to face him, looking just as mischievious as she had when she had walked onto the pitch earlier that day. 

“And what’s that?” Teddy whispered.

“Kiss me.”

WIthout giving him a chance to reply, or even process her words, Y/N had pressed her lips to his. The kiss was short and sweet and undeniably perfect.

Once again, Y/N had shocked Teddy by doing the unpredictable. This time though, he wasn’t complaining. It really did make their summer even better.

Is this fluff? This is fluff right? I hope so. I don’t really know, but I liked it so I hope you all do as well!

-Admin Nox

anonymous asked:

Everyone lives, and rebelcaptain get pregnant and have baby, basically a happy family au :)

You know what, anon? I like your style!

  • It was expected, actually. I mean, at first they were paying close attention to her cycle, taking her temperature, all those kind of preventive stuff. But Jyn wasn’t regular to begin with, and they slipped. A LOT.
  • They never knew what was the exact time when Jyn got pregnant. Maybe that one after blowing up the second Death Star? Maybe the after war celebration? Maybe that fierce, raw, glad-to-be-alive sex they had after the dust settled down? They will never know, And they don’t really care. 
  • “Cassian, the odds that you and Jyn Erso had sexual intercourse…”  “SHUT THE FUCK UP, KAYTOO!
  • They were in a rebel base at Naboo, technically to help with the reconstruction, but they spent most of their time together. It was a period of healing and licking each other’s wounds, when Chirrut suddenly spouted “do you have baby names already?” during breakfast, puzzling both Jyn and Cassian. “What do you…”  “You better go to the medical facility for a blood test. Trust me”
  • It was the first time since the Rogue One’s first mission she saw Cassian crying. He was batshit scared. Afraid of failing, of being a lousy parent, of dying and not being there for Jyn and their kid when they most needed him. But she hugged him and spoke soft words about how they were safe and sound, and how being worried about her and their child was the biggest proof he would be a great father. 
  • “We helped building a new, safer, better world for children, Cas. Thanks to you, our baby won’t grow up afraid and alone like we did”
  • He wipes the tears off his face and smiles. “Thanks to us, my little star”
  • Jyn throws up and cries a lot during the first weeks. Cassian makes Kaytoo search in all the files he could access about how to make things easier for her, and suddenly he becomes an expert on foot massages, making candies, baking cookies and taking care of small tasks for her, like washing and brushing her hair or rubbing her back under the warm shower. 
  • Their friends start placing bets on wether they will have a boy or a girl, and that pisses them both off a lot. One day, during dinner, Cassian yells “and what if my kid is a niño or a niña, they will kick your sorry asses anyway, cabrones!
  • Goddamned pregnancy cravings. 
  • Thanks the Force they have Bodhi. The guy is a saint. Not only he puts up with all that shit, he also goes after all the weird stuff Jyn wants to eat. 
  • As her belly gets bigger, everyone is assigned to help. Baze will gladly escort his little sister and his “nibling” (since they don’t know yet if she’s expecting a boy or a girl) everywhere. Chirrut makes yoga with Jyn, according to him it will ease the pregnancy discomfort and help her body to get ready to childbirth. Kaytoo spews data about pregnancy and birthing without being asked, and when a horrified Jyn tells him to shut his fucking circuits because she’s already scared enough without statistics about children born with their umbilical cords around their necks, he gets really offended, after all, he’s trying to help!
  • After all, the big day comes. She was working with Baze, fixing an outdated blaster model, when her water broke. Hell ensued.
