beg the pardons

anonymous asked:

Silverflint & 52?

Can I kiss you?

It’s late. Flint’s fairly sure he misheard the words Silver half-muttered across his desk.

“Beg pardon?”

Silver ducks his head and then looks directly up at him through those tangled curls of his. “You heard me.”

“I’m not sure that I did.” Or rather, he doesn’t understand why Silver would ask that, even if Flint did hear what he thinks he heard.

Flint stares him down until Silver finally blinks and laughs.

“Well, put me down as owing Dooley five pieces of eight.”

Flint takes in these words and the look on Silver’s face. “You made a wager.”

Silver nods carelessly.

“A wager on getting a kiss from me?” Flint clarifies.

There’s the faintest reddening of Silver’s cheeks, but again he nods. “It was just a simple wager.”

“Right,” Flint nods. “The sort anyone makes between their shipmates.”

“Have you tried getting a crew to like you again after they’re very much set on disliking you?” Silver glares at him.

“Yes.” Flint’s completely deadpan.

Silver blinks. “Well, in that case you should understand exactly what I was going for. It’s not the easiest task in the world, and you should understand how I’m trying-…”

Flint leans over the desk and kisses him just to shut him up.

He has his hand on Silver’s jaw as his tongue slips inside Silver’s mouth, and he feels Silver sigh softly against his lips, his tongue sliding alongside Silver’s, warm and hungry before he releases him again.

Flint draws back with a satisfactory smirk at Silver’s slightly dazed expression. “I expect half your winnings on my desk in the morning.”

“You want a two and a half gold pieces…?” Silver says after a moment.

“I do.” Flint sits back in his seat.

“That’s hardly fair.” Silver starts to protest and stops at Flint’s expression. “Very well.” He rises to go.

“Make sure to tell him it was a satisfactory kiss.” Flint murmurs.

“How would you know?” Silver mutters.

Flint lets his gaze rest pointedly on Silver’s breeches.

Silver has no response to that so he merely turns and leaves the cabin altogether. Flint just smiles as the door bangs shut. That should teach Silver about wagering with the crew, and even if it doesn’t, it’ll teach him that Flint’s more than capable  of matching whatever ridiculous wager they come up with.

If he dwells on the feel of Silver’s lips on his, well, that’s no matter. A kiss is just a kiss after all.

10

I beg your pardon, ma'am. There are entries for your wage laborers here, but I see no accounting for the others.

4

got character posters ♥ sansa stark

The Umbers gave Rickon to our enemies. They can hang. But the Karstarks declared for Ramsay without knowing they had another choice. I beg your pardon, My Lady, but they know that a Stark beheaded their father. I don’t think we can count on them either. How well do you know the North, Ser Davos? Precious little, My Lady. My father always said Northerners are different, more loyal, more suspicious of outsiders.

anonymous asked:

Either Alfor or the Queen are like "Fuck the Space Police" and add Coran to the royal line registry. Coran only finds out in the present.

I like you. Ok, so, polyverse, natch.


“Oh my, oh my, oh my, it has been so long since we have had such distinguished guests!” the tiny Turimonqua maid was chirping, her rainbow lace wings flashing in the light as she fluttered from person to person to pin their access badges to the collars of their clothing. “To think, an entire royal entourage!”

“Your mistress’ hospitality has been very impressive,” Allura said politely as she bowed, prompting the rest of them to follow suit. “Thank you for putting us up on such short notice.”

“Oh, it is no problem at all. Anything, anything at all for a king and his daughter!”

Silence.

“I- I beg your pardon, run that by me again?” Coran asked hesitantly.”

The maid produced a tiny scroll made of glimmering light. “You are Coran, first of his name, Second Father to Allura, Fourth of the Allura Title, correct?”

“I- well, yes, but I was unaware that-”

“Then it is settled! Come, come, your rooms are this way!”

“A king?!” Lance asked, gaping, as Coran paced back and forth in the common area that joined their rooms. 

“Believe me, this is just as much a surprise to me as it is to you,” he protested. “I mean… they’d always said they would, but-”

“Said they would what?” Shiro prodded.

“Well, it was always a given that if anything were to happen to their majesties before Allura came of age, I would care for her,” Coran said, and Allura took hold of his hand and squeezed. “But it was always going to have to be behind the scenes as her retainer. The nobility never would have accepted me stepping up to the throne.”

“Why not?” Pidge asked. “You were practically their second in command. Who better?”

Coran scratched the back of his neck, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Mm…”

Allura squeezed tighter. “I’m right behind you, Aipa.”

He sighed. “The fact of the matter is, Altea had a very deep split along class lines. Alfor and Illyere worked very hard to do better by the lower classes, but the nobility fought it tooth and nail. It was the scandal of scandals when it came out that the three of us had formed a relationship. Whispers ran from them slumming it to me attempting a coup from the bedroom.”

Hunk made a very unamused growl, pounding fist to palm. “Too bad we couldn’t have been around then to knock a few heads straight.”

“Hell yes,” Lance agreed, grin vicious,  and there were some grim agreeing nods.

That finally seemed to take the worst of the tension out of the room when Coran laughed. “Thank you. And to be honest, your predecessors were much the same way about it. But… there you have it.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I can’t believe they actually did it, though.”

“Well, you know how Mama loved to thumb her nose at her fellow bluebloods. There’s probably video recording somewhere of her and Papa and Archivist Michika laughing as they filed it to record.”

“Hey, I bet we could find it,” Pidge said with a wicked grin. “What do you think the search code would be?”

“Ten to one it was a present…. Aipa’s birthday.”

Coran groaned. “They would.”

“Birthday hunt for King Coran!”