  • Baze’s face had *screaming internally* written all over it the whole time, but at least he tried to remain cool
  • Chirrut started running around, trying to grab Jyn’s stuff and failing miserably, because “WHY THE HELL ALL THE BAGS IN THIS PLACE FEEL THE SAME YOU SHOULD AT LEAST ADD SOME TEXTURE TO YOURS, JYN”
  • “Kaytoo, do something!”  “I have no programming about childbirth, Baze. Perhaps you should have asked Cassian to reprogram a medical droid, the odds of…”  “SHUT THE HELL UP”
  • Cassian just outright FAINTS
  • Surprisingly, Bodhi remains calm as a cucumber
  • “The third backpack left to right on the shelf, Chirrut. Baze, go grab a cup of water for her. Jyn, do you need help to climb on the Rogue?”  “I can walk, Bo. Take me out of here before my kid notices this mess and decides they won’t get out today”
  • Bodhi takes her to the medical facility, and after two hours of labour, Jyn gives birth to Hope Andor Erso
  • Hope has Jyn’s small mouth with soft pink lips, her upwards-pointing nose and almond shaped eyes. However, her eye colour is a deep, dark brown, like Cassian’s. 
  • Hope never got to meet her grandparents form either side of the family, obviously. But she had (literally) an army of aunts and uncles among the rebels, so she never felt alone, not really. Both her parents were extremely happy with that: it meant that little Hope would never be hardened by war and loneliness like them.
  • Cassian is the strict parent. Sometimes he has to stop both his daughter and his wife from doing stupid things
  • Sometimes he has to stop his daughter, his wife and his friends
  • The best part of being the strict parent, however, is that there’s no one to stop him
  • Like that time when he and Hope decided to discover how a hutt’s skin felt like 
  • Ok, that probably wasn’t his best idea, but at least they had fun and came back home in one piece
  • But not everything is perfect. Hope inherited Jyn’s talent to backtalking, learned the fine art of sarcasm with Kaytoo and trained both martial arts and supreme recklessness with uncle Chirrut. 
  • In her 5th birthday Bodhi took her for a ride on the Rogue One and let her handle the controls
  • In her 9th Baze taught her how to disassemble and assemble a blaster
  • Chirrut says she’s been blessed by the Force, and reccomends meditation to calm her fiery spirit. She’s really good at it, but meditating does nothing on calming her rebeliousness imagine Korra in the beggining of book one yeah that’s lil Hope trying to connect with the Force. It shouldn’t be a surprise, given that under that “peaceful monk” façade Chirrut is probably the most awfully devil-may-care person in the galaxy
  • Bodhi always makes her groan with terrible dad jokes
  • And he pretends to be heartbroken, like, “you used to laugh at this when you were younger!”
  • And she’s like “Uncle Bo, I was SEVEN the last time I laughed at this stupid pun”
  • And then one day she brings someone special for sunday dinner and the rebel base (that ended up becoming the Rogue headquarters) is basically turned upside down. Jyn and Bodhi tried to cook, ended up lighting the stove on fire, Baze put the fire out destroying half of the kitchen in the process. Kay is still complaining that if anyone actually heard the droid they wouldn’t let Jyn come closer than a kilometer from the stove, but no one ever hears the droid and I don’t know why I still put up with you guys. Cassian is complaining like an old cranky jedi and Chirrut went out to grab some pizza
  • After introductions are made, Bodhi’s face lights up like a candle and Hope braces herself. Here it comes. The worst joke in the existence of mankind.
  • “So, you guys are dating for how long?”
  • “For five months, Uncle Bo. We met when I wen to Jakku in that mission”
  • “Oooh, that sand-and-sun-and-death scavenger planet?”
  • “Yeah”
  • “So, I guess you could say she is…”
  • “No.”
  • “…your…”
  • “Don’t you dare”
  • “…Rey of sunshine”

anonymous asked:

Can you continue the one where Claire isn't able to speak. Love your blog!!!!

The light had almost completely deserted them before they finally came across their tavern for the night. Dougal, muttering and mumbling angrily, had hobbled his horse and stomped off to locate the inn keeper.

“Dinna mind him, lass. He’s just fashed because he had a fancy bed planned for the night, and now yer here, he has to give it up.” Jamie made sure she’d dismounted herself and could see him in the small candlelit entrance to the tap house before he spoke. Murtagh having enlightening him about ‘lip-reading’.

(‘Ye ken it has t’ be that, else how would she understand ye? Daft swine, Jamie!’)

As soon as they were safely hidden away in at the inn, Jamie went in search of parchment, quill and ink, eager to have her name. Maybe he could finally discover something about her. After all, she seemed to have gathered a fair bit of information about him without *him* even being aware of it.

In the end, there had been two rooms adjacent to one another at the tavern, which had brightened Dougal’s mood immensely, and made Jamie feel a little lighter also. Without his uncle breathing down his neck, he could relax and spend sometime getting to grips with his new acquaintance.

His uncle, being suitably riled, had landed the responsibility of her upkeep at his feet, and he couldn’t have been more pleased. There was definitely something about her, even in the short time he’d known her. Something that called to him on a very basic level.

He knocked before entering, castigating himself when he remembered that she couldn’t actually hear him.

As he pushed the door open, he saw her sat on the floor, curled close to the roaring fire. Her hair lit a fabulous shade of deep brown in the flames, the edge of her face illuminated a pale yellow. Even coated, as she was, in a fine dusting of filth and dirt, she looked mythical.

He laid the writing implements on the table closest to the door as he shut it behind him, compelled to do so. He should have been aware of the muttering and mumbling such an action would create below, but captivated as he was, he paid it no mind.

She turned and caught his eye, the flames creating an aura around her as she smiled up at him.

“Can ye write yer name for me, mistress?” He whispered, not needing to raise his voice.

She nodded, pushing herself to her feet and walking over to him in preparation.

He picked up and passed her the pen, failing to dip it in the ink first.

She smiled, dipped the nib and began to write, the scratch of the point on the parchment echoing around the now silent room.

Waiting, he watched the fire dance, longing to read what she was scrawling, but allowing her a modicum of privacy.

So taken with bursting embers in front of him, Jamie failed to notice her finish and move.

Her lips were upon his in an instant, the warm softness of them moulding against him as if forged from the same skin. She tasted sweet, of honey and French wine. He’d meant to protest, to pull away, and as such had opened his mouth to do so. She had misread that as a sign to continue, and had darted her tongue out, twisting her head to the left as he moved right.

Stepping backwards once more, she used one finger to run down the length of his stubbled jaw, a coy smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she passed him the paper and turned towards the heat of the fireplace once more.

Captivated for a moment longer, he watched her arse and hips sway, the tight fabric of her shift rising and falling as she sat herself down once more. She didn’t turn back to watch as he brought the paper up.

Her cursive was slanted, but elegant. A little like her. Completely legible despite the rudimentary pen he’d supplied her with. Running his finger over the drying ink, he hovered just over the damp black that now filled the wee sheet.

Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.” It read. That and nothing more.

“Sorcha…” he muttered, without thinking, his blurry mind regressing to the Gàidhlig.

Claire, having turned to watch Jamie, pleased that she’d managed to unravel him quite so quickly, nodded. She didn’t know very much Scots Gaelic, but her Uncle Lamb had taught her a little, along with some Irish.

Jamie brushed himself off, filtering the kiss away to unpick later, and glanced up to meet her eye once more.

“…pleased to meet ye, Claire.” He muttered, the red of his cheeks glowing in the dim false light of the room. Both of them knew it wasn’t solely from the heat, the slight pucker of his kiss-stained lips betraying him.

He bowed once and stepped back towards the door, sliding his hand along the cool wood to locate the handle. 

“Sleep well, mistress. I’ll see ye in the morning.” He said, twisting the knob and tearing himself from the room, the blood alight within him.

(*Goodnight, Jamie.*) 

She signed, long after he’d closed the door behind her. The rush of boldness keeping her up, long into the night.

The ground shook, debris began falling around her as she tucked her knees up and buried her head under her arms. The brace position caused her whole body to ache. The last sound she remembered was the loud whistle that pierced the air, a sound that was sure to echo in her dreams for years to come.

The ceiling collapsed first, the beams that had one held it steady careening to the ground with such force. Water gushed from the now shattered drains, coating Claire in a fine mist of dust and damp. Her lungs constricted painfully.

The explosion had been too close, the blast of it battering her eardrums, causing irreparable damage.

The first blast of rubble blessedly missed her. The second, however, did not. And as she fell into an eerie silence, one singular sheet of debris caught her off guard, slicing through her thin skin as it dropped.

Strong arms surrounded her and Claire flinched, her brain catching up with her eyes as she opened her lids and blinked.