“Don’t you dare start calling me that, I swear on-”

Clueless

Summary: Realization strikes you once you’re suddenly overwhelmed by your feelings for your roommate, blaming yourself for being so clueless all along to see what was really infront of you.

Word Count: 1,931.

A/N: Enjoy this Roommate!Bucky fic I decided to come up with. Surprisingly, I really like how it came out. Hope you enjoy! And as always, feedback would be greatly appreciated.

Originally posted by buckynsebimagines

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

After Claire reveals the truth to Jamie about who she really is, he replays the day they met in his mind to see it from a new perspective.

Hail Mary

Premise: What if Jamie and Claire had 1) been more openly affectionate, and 2) not *had* to get married?

Part I  Part II  Part III Part IV Part V 



Part VI 

He couldn’t get enough air. 

No, he wasn’t just suffocating. He was being suffocated, being pressed downward, screaming, but with no one to hear, no mercy from those cruel hands pinning him down. He struggled against them, struggled against the evil and the darkness of —

And then he was free and Jamie roared upward, lunging for his attacker’s throat. 

He came awake in mid-air, the cold air hitting his bare legs, reality still swirling and shifting in the darkness as he flung the intruder flat on the bed, pinning THEM, choking them with— 

“Ja—MIE—” came a strangled female voice, throat muscles working desperately beneath his hands. “—s’—ME!”

CLAIRE.

He leapt backward off her and off the bed so violently that he staggered and would have toppled onto his backside if he hadn’t caught onto the tall dresser. He steadied himself and his mind, though both were reeling: 

Leoch 

His chamber 

Dead of night 

Claire Beauchamp 

on his bed

She had sat up, and in the dim, flickering light, Jamie could see that she was clad only in her shift, a flimsy shawl underneath her on the bed. 

His heart thundered—melted— to see her; to see how lovely she was; to feel how deeply she roused him; to be hit with the aching of how much he wished to touch her—take her in his arms and tell her how much—how deeply, painfully—he’d missed her these last three weeks—

But the ice around his heart solidified again almost instantly, the ice that had kept him sane for those three weeks; the ice that would continue to keep him alive as long as he was forced to see her around Castle Leoch, until he could get himself away to Lallybroch, away from her. 

And yet despite everything, that very ice shuddered to see the fear in her golden eyes, her hands clutched at her throatDespite everything she’d done and said, his heart contracted with panic. His voice came out urgent and strangled. “Have I hurt ye, Mistress?” 

She dropped her hands at once and shook her head quickly. “No, just startled. I’m not hurt, Jamie,” she said more firmly, seeing him unconvinced, searching her skin for marks. “I promise. I’m alright.” 

“Aye, well…I’m glad of it. I’m—I beg your pardon for—” he made a vague gesture toward the bed. “Ye took me unawares from my dream, and—I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” she repeated, giving him a weak smile. “No harm done.” 

He nodded, but the ice was firmly back in pace. “Tis time for ye to take your leave, Mistress Beauchamp.”

“No.” 

He shouldn’t have been surprised, not in the slightest.

“Mistress, ‘tis the middle of the night.  D’ye have any idea what they’d say if ye were found in my—” He took a step toward her. “Your reputation would be ruined.”

Her expression was hard, yet still somehow flippant in that damnable way of hers as she shrugged, “Don’t have a very good reputation to uphold, anyhow.” 

“Dinna be joking about,” he snapped, holding out his hand. “Come. NOW.”  

 “I’m not leaving. And before you threaten to carry me out yourself—” she said loudly, JUST as he’d been opening his mouth to do just that, “—know that if you so much as try, I’LL scream at the top of my lungs and see who comes running. I don’t give a rat’s arse about my reputation, and I’M willing to let the chips fall as they may. Do you want me to do that?” 

Damn her. DAMN her. 

No.” 

“Well then,” she said, raising her eyebrows, “look’s like I’m staying.” 

Defeated and all the more angry for it, he threw his hands up in the air. “What in God’s were ye doing creeping about touching me in the night, anyway?”

She glared at him. “To talk to you, of course.”

Talk?” He rubbed his hands backward through his hair to keep from throttling her in earnest. “Have ye no scruples, woman? Christ, there are proper times and places for—”

“Oh, there ARE, are there? DO be a dear and tell me when and where those might be, won’t you?” She made a sound of deep derision and crossed her arms sharply, apparently as angry and barely-restrained as he. “Jamie, you’ve spent THREE BLOODY WEEKS ignoring me—what else was I supposed to DO??”

*Avoiding* you, mo nighean donn; not ignoring you.

But avoid her, he had, and quite effectively, at that. Colum’s explicit instructions had been that she was not to leave the castle walls, nor had she, else she certainly would have come to find him at the stables, where he had spent every possible moment, save sleeping and mealtimes, though he’d contrived to eat at odd hours. She had tried half a dozen times to approach him, in the corridors, in the great hall, in the courtyards, but he’d said no more than a cool, “Mistress,” of acknowledgment as he took his leave.

Avoided, aye; never ignored. He had been as aware of her as of the daylight, her presence and absence fundamentally guiding his thoughts and activities. She was his light, whether he willed it or no. 

“What else was I supposed to DO, Jamie?” she was repeating, now standing just a few feet from him, moving with him as he stepped to and fro away from her, to MAKE him look at her.

He did look at her, hard. “Leave me be. That’s what.” Just go away. Go away from this Castle and rid me of the torment of having you near.

Jamie!” Frustration and desperation were battling for dominance in her wearied voice. “We HAVE to talk!”

“We dinna have to do any such thing. And, by all the saints,” he exclaimed, gesturing wildly at her body, desperate for anything to throw her off the scent, “even if we did, did ye have to come practically naked?? You’re in naught but your—” (thin-as-an-April-breeze) “—SHIFT and I’m—” 

He could feel the draft from the window sneaking up his legs, caressing every inch of bare flesh under his shirt, and his face burned

“—I’m not presentable.”