Jamie had heard a thump and burst into the small bedchamber to find Claire huddled on the floor, the sheets tangled between her legs as she fought with some unknown entity. Her hands had been clasped to her ears as she’d writhed and battled with the bedlinens.

Frenzied, he hadn’t dared touch her, lest she catch herself –or him. Instead, he’d stayed close by and waited for her to calm.

And she had.

As soon as he was able, he’d slipped the thin fabric of the sheets from between her legs and pulled her to his chest. He knew she couldn’t hear him, but he’d shushed her anyway, hoping that she might feel the dull vibrations rumble through his chest

She wiped the sleep from her eyes, tipping her head up so as to see her saviour and smiled as Jamie looked down at her.

“Are ye well, Claire?” He whispered, knowing full well that she wasn’t, but not meaning to cause her anymore distress.

She nodded, swallowing back the acrid taste of bile that had risen in her throat.

She was here, she was safe; she thought to herself, over and over again. This wasn’t war, it wasn’t even the right century. The reality of that should have shaken her, but, instead, it calmed her.

There would be no bombs here. Hitler did not exist, nor would he for some time.

Leaning forward further, she placed a tender kiss against the underside of Jamie’s jaw and buried her nose against his neck. If she could wake in his arms every morning, she’d suffer through the nightmares.

Shocked by her own frankness, she sat herself up and stood from his lap.

(*Thank you, Jamie.*) 

She touched her chin, signing as he stood also.

Jamie, blushing from the tips of his ears, dusted himself off. All too quickly they were growing attached to one another, but he wasn’t about to supress his feelings. If she was willing, so was he.

“We have’ta be ready, Sorcha. Dougal wants to get back on the road as soon as dawn breaks.”

She nodded, dipping her head bashfully as he realised she had nothing more to wear.

Slipping the woolen coat from his shoulders, he passed it to her, their fingers touching just for a second as she took the jacket.

“I ken it isna much, but I’ll find ye a plaid afore we leave. Ye willna have t’ be half naked the rest of the way home.”

She smiled, her eyes alight with mischief as he backed out of the room and closed the door.

No sooner had Jamie procured her more suitable coverings, than they were on the road once more, the sound of galloping hooves and the brisk wind pounding in his ears as they rode hard.

It had been a long and arduous day. Her sweet arse was wedged comfortably between his thighs, and the steady gait of the stallion had –constantly– caused them to slide together as they rode through the thick Scottish underbrush.

Claire was so taken with his touch, the feel of his strong legs wrapped tight around hers, that she failed to take note of the massive castle that rose to view in front of them.

Murtagh pulled his godson back, tugging at his sleeve as Dougal and the others rode on through the thinning trees.

“Dinna take the wee lassie to Collum just yet, Jamie lad. Let yer uncle go in and tend to business first. Ride around the side, ye ken where, and take her below to the beaton’s auld rooms. She’ll be safe there for a while.”

Jamie grinned, a wary sort of smile that wasn’t borne of humour. “Aye, Murtagh. Yer right. Thank ye.”

Claire had better sense than to intrude, and kept her head forward, her eyes focused solely on Leoch now. It was huge, very imposing, and dark. It was late now, and the light was fading from the sky. She was glad, hopefully most of the members of the clan would be long away and she would have less eyes on her as they settled in for the night.

Jamie’s thoughts ran along the same lines as he dismounted, leaving Donas to Murtagh, and brought Claire under the walls of the castle via the secret entrance.

Turning towards her, he took both of her small hands in his large ones. “Tis only for tonight, aye? I’ll stay wi’ ye. But until clan matters have been dealt with, and I’ve thought up a good way to introduce ye, we should stay hidden.”

Claire smiled and reached her hand up to run along his cheek. He grinned back, taking that as an acceptance, and lead her into the large underground room that linked to the tunnel.

Candles burned along the walls, and the fire burned bright in the hearth. Claire ran her fingers along the exposed brickwork, making her way towards the small, single cot. She yawned, suddenly realising how tired she was.

Jamie, playing the role on constant companion and protector, strode forwards and peels the thick tartan blanket back for her.

“Ye should sleep a while now, whilst ye can, Claire.”