She didn’t budge an inch. “Put some damed clothes on, then.”  

When he didn’t immediately make a move, she rolled her eyes, turned, and walked to the bed, snatching up her shawl and jerking it around her shoulders and pulling it around her. 

Breasts now covered, she raised a defiant eyebrow.  He glared at her, but finally decided that even if he should risk her threats and carry her bodily into the hall and bolt the door behind, best to do so with breeks on. He threw open the trunk at the foot of the bed and rummaged until he found a pair, turning from her as he laced them.

“Can we talk now?” she said, as he turned back to face her.

In contrast to her evident amusement, his own voice was low and nasty. “Go ahead.”

She blinked and dropped her eyes to her crossed arms. 

A dhia, how he despised himself in that moment—he wasn’t the kind of man that spoke this way to women, not least of all to a woman that he—but Jamie simply couldn’t shake the anger and hurt that coursed through him at the sight of her. She didn’t want him for a husband—fine; but could she not just stay away? Go away. Just go away. 

When she spoke, she met his eye straight-on, quiet, but determined. “Thank you. For helping me talk my way out from under Colum and Dougal,” her eyes were shining with sincerity. “I truly couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You’re welcome. Anything else, Mistress?” He gestured toward the door.

She threw up her hands. “Jamie, for heaven’s sake will please just hold your goddamn horses and give me a chance, here? I’ve got things I need to ask you!”

He bowed his head. Stop being a child, Fraser.

“What is it ye wish to know, mistress?”

She heaved a breath and let it out, preparing herself, shivering. He strode to the fire and stoked it, to give them both a moment for it. The light danced on her face as he turned back to her, her face strained and urgent with her questions.  “Why did you help me with your uncles? After all I—You didn’t have to tell them anything. You had every reason to just leave me to my own fate. Why?”

He shrugged, uncomfortable, still fingering the poker. “Didna wish to see ye come to harm.”

“Harm?” That genuinely startled her. “You think they would have….ordered me tortured, you mean?”

“Perhaps not Colum….” He chose his words carefully. “But ye have—not the faintest idea of the—the depth of the hatred Dougal bears the English, even more than most Scots. If he truly believed ye to be passing on dangerous information…” 

He shrugged again. He had no doubt that she would have come to some form of harm, whether at the hands of the MacKenzies or the English, had he not interceded. No matter how deeply she had hurt him, he didn’t wish to see any ill befall her. Not ever.

“And do they truly believe you?”

“Aye, they do.”

She nodded slowly, then suddenly dropped her eyes and began fingering the hem of her shawl. “The ‘allegiances’ you spoke of…Was that…” Christ, she was squirming like a worm on a hook, “were you talking about Laoghaire?”

He snorted. “Certainly NOT.” The look on her face made him realize too late that infatuation with Miss MacKenzie would have been a perfect ruse to hide behind; but then again, Miss Beauchamp always had a knack with catching him off guard. Without waiting for her to press, he grudgingly added, “It was my allegiance to Colum of which I spoke. That’s why he took it to heart as he did”

“To Colum?” 

He couldn’t shake the glow that had lit the ice around his heart when her face had lightened instantly at his disavowal of Laoghaire MacKenzie. 

He cleared his throat, squeezing the poker. “Colum wishes that I should succeed him as clan chieftain, someday.”

“Oh! Oh, that’s—Jamie, that’s wonderful!” She looked genuinely delighted and impressed. “Such a great honor.”

“Perhaps, though it’s a honor I dream not of.” 

“No?”

“I’ve no intention of leading the clan, at least not until after Dougal’s tried his hand at it. He’d skin me alive for taking ‘his’ position, and I’ve no desire to start a clan war. The easiest way is for me to remove myself. Colum doesna ken that, yet, though.” 

“But how does—? What does that have to do with…?” 

“My taking a Sassenach wife—” the word cut his throat like glass, “—would have negated my eligibility for clan leadership outright.”

She dropped her eyes. “I see.”

Aye, I would have done it in a heartbeat, mo ghraidh.

He cleared his throat again. “And so, while Colum and Dougal dinna yet trust that you’ve no other motive for being amongst us, same as before, they do believe my tale about why ye fled.”

Why she fled.

“I had a LIFE, and I’m far past due to return to it!”

“I don’t need your ‘protection,’ Mr. McTavish.”

And still, most cutting of all, the coldness in those golden eyes as she had said: “You were mistaken.”

“I don’t expect your forgiveness,” she was saying, still facing him boldly, though he could see her twisting the fabric of her shawl again, faster and harder. “I don’t even expect you to speak to me again after this. And I’ll go, tomorrow, if that’s what you want.” 

Christ, she meant it. she would leave. 

Aye, Sassenach, just go. 

“I’ll tell your uncles to hand me over to the English and be done with it. It doesn’t bloody matter anymore.” 

Dinna leave me. 

He thickened the ice around his heart. 

“But—” A deep breath, and then her voice was softer. I can’t go another day without saying...I’m so sorry, Jamie.”

The depth of feeling in her voice was powerful enough to catch the breath in his throat… but the ice was powerful too. He only managed a quiet, hard, “What for?”

“For acting the way I did, the night I left. I was…” She paused, shaking her head, “—vicious….and you didn’t deserve that. Not at all. You are—were… are my friend, and I had no cause to treat you in such a fashion.” She took another deep, ragged breath. “The thing is—”

“Let’s just leave it be, aye?”Jamie didn’t think he could bear this. He moved from the fireplace to the window on the far side of the bed, quickly, that she might not see his face. “I accept your apology. There’s no point discussing it further, Mistress.”