She did as she was bid, crawling under the blankets, her limbs heavy as lead.

(*Stay; please, Jamie.*)

He shrugged his shoulders, feeling utterly lost.

“I wish I could ken what ye needed, Claire. But I’m sorry, I dinna, and I dinna ken what yer saying.”

She blinked rapidly, her eyes sore. She didn’t sign again, only patted the side of the mattress in hopes he would comprehend her.

He did, his eyes widening at the thought.

Still, he reasoned, it was only for the one night. Nobody other than Murtagh knew where they were, what was the harm?

Laying with her, though, was a definite no. Instead he slid himself beside her, taking up temporary residence on the floor by her head. Her hand came to rest against his scalp, her finger weaving their way through his untamed locks.

“Sleep well, mo sàmhach calman*.” He mumbled, his head lolling against the wooden frame as he allowed himself to drift into an easy sleep.

*my silent dove.

Fanfiction - The Second Sighting of Sirius (Constellations series)

Because sometimes in life there are two beginnings to a story – I give you guys the Sirius sequel, from my Constellations series. I appreciate so much the love you always show me, so thank you from the bottom of my heart. Enjoy!

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The Second Sighting of Sirius

She opened her mailbox, heart franticly beating in her chest, only to find a disappointing empty space. Again.

It was alright, she guaranteed to herself. Still plenty of time for the letter to arrive with his birthday wishes. He had never failed before. Usually his letters would arrive with the morning post on her birthday, with the precision of a Swiss clock. But maybe he had been preoccupied and had delayed to post it until the last minute. Surely he wouldn’t miss her birthday. Would he?

It started eight years ago, on her nineteenth birthday. The very next year after that unforgettable moment in time in the Scottish Highlands. Sometimes when she felt lonely, particularly after Quentin Lambert’s sudden death, she would open the cherry-wood box resting on her dresser, and would read his very first letter, the paper yellow on the edges and worn out from her fingers, smiling at the bold calligraphy.

Dear Tousled Sheep,

I flatter myself to think that you remember our meeting last year. But just in case you don’t, I’ll remind you that I’m the redheaded handsome strong boy,” - Here the word had been highlighted multiple times, accompanied by a rough caricature drawing of a boy with his hair on fire. – “That saved you most gallantly in Scotland. I carried your heavy arse back to safety, with great personal risk of a pneumonia a cracked rib from laughing. And so it happens that I found myself in the knowledge that today is your birthday, for which I congratulate you most sincerely.

I promised to find you again when I’m older and wiser, but until that day I cannot prevent myself from wanting to talk to you, Sassenach. I wish to be present for your special day, even in this simple way. The fact that I had to blackmail seduce convince Mrs. Baird, the owner of the inn, to give me your address from her records shall remain forever a secret between us.  

Happy birthday, Claire! My beautiful and remarkable English lass. As I cannot manage to send a kiss in the envelope, please keep this as a token of my sincere admiration.


Jamie Fraser

She had kept that gift all those years. It was a small signet ring made of silver, yet too big to fit her slender fingers, embellished with a blossom thistle. But she wanted to keep it close to her, so she started to wear it around her neck, hanging from a delicate chain. Across the years, it became a part of her and only left the skin near her heart for imperious reasons.

Claire’s hand unconsciously moved to caress the warm metal, as she wandered around the apartment.

Her eyes were attracted to the newspaper, the massive capital letters on the cover announcing the end of an era – “War is over!”, it read. The war that had pushed her to leave her old apartment in London and seek refuge in Boston, only to be followed by the conflict shortly after. Jamie was safe now, he had to be. Finally he could go home. Finally he could write her more than astray sentences, the paragraphs screaming with the silences of things he couldn’t dare to say, his tender words a whisper of hope and longing.

He had made it a ritual of writing her on her birthday, but as time went by he started to write more often. Sometimes she would receive two letters in the same week; sometimes just once a month. Now and then only a sentence marked the paper – “I listened to a song on the telephony and thought of you, Sassenach.”; occasionally multiple pages, describing his adventures and tribulations, which she re-read with the enthusiasm she usually dedicated to a novel from her favourite writer.