“No point?” she whispered from behind him.

His anger flared and he had to grit his teeth. “Ye told me in no uncertain terms, that night, what your feelings were, Claire. Whether or not ye should have been nicer about it is truly neither here nor—”

“But Jamie—” He could hear her moving closer to him, her voice now with an edge of eager desperation. “—I had good reason to leave, I swear it, but—the most important thing you have to hear is—” Her voice was tremulous with emotion. “— you weren’t mistaken—and I came back for you.” Her hand came to rest softly on his arm.

“Jesus, Claire, can ye no’ hear yourself?” He threw off her touch and twisted to face her, hating the rage and scorn coursing through him, but feeling utterly powerless to halt its path. “So, your grand plans of returning to your old life came to naught, and ye came crawling back to Leoch because ye imagined I would be better than nothing, aye?” 

“Jamie,” she whispered, horrified, “it isn’t like that.”

“Oh, no?”

“No, you bastard!” she hissed, on the brink of tears, following behind him as he stormed back to the hearth. “it BLOODY isn’t!”

“Tell me, then, Claire,” he demanded, keeping his voice low. He’d come to stand behind the big armchair—to put some goddamn space between them— and he gripped the back of it hard with both hands to ground himself, “where did ye go?”

Silence. Fear in her whisky eyes. He could see the lie forming, see her closing against him in that glass face. 

“Ye left with haste and wi’ a purpose,” he pressed. “Why?”

Her eyes were down. Her head was shaking hard, fast. “I—I can’t tell you why.”

“You could.” 

“I CAN’T!” 

He nodded, shaking all over. “Then why on EARTH should I trust your word?”

She looked up with glassy eyes.

WHY?” he repeated, more angrily, more pained with every choking syllable “When ye sleep in my arms, hold me wi’ your head on my chest of a morning and then shun me twice to my face before the next sunrise? When your face and your body told me one thing, and then your words another?” His hands were fists, quaking with fury and pain. “When ye STILL willna tell me where it is ye came from or where it is ye went? Why should I believe a word you say, Claire?” 

Silence. 

“TELL ME!!”

“You shouldn’t.” 

Her sudden quiet startled him and he searched her face. No longer angry and defensive, no longer controlled. He watched it fall, moment by moment, into a blank of despair.  She continued her descent, apparently helpless to stop it, and sank down onto the trunk at the foot of his bed. “You shouldn’t—you have no reason to believe me.” She released a gasping sob and buried her face in her hands. 

A long silence, punctuated only by the heart wrenching sounds of her sudden brokenness. 

Heart-wrenching. His heart was wrenching apart to see her in pain. 

He tried to be indifferent, to see in this another charade; but after a long moment, he couldn’t help but speak, to reach out to her. “Claire?”

She gave no answer, only wept harder and shook her head back and forth.

Another minute. 

“Why d’ye say I shouldna believe ye, Claire?”

Silence. 

Gently. “Why?” 

Why, mo nighean donn

“Because—” Heaving breaths. Crying. “If I told you the—truth, Jamie—the real, actual truth,” she sobbed still harder into her hands, her voice a strangled wheeze, “You’d never believe me…you’d think me completely—completely mad…”

Would he? Could he ever believe this marvel of an individual to be out of her mind? A lunatic? No. That simply couldn’t be. Whatever it was that she’d concealed, whatever it was she didn’t want to tell him, needed to tell him—it was truth. 

Slowly, he moved from behind the chair, slowly settled beside her on the trunk. 

She exhaled, moved and overcome. “Jamie….”

He couldn’t touch her, wasn’t sure what he would do if he touched her; but he was glad that she knew he was  near. She was right, after all: whatever else passed between them, she was his friend. “I’m here. Tell me….lass.”

Lass. 

It was the first time he had called her anything close to an endearment since she’d returned to Leoch—no, since the night she left—and the saying of it—Christ, it sent a bolt of blazing lightning into the ice around his heart. 

My lass

The crack was deep, deep enough so as not to be repaired, smoldering, spreading.  

My own lass. 

“The woman of Balnain.”

“The—what?”  She had blurted it with no preamble, and he yanked himself back from the melting of his heart to try to understand. “The—Welshman’s song? What of it?”

“I am the woman of Balnain.”

He gobbled for a moment, looking sidelong at her. “Well, the—the words actually translate more to ‘I am the wife of the laird of Bal—”

She shook her head, eyes squeezed tight. “No. No, that’s not what I mean.” 

“I…dinna understand.” 

“I. AM. her.” she whispered, looking up at the ceiling and blinking hard.  “I, Claire Beauchamp, AM the woman of Balnain.”

The room seemed to crystallize and go silent. Even the fire was muted out, a faint humming in the distance. 

“The truth…Jamie….The truth is that I am not of this time.” She was still shaking with sobs but was nonetheless speaking with an intensity that he’d never heard from her, not ever before.  “I woke up one morning in the year nineteen hundred and forty-five…and I landed in seventeen forty-three.” She could barely get the words out. “I woke up in Inverness and went searching for a flower I’d seen on the hill of standing stones…” 

She recited the eerie song, her voice—God, her voice—

“I stood upon the hill, and wind did rise….
I placed my hands upon the tallest stone
and travelled to a far, distant land,

….but Jamie….it wasn’t a ‘distant land.’ It was a distant time. The eighteenth century.”

He was gaping at her. She gave another desperate sob, her eyes boring into him, despairing. “That’s the truth, Jamie; The truth of where I came from. I—traveled—back—traveled here—in time.” 

Nineteen hundred…and forty….

Back… 

in time….? 

There were tales, of course—folk being stolen away by the fairies and being taken to times not their own—

—but as an educated man, he’d always—surely those were only—

But with a jolt akin to being kicked by a great beast, all of it flooded into his mind at once, bowling him over: 

The strange shift she had worn

Her lack of friends and relations

Her inability to account for her background, her intentions among us

The way she had asked for the town, that night we’d found her—a town that must have been visible, two hundred years hence

The way even the most common words and customs seemed foreign to her

The daft words she herself had used

The way this remarkable woman had fallen into his life….

The way this woman like no other he’d ever encountered in his lifetime…

“I was born in nineteenth hundred and eighteen,” she was saying intently, breaking apart, “I was born two hundred years from now.” She make a desperate sound at his silence—anger—fear—tragedy. “Jamie, do you hear me?”

But Jamie heard her words as though from under water; silently reciting the rest of the Welshman’s song

But one day, I saw the moon come out
and the wind rose once more,
so I touched the stones
and travelled back to my own land
and took up again with—

“You’ve been trying to get back to him,” he moaned, the horror and the grief of it washing over him in a landslide, “’the man ye left behind.’

She gasped, then gaped at him, utterly dumbstruck. She couldn’t speak for a long time. Nor could he; could only hear the wailing of his heart. 

When she did finally find her voice, it was strangled and tear-choked. “You—believe me??”

“Aye,” he said at once, his own voice far from strong, but confident in that, at least. “I do believe ye, Sassenach.”

Beyond the memories, all the evidence of her otherness running through his mind like a vision, he could see it in her eyes; he could see it in the slant of her shoulders, broken, but no longer on guard, no longer holding back; he could see it across her glass face, finally free of secrets and lies. Finally free. Aye, he believed her…

…and the truth broke his heart all over again, into more pieces—millions more—than they’d been before. She was married. She wasn’t free to give her heart—Nor had she been; not from the first moment he’d laid eyes upon her. Claire Beauchamp was another man’s wife. 

“Forgive me, lass,” he murmured, rising and going to the fire, trying to keep his voice from breaking, to keep from showing her his despair. He understood, now; understood why she had acted the way she had, but the pain was too great. He had only enough strength left to appear strong. “Stay here for the night—I’ll find another bed.” 

“Forgive?” came her voice behind him, truly bewildered. “Whatever for?”

He had tears in his eyes and he blinked them away fiercely, gritting his teeth. “I canna even bear to think of the—the fool I made of myself in your eyes back wi’ the rent party. Proposing marriage, professing love, when ye already had—”

“No!” she said, jumping to her feet and wiping her own tears away, hard. “Jamie, no, please—that’s what I’m trying to tell you—you weren’t a fool.” 

She came close to stand beside him, and after a long pause, she took his hand. “Jamie…..you… weren’t mistaken.”

He wasn’t—? He hadn’t been—?

He couldn’t shake off her touch. Couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t even move at all from the inrush of feeling and hope and—

“I felt—just the same as you, Jamie—” she said, carefully but firmly through her tears and emotion. “—from the—God, the first time you held me here at Leoch,—From then onwards, I felt what it was between us.”

A Dhia, just slay me now, lass. Kill me here and let my heart be gone, rather than this torture. He felt like a boy, so eager for her love, and so frightened to hope for it.

“That’s why I left that night—” She was squeezing his hand so hard it hurt, and was staring up at him, her eyes unblinking and spilling with tears. Jamie was staring into the fire, trying to keep control of himself, but she wouldn’t look away. “—because I cared for you too and I felt—” She gave a wracking sob, “—so ashamed because it was like he—my husband—like Frank never—even existed to me—” 

She cares for me. 

She cared for me all along. 

“—And so when you—when you said those things—poured out your heart to me, and I—wanted to pour mine out to you—and I had to get away—and I ran—”

He was squeezing her hand to keep from flying apart. 

She ran because she felt she must 

She cares for me. 

“—and I was praying the whole time I rode it would have been a dream—that I would touch the stones and wake up, but it wasn’t a dream—you were real—and what I felt for you was real—”

—Jesus—

“—but I couldn’t have lived with myself if I’d come back—”

She ran because of duty .

Her hand in his shook. His hand in hers shook. 

Claire cares for me, too.

“—then I got to the stones and I—couldn’t get through—” She was sobbing, harder than she had yet sobbed in his presence, panic and weariness overtaking her such that she swayed next to him. “—I couldn’t get back—was pounding on that stone for hours—hours—but I—I couldn’t get—couldn’t—”

“Oh, lass—” And before he could stop himself, he was clutching her tight against him, comforting her, holding her, trying to shield her from the sobs that wracked her body.  “I’m so sorry…Claire, I’m so sorry…”

God, and he was, too. The pain and turmoil she’d undergone, that had been tearing her apart with no one to help keep her sane; no one to keep her from being alone. He held her, forcing himself to think only of her. “It’s alright….shhhh, it’s alright… Christ, I’m so sorry.” 

She pressed her cheek hard into his chest. “Jamie, I was so ashamed.” 

“Ashamed? Lass, you’ve nothing to be—”

She pushed back from him and staggered away toward the fire,  just far enough to look him in the eye,. “Because I was relieved—Jamie— I was RELIEVED that I couldn’t go back to him—” She raised her hands aimlessly to the level of her eyes, watching them quake. “—RELIEVED—and I think part of me will be ashamed of that all my life—But I don’t care.”

Jamie didn’t say a word, just let his eyes cling to the sight of her face, open and breaking along with his. ‘Breaking,’—no, he was being utterly torn apart by the gathering of joy and hope, the banishing of the anger and pain. His heart was a gushing torrent, now—the skeleton of the ice wall still standing, but with the current clearly visible beneath, roaring to be free. 

“The fact is that I was relieved. Relieved that I could come back to you.” 