With a sardonic smile, Claire remembered vividly the anguish that had accompanied her everyday, in those damned six month without receiving a letter from Jamie. Not a word for six insufferable months. It was around the time he, himself, had turned eighteen. That letter was buried in the bottom of the box, blotted marks on the paper a testimony of tears shed when the letter finally arrived.

My dear Claire,” He had written with a shaky hand.

“I kissed a girl during the festival in the village.

I promised myself I wouldn’t make excuses. I wanted to kiss her, I think. Yes, I did. But not for her. You

I owe you nothing. I know that with the rationality that sometimes manages to grace my brains. We aren’t exactly promised. We aren’t a couple. What am I to you? I’m not your boyfriend. And yet…I gave my heart to your keeping the day I met you. I cannot say I regret it. But sometimes I forget that you are real, Sassenach. That you are far more than words on letterhead paper. Sometimes I am just a man. Sometimes I just want so badly to kiss you. I’m flawed. And I couldn’t resist the urge to know what is like to touch someone in such a way.

But you are something to me. Something worth waiting for. And for that - I am sorry.


P.S. – I didn’t enjoy it much. I don’t know if it’s always so moist and uncomfortable. I’m fairly certain it would be different with y someone I loved.”

She had felt broken after that letter. Cursed him and called him the ugliest names her rich and imaginative vocabulary – learnt with great enthusiasm during years in excavations and men’s rooms - could encompass. Afterwards she cried, to the growing frustration and dismay of Uncle Lamb, unable to comprehend what news could be so devastating to her usually very practical and poised niece. But later that night, lying in bed wide awake, she had understood the challenge in those words and the value of his honesty. And she dreamt of a deep and tender voice that she had never heard before, but that reminded her somehow of a boy she once knew, whispering to her “You are something to me.”

The next day she had sat in the window seat, the soft English sun enveloping her, and had written him in a firm hand.


You fucking bastard are right – you owe me nothing. I’ve kissed many other boys too in the past, when I felt I should. Perhaps we shouldn’t imprison ourselves in promises made in youth – instead maybe we should live our lives as we see fit. And if someday we choose to bind ourselves, we will know the depth of our loss and gain.


P.S. – But I am glad you didn’t enjoy it. I shall imagine her an ugly witch girl, with a wart on the tip of her nose.”

Over time their letters became more personal. They shared almost everything with each other, even their infatuations with other people, making sure that in spite the distance between them they were always present in each other’s lives. One winter, after Jamie had written her saying he was thinking of moving to London to study - as he had acquired a growing fascination for ancient languages -, Claire had answered him trying to sound as casual as possible.

“Dear Jamie,

Maybe you should come visit me in London. We could spend some time together and I’ll give you shelter while you look at schools.



But soon after that war hatched in Europe like an evil creature, plunging everything in darkness, shattering their hopes of a reunion. Claire remembered how she had sat by the window looking outside that day, her vision blurred by tears, his letter creased in her fist, struggling to keep emptiness and fear away.


I have enlisted to serve my country. I know I promised you I would wait, but the necessity is too great. Every day I hear of people dying and losing their loved ones. Just two days ago, London was bombed again, shells dropping from the sky like deadly rain. I can’t keep hiding in Scotland, waiting for the blood to flood my doorstep.

I must!

I Lo carry you with me always.


During the war years, even after her moving to Boston, he had written to her as frequently as possible. But his words became increasingly more desperate and his last letter, delivered two months ago, was carved in her brain like a touch of black ice.


When I’m so tired I think my bones will turn into dust; when I’m so lonely even my soul aches; when I’m thirsty and hungry beyond physical pain; when I have no dreams and hopes left; when war seems to be all there was and all there will ever be; when despair calls himself my friend – even then, there is still you. You save me everyday from the abyss. I must return to you. I must kiss you, like I promised you once.

What’s left is yours,


Claire was afraid. Terribly afraid that those would be his last words, of a promise he couldn’t keep. That she would be doomed forever to live with the ghost of a great love, never fulfilled.

It was late now. No more letters would arrive and he would miss her birthday for the first time since they’ve met. She contemplated her empty apartment, the threat of another lonesome and sleepless night.