She cares for me 

She left from duty. 

She came back. 

She—

“Jamie….?” she begged, repeating the word like a prayer of supplication. “Jamie…..?”

“Aye?” he croaked.

“Jamie, I’m so sorry—I hate what I did to you— the look on your face when I denied you and—shamed and—wounded you—it killed me—”

“Dinna spare a thought for it,” he started to say, but she quieted him, begging to be allowed to speak uninterrupted.

“—And I can’t bear how this will seem—Like it does seem,” she amended. “You said it yourself: my plans fell through and I’ve come crawling back to you. But that isn’t true.” She took a deep breath and her eyes spoke true to him as she said, strong and clearly even through the gasping and the tears: “I love you, Jamie.”

The ice wall shattered. 

She loves me. 

She loves me. 

SHE LOVES ME. 

“I love you—” she was saying, over and over crying, laughing as the joy of it rushed through her,”—and I care for you—and I respect you, and—” She reached a hand toward his face. “— and I want to marry you.” 

Before he could reach back to her, she was kneeling before him, taking his hand, bowing her forehead over it. “I haven’t anything—I’m no one, in your world— but all I have, and all I will ever have, they’re yours—if you’ll still have me.”

Later, he never would quite recall the exact moment when he moved; the thoughts that went through his head at seeing Claire before him, asking him to share her life. All he could recall was the feeling of her in his arms, the burning in his heart as he crushed her to him; the way he could barely speak the most important words of his life: 

“Yes, mo chridhe—All my life, yes.”

And then he was kissing her. He was kissing her and kissing her and kissing her and feeling her pressed against him. Feeling her kissing him back, the joy and relief in her tears. Sinking back into the armchair, letting her straddle him, holding her and kissing her and drinking her into him.

The rasp of her voice as she clutched his face and groaned into his mouth. “I want to stay with you. I need to be beside you tonight.”

The agony of forcing himself to slow, to still. “No, lass, ye must go now,” he whispered, though his traitorous body kissed her deeper and pulled her closer. “Else I’ll have ye here…now…..”

“Have me,” she moaned, bringing his hand up to her breast—Jesus Christ, the nipple was hard, shockingly firm even through her shift, and she groaned so exquisitely as he ran his thumb round and around it, as she moved her hips against him with shocking urgency. “—Have me—Jamie, please—”

He felt those words strike directly down into his cock and he thought he would die of wanting her, but he managed a soft laugh and pulled away. She gave a growl of urgent protest, of need, and he felt the same rip through his own body at remaining separated from her another moment…but he forced himself to take her face in his hands. “Ye must go. Because as much as I want to be inside ye right now—you’re so much more to me than that, mo chridhe.”

He kissed her, slowly and gently. Kissed the tears on her cheeks. Felt her kiss his as her fingers ran across his face, his hair, claiming him as she settled, quieted to a slow burning, her forehead against his. “What does it mean?” she whispered, her hair falling ‘round them. “Mo…cree?”

Mo chridhe. My heart.” He leaned his forehead against hers; the tip of his nose against hers. “It means, my heart.”

She took his face, then, her words strong and sure. “You’re more to me than that to me, too; than anything else, anyone else… mo chridhe, Jamie.


[to be continued]

…I’M ALIVE.

Too many things (bad, especially) happened in my life and I was able to draw only occasionally, and I could not focus on the giveaway fanarts I promised to do, I have sketched them all but didn’t finish them yet. Now it’s all going better and I will go back working on them as soon as I can, I beg your pardon for the delay. Since I’m Genji x D.Va trash here is a Valentine’s mini-comic I made before. I’ll also reply to all the messages with time ;;

Inspired to  @albanananana​ sfm where D.Va gives Genji a pack of Doritos (^;

8

The Umbers gave Rickon to our enemies. They can hang. But the Karstarks declared for Ramsay without knowing they had another choice. I beg your pardon, My Lady, but they know that a Stark beheaded their father. I don’t think we can count on them either. How well do you know the North, Ser Davos? Precious little, My Lady. My father always said Northerners are different, more loyal, more suspicious of outsiders. 

"I love you too, by the way"

1k, Belle and Adam One-Shot, ff.net
A one-shot of the scene (and conversation) that must have occurred between the kiss and the reunion with the servants. Set after the 2017 film, but it really applies to the original also.

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Hail Mary, Part VIII

Premise: What if Jamie and Claire had 1) been more openly affectionate in those early days, and 2) not *had* to get married?

Part I  Part II  Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII



“Betrothed,” Jamie rasped as the clockwork wheels thudded into place in his mind. 

The Grants.

The delegation of Grants that Colum had been—

Colum nodded, smiling calmly, but his eyes were still narrowed in razor-sharp suspicion. “All settled, save the vows, and that comes tomorrow.” 

TOMORROW.

Colum had arranged for—

Fury. Raging, blistering fury tore through Jamie, and he had to grip the arm of his chair to keep from letting it explode from him. “Might I ask, uncle,” he said, with what he hoped was a good approximation of cordiality, “why ye didna think to seek my counsel on this before matters were ‘settled.’”  

The laird paused only a moment before answering, cool and collected. “Ye should be thanking me, wee Jamie. This is a good match. An important match.” 

“Important enough that it didna occur to ye to even ask my leave before selecting a wife for me?” Jamie tried to keep his voice steady but the waves of anger lurked barely below the surface. “Before determining the course of the remainder of my life?”

Colum’s words were still quiet, but as sharp as a knife blade through the still of the room. “You’re to be laird, Sheumais MacBrian. If it’s the remainder of your life, it’s the next life of the clan as well. As future leader of the MacKenzies, your life is not your own, anymore.”

Jamie snapped. 