Suddenly she heard a knock on the door. A low sound, like the person knocking was hesitant about doing so. Certain that it would be Mrs. Meyers asking about her fugitive fat cat again, she immediately opened the door.

His hair had been clipped very short. She could tell because it had none of the soft waves and cowlicks that once made it look like fire caressed by the wind. He was holding his green uniform hat in his hands, his face bowed down. Claire felt a tremendous peace washing over her, no restlessness or disturbance, but something falling into place somewhere inside her.

He breathed deeply and looked up, their eyes meeting.

“Jamie.” She babbled. “You’re here.”

“Happy birthday, Claire.” He said and the deep, husky, rumble of his voice made a goosebump travel down her spine. “I’m sorry for coming uninvited, but…” He licked his lips. “I had to come.”

For the first time she realized how tired he looked. His blue eyes were surrounded by shadows, his shoulders bent like he carried an invisible weight about him. So distant of the lively boy she remembered from the Highlands.

“The war is over. They told us to go home.” He glanced at her, studying her glass face. “And so… I did.”

“I was worried about you.” She managed to say in a soft voice, watching the way his fingers tapped his thigh like a conductor setting the pace. “I was waiting for your letter.”

“This time I dinna think a letter would be enough.” Jamie answered with a light smile, that remembered her so much of the way he used to be that she wanted to cry. He was still there, somewhere. “I dreamed sae many times with this moment, finally coming to see ye…” He shook his head. “But that was before. Before the war.”

“I’m sure…”

“Nay.” He nervously fumbled with his hair, clearly still not used to its length. “I dinna ken if I have enough to give ye still. I’m not the man I was.”

They stood in silence for a moment, measuring each other.

“You are still the boy I wanted to kiss in the Highlands.” She whispered. “I just know it.”

“I thought about going away and stop writing to ye…for good.” Jamie’s left hand crossed the space between them, slowly, and delicately touched her face. Just on the spot near her lips he once had kissed, so many years before. “But I had this promise to keep.”

And before she could answer, his strong hands were around her waist, as he captured her between his arms. Roughly enough, but not as much as she wanted to, he slammed the door shut with his foot and pressed her against the hard surface. His lips touched hers, careful like a thirsty man tasting water to make sure it’s safe to drink. Jamie offered her gentleness, but it wasn’t gentleness that she wanted, not now, not after so much time. Claire’s fists knotted in his jacket, pulling him harder against her.

Jamie groaned softly and then he kissed her, in a delicious and entirely inappropriate way, his hands travelling up and down her back and waist.

Claire had been kissed before by men who did a decent job of it. But they never gave kissing their whole mind. There was always something – the desire to get to the next step with her, the underlying comparison with other girls, the concern with the technique. When Jamie kissed her, there was nothing else. It was eternal. Everlasting. He had no other plans or places to go. Just kissing her.

When they finally came apart, air long gone from their lungs, he closed his eyes and smiled against her mouth.

“I was right.” He said, in a somewhat smug voice. “It is different with someone ye love.”

“You are bloody late.” She answered, breathless, already craving the feel of him against her again. “Several years late, actually.”

Jamie smiled and fondled her neck, his fingers lightly touching the silver chain, his ring clearly in sight nestled between the curve of her breasts. Claire marvelled at the man he had become, so close to her imagination and yet so amazingly beyond it.

“I’m here now, tousled sheep.” His capable hands entangled in the riot of her hair, keeping her close, so she could see the intensity in his eyes. “I’m here to kiss ye, as ye deserve to be kissed. I’m here to touch ye, as a lass like ye should be touched. I’m here to share yer dreams and fears, yer entire life. I’m here to tell ye, I have loved ye since the first time I saw ye on that hill in Scotland, my Sassenach. And I’ll be your friend, guardian, husband, confident, lover. Claire, I’ll be everything to ye, as you’ve been to me.”

He was offering her everything this time. No more words on paper, no more longing while miles apart, no more promises without date. The future was here, now, should she take him.

Claire’s hand grabbed his, as she smiled and guided him inside her apartment, in the direction of her room.

“I think I’ll marry you, James Fraser.”