“I’ve no intention to be laird, and my life is no one’s save my own, God’s, and those who have claim to my protection. I came here today only to inform ye that I’ve proposed marriage to Claire Beauchamp and she’s accepted.”

The silence before Colum spoke was excruciating. “Explain yourself,” he said delicately. “…boy.” 

“’Boy,’ it is?” Jamie couldn’t help a wry, scornful laugh. “A moment ago, I’m to be laird, and now –“

“And now,” Colum interrupted, his voice still alarmingly controlled, but the eyes showing the fire about to pour forth, “like a child, you’ll answer to your elders for your actions.”

Jamie bit back a retort that would certainly have sounded childish, and instead chose to remain silent.

Colum’s eyebrows were knitted hard. “She’s wi’ child, then?”  

“No! Christ—God in Heaven, no!” Jamie’s shock and embarrassment made his voice squeak like a wee lad. “I’ve no’ lain wi’ her. I swear it on my mother’s grave,” he said more sharply. 

“Doesna matter to me if you’ve swived a hundred lassies,” Colum said. “What matters is that ye deliberately deceived me here in this room three weeks ago in implying that your allegiance to the clan outweighed any liaison between you and Mistress Beauchamp.”  

Jamie couldn’t remain stoic in the face of Colum’s quietly seething wrath. “Aye, I did deceive ye, uncle, though wi’ no malice in my heart. See, it—” He took a deep breath. Everything, then. “I said those words in anger, but the feelings between Mistress Beauchamp and me are mutual, and have been growing for some time. On the road wi’ the rent party, we had a misunderstanding, and she left—then had a change of heart and chose to come back to see if the two of us might set things right. My heart was hard against her, that day here in the study wi’ Dougal, as you certainly will have seen, and I said what I did only so you and Dougal would understand the true reason why she left, and that there was no cause to suspect her of treachery.” He met his uncle’s eye directly. “But two days ago, Claire and I did set things right—more than right—and she agreed to become my wife.”

Colum nodded and reached for a quill. “An agreement that can easily be broken.”

Jesus, the calm and heartlessness of that statement. He all but snarled at his uncle,  “Absolutely not.”

“We’ll provide her wi’ a pension, if we must, to see that she’s—”

“No.” He was practically shouting, barely able to keep his seat. “I love her, uncle. I love Claire—and I came to speak wi’ ye today to tell ye so, and tell ye of my intention to marry her. I had no inkling of your designs for an alliance wi’ the Grants, and I’m sorry for the ill timing, but I’d never have consented even if Mistress Beauchamp were no’ involved. I’ll not be swayed—not for any price.”

Colum’s steely calm snapped and he snarled, leaning forward, white with rage, his finger pointed in accusation at Jamie’s face. “I got you your freedom—”

“Uncle, ye must—”

“—saved you from the noose, from rotting in prison,” he snarled, shaking his head slowly, like a beast about to charge, “and this, THIS is how ye repay me?”

“And I’m verra grateful,” Jamie said, marshaling his voice into calm, “but I didna—”

“Did ye think that I would risk my neck and clan and name only out of the goodness of my heart? Did ye think there would be no obligation expected of ye in return, boy?”

“If I deigned to presume,” Jamie hissed between teeth clenched so hard as to be painful, “the love for your own flesh and blood was enough to prompt such a kind deed, I do most humbly beg your pardon.”

“Love without duty is pure fancy,” Colum said bluntly. “Which is why ye will not be marrying Mistress Beauchamp.”

“I will be. You have my word on it.”

Colum’s mouth quirked up into a wry smile, the steely calm controlling his features once more. “Ye truly think ye can do this to me again wi’ no consequences?”

Again?” Jamie laughed mirthlessly. “To my knowledge, I’ve never turned down a marriage arrangement from ye before.”

“But your mother did.”

Jamie stepped back and pressed his lips together. Jesus, he hadn’t stopped to think on it, but she’d—

“Aye, you’ll ken the story,” Colum said, his eyes alight with a near-maniacal gleam. “Betrothed to one Malcolm Grant, and then up and decides she’d prefer to sneak off and swive in the heather wi’ your bastard father. And what your *bastard* father may not have told you bairns round the fireside—“

“Do NOT use that word in my presence.”

“—is that her actions, her heedlessness and SELFISHNESS nearly started an all-out war wi’ the Grants.” Colum thudded his fist onto the table. “This alliance is the reparation for that VERY slight, boy, and an end to the thirty years of bad blood between our clans that came of it. All that and more will be mended when you join wi’ Malcolm Grant’s daughter. I’ll no’ have it ruined because some Sassenach happened to walk her fine arse in front of ye.”

Jamie was already on his feet and gripping his dirk before realizing what he was doing. Colum’s look was defiant, as though daring Jamie to make him summon the guards. He couldn’t very well fight for Claire in a dungeon cell, and they both knew it fine.

Jamie clenched his hands behind his back and stared down at the MacKenzie across the wide desk. “If the marriage alliance was of such great importance, and ye esteem my leadership highly enough to have wished me to be laird one day, then ye ought to have spoken to me of Miss Grant previously, and no’ just have assumed I’d agree to throw my life away by wedding a stranger.” Jamie’s voice was calm. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m no’ your son, Colum; nor am I your logical successor, nor a ward, that ye might command me to bow to your will. I canna take responsibility for the choices of my departed mother—” Colum scoffed, and Jamie raised his voice, “—NOR will I be bound by an obligation I learned of scarce FIVE MINUTES ago. I SHALL go to Lallybroch with Mistress Beauchamp, where I’ll make her my wife and nothing you or Dougal can say shall—”

“Then it’s a good thing I sent word to the English garrison yesterday.”

Jamie’s blood froze. “What?”

Colum steepled his fingers, such a casual gesture Jamie wanted to reach across the desk and throttle him. “Oh, aye. About our mysterious Mistress Beauchamp, indicating my suspicions as to her character and purpose on my lands, and asking that they come and collect her, she being an English citizen, after all.” 

How could ye— how could—?“ His words choked off in rage. Claire, dragged to Fort William. Claire, in the hands of that monster, Randall. “How could ye have done such a thing, uncle?”

“Claire Beauchamp is nothing to me, to this clan, to you, save a liability. And while ye may not be my son, ye pledged me an oath, and you’ll honor it by arriving in the great hall tomorrow noon to make the formal oath to your betrothed in front of her father and the clans so that the wedding plans might commence, else…” He trailed off, leaving Jamie to imagine what the consequences for disobedience might be.

It hadn’t been an oath that Jamie swore those weeks ago, and Colum MacKenzie knew it just fine. A pledge to obey while on MacKenzie lands: Colum KNEW it was no more than that, and yet here he was, manipulating Jamie with such precision, to have him bound and trussed with no more than a word. Christ, that he should ever have been thought fit to take over the clan from this conniving man.

“Promise me you’ll not turn her over to the English,” Jamie demanded, his head was spinning. “Swear to me that you’ll send another message, telling them it was a misunderstanding— that Mistress Beauchamp is no longer under suspicion.”

Colum considered, then nodded. “I’ll send it by rider tomorrow. After you’ve made your formal vow to Edina.”

Jamie breathed. Just breathed, focusing on the filling of his chest. 

He rose and bowed to his uncle. 

“Then, I’ll abide by my word, my chieftain.”


Jamie was kissing me and it wasn’t a dream. Thank the bloody Lord: I’d had it up to here with dreaming. I reached up and twined my fingers in his hair, moving my hips up against him. He moaned into my mouth and slipped his hand under my head. When I grappled for him, though, he laughed and pulled back. “Oh Jesus fucking Christ, Jamie!” 

 He laughed again, landed one more good one, and then jumped off the bed.

I threw myself back hard onto the pillow. “You can’t just wake a girl up all sexy-like and then saunter off.” 

 “How’s about you saunter off along wi’ me?” 

His tone was playful, but there was an urgency in his movements that made me sit back up at once. “What do you mean?” 

He was moving across the room, gathering things into a satchel. “We must leave the castle— tonight.”

“We must—What???” But it all made sense: how I’d heard not a word from him since the garret, hadn’t seen him in the great hall. Something had happened in the session with Colum, and it wasn’t good.

 “I’m sorry for the suddenness, Sassenach, truly,” he said, placing the bag on the bed. “I’ll explain everything in full, I swear it, but we must leave, now.” 

Under his forced calm, I could sense the very real fear. “Jamie—are we in danger?” 

 “Aye.” 

 Honesty. The blatant, quiet honesty in him; yet another reason I felt so sure in him, in us. He would give his life to protect me, would tease and joke to put my mind at ease, but when directly asked, he would not lie to me. I’d lied to Jamie, I realized with a pang, but no more. There were no lies between us, nor secrets, and as ridiculous as it might have once seemed to me, I felt this man as an extension of my own mind. It was almost laughable, in fact, when he sat next to me on bed, a face on my palm and asked, “Do ye trust me?”

And I didn’t hesitate for a moment in replying. “Yes, I trust you.” 

He grinned. “And ye still wish to marry me, aye?” 

 *I* grinned. “Aye, I do, my bonny lad.” 

He kissed me. “Good. Then the greatest measure of our safety rests upon us being able to get off of MacKenzie lands. Only elsewhere am I in honor free of obedience to Colum. Only Colum’s no fool, so likely we’ll have to fight our way out of Leoch, this night.“ His control wavered, and for a moment, he looked truly distraught. “I’m sorry for putting this upon ye.”

“Just tell me what to do,” I said, running my hand down his face. “I trust you.” I kissed him back, though fear and exhilaration coursed through me. “And what’s the other measure?” 

The grin was back. “Making ye my wife as soon as humanly possible and taking ye to my bed to make things official.”

Taking the gift of his ease and humor against the fear of the night, I gave it back to him in kind, throwing up my hands in mock bewilderment. “How EVER will we bring ourselves to do it?”

He pulled a long-suffering kind of face as he pressed me rather scandalously back into the pillows. “‘Tis a grave task,” he said, nipping at the neck of my shift. “but I have a suspicion we’ll manage it somehow. Here,“ he said, dropping a pile of fabric at my shoulder, “put these breeks on and let’s get down to our business.“ 

Ah yes, just typical fighting-our-way-out-of-the-castle banter.

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  • Gilgamesh: *chuckles* Okay, okay
  • Gilgamesh: I see what's happening here~
  • Arturia: Don't sing.
  • Gilgamesh: You're face to face with greatness, and it's strange. You don't even know how you feel~
  • Arturia: Indeed I do: it's called loathing.
  • Gilgamesh: It's adorable! Well, it's nice to see that humans never change. Open your eyes, let's begin~
  • Arturia: I beg your pardon?
  • Gilgamesh: Yes, it's really me, it's Gilgamesh: breathe it in!
  • Arturia: Absolutely not.
  • Gilgamesh: I know it's a lot, the hair, the BOD! When you're staring at a demigod~
  • Arturia: Desist this instant.
  • Gilgamesh: 🎶 WHAT CAN I SAY EXCEPT YOU'RE WELCOME 🎶

Callista: Emily is doing her lessons now, can you please not distract her? I’m sure you have important things to do.
Corvo, wearing a loose hoodie saying “#1 DAD” on its chest, with a stack of warm blankets and a flashlight for making a blanket fort in one hand, and a huge bag with happy meals in another: i beg your pardon